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“If our cozy little chat wasn’t warning enough, I’ll give you some parting advice.” Kenna’s skeleton burst through her skin as Erin’s hand clamped down on her shoulder. She whispered, “Don’t let him get too close. He’ll destroy you.”
* * *
“Well,that was delightful. I’m glad I sacrificed binge-watching Riverdale for the umpteenth time to watch my sister cry in a crappy diner,” Brandi said once they were en route to Branch Spring. She rubbed the back of her neck, hand lingering. Her mouth fell in a flat line. “I can’t believe she never told me about the baby, never breathed a word about it. I could’ve helped her.”
“Everyone deals with grief in their own way. Maybe your sister needed to turn inward to heal. Don’t blame yourself. You had no idea what was going on. I’m sorry you had to sit through that.”
Kenna scrawled away in her journal, notating the most useful pieces from the conversation. She fixated on the haunting, parting phrase Dr. Merino had delivered unto Erin.
Did he consider himself evil, or was it all an act?
She got the sense she had barely cracked the surface of the enigma that was Dayton Merino and she’d fallen into some sort of fatal attraction scenario in which she was intrigued by and frightened of him.
“So,” Brandi hesitated, drawing out the vowel while flipping through the static-laced radio channels before finding an in-tune throwback station. “This guy sounds like a sociopath. Why are you so fascinated with him?”
The timing of the commentary was uncanny, as if she’d read Kenna’s thoughts. She slid her pen in the notebook’s spine. “Because at his core, he’s still one of us.”
19
FIND THE ANSWER
Kenna was distant that week.
His hospitalization had, without a doubt, brought them closer. He had at last scratched and peeled a corner of the mask she wore on university grounds but Dayton quickly found out that whatever degree of closeness they had shared in the C.C.U. did not extend to his office.
The repetitive, clunking echo of metal scored the room as his pen rapped atop his desk. He’d miscalculated something.
Identifying that error consumed him; he became a seven-day dry heroin addict, needle poised to penetrate a vein.
By now, he should have held some sort of sway over Kenna. Hooks anchored far too deep in her flesh to break free. She had seen through his enigmatic bait and swam away.
She sensed something rotten. Rancid.
It couldn’t have been him alone that deterred her. Outside factors warranted concern. Alex was in her ear, for one, and who knew if Nathan had dared to counsel Kenna on student-faculty relations in the hospital.
Dayton’s submergence in his sea of potential missteps made for a welcome distraction from his 10:30 walk-in, a melodramatic, eyeliner-wearing junior.
“I’ve been late to my 8 a.m. class the last few weeks. I haven’t missed any classes yet but it looks like things are heading that way and that’s not really an option for me, you know?” Juan shoved his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie and slouched in the chair.
Judging off appearance alone, Juan didn’t fit the bill of someone who might have worried about missing classes, and Dayton had to stop himself from snorting over the concern. Beneath that Pete Wentz wannabe exterior lay a scholarship student, and those kids were held to fantastical standards at Ponderosa.
His surgical scar itched below the veil of his dress shirt. It felt as though a toothpick were dragging along the incision from the inside out. Dayton tried to be covert when his anxious fingers succumbed to the scratching, but earned a sidelong glance from Kenna. A fluttering sensation swarmed his stomach. She worried about him.
That had not changed.
“Do you think masturbation is a distraction from a more pressing issue?” she inquired, jotting notes in time with her question.
Kenna screamed self-assurance in her tight ballerina bun, spine ramrod straight and legs crossed.
She looked like a pro—if one overlooked the fact that she dressed like a long lost member of Fleetwood Mac. Dayton thought her inquisitional skills could use some finessing, though he was confident she was miles ahead of the other undergrads.
“My girlfriend broke up with me over winter break.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Juan asked, “Do you think that’s relevant?”
“I think it’s the most relevant thing you’ve said,” Kenna replied, oblivious to the cruelty of her words. Dayton buried his amusement and slipped into his mentor role. Head cocked, he shot her a pointed look that had her clearing her throat in an instant. “Sorry. It could be the root of your problem is all I meant. Excuse us for a second, Mr. Romero.”
She bent forward in her chair, whispering, “My opinion is OCD.”
Having Kenna this close and forbidden from acting was grade-A torture. Intellectual curiosity alit her face, her own brand of aphrodisiac.
