Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 116263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
His expression severe.
Fierce.
The same way that he always looked at me.
My chest squeezed.
She really had no idea.
Dr. Perry pulled her glasses from her face, set them on the desk, and sat back in her chair.
“Tell me how your first night was here, Aria.”
Terrifying.
Gut-wrenching.
Devastating.
Beautiful and fulfilling.
Shifting on the pleather love seat where I sat, I tried not to itch beneath her appraisal. The way her eyes flitted over every movement I made.
Cataloging.
Every twitch, every gesture, every blink.
She was watching for a visceral reaction. For anything to indicate I was being disingenuous.
I drew in a deep breath to keep the shaking under control. Convincing her I was no danger to myself was the only way I was going to get out of here.
Truthfully, I’d barely made it through group therapy earlier that day.
I had no idea how to handle the new sense that had taken over me. The ability to hear the vile voices echoing from the minds of anyone who was near. It was disorienting. Crushing. Pulling me between the need to help them and the truth that I also had to protect myself.
I’d nearly been brought to my knees by the shattering pain that had splintered through my being when the female counselor had gone around the circle, asking each of us if we wanted to hurt ourselves or if we wanted to hurt someone else.
Everyone’s emotions amplified.
Most had lied.
Blades of dishonesty. Shards of hopelessness and desperation.
I’d nearly ruined everything when I’d been struck with the overwhelming need to touch each of those girls as the counselor had moved around the circle.
Their pain had been almost too much to ignore, and I hated that I’d had to do it.
It felt like betraying them.
The torment and confusion that infested their thoughts.
Prisoners, when they didn’t have the first clue.
By the time the counselor had made it around to me, I’d barely been able to speak, and I’d somehow managed to force out a shaky “Not today.”
I was trying to play it smart.
They could only monitor us for a short time to ensure we weren’t immediate threats to ourselves or others. To ensure the moment of crisis that had landed each of us here had passed.
If I could just make them believe I was okay now, I might have a fighting chance.
But I didn’t have one locked within these walls.
I cleared my throat when Dr. Perry remained silent, waiting for me to answer.
“Um, it’s been okay. It’s weird not sleeping in my own bed, but I like my roommate.”
She nodded. “Jenny is very kind.”
“She is,” I agreed.
Dr. Perry angled her head, her perusal soft but keen. “And how are you feeling?”
My tongue stroked out to wet my parched lips. “A bit better today,” I whispered, hoping to sound sincere.
“That’s what we always hope . . . that you feel a bit better with each day. But really, for that to happen, we need to help you get to the root of this, Aria. To the place that you have trouble allowing others to see, and I hope you’ll trust me with that.”
There was nothing cruel or evil about it.
No ill will emanating from her spirit.
But that didn’t mean allowing her to go there wouldn’t prove catastrophic.
When I didn’t respond, she shifted her attention to the portrait I’d drawn in art therapy that now rested on her desk.
My nerves scattered as she carefully studied it, and I had to fight off the urge to snatch it back and hide it against my chest.
When I’d first entered the room, she’d asked if she could see what I’d done in art class.
Maybe I should have refused. Ripped it into a thousand pieces before she could see. If I’d been smart, I wouldn’t have drawn it in the first place.
But it’d come unbidden, arising from the depths of my mind and flowing from my fingers as I let my spirit wander.
Pax had been there for a moment, the way I wished he could truly be.
In discomfort, I hugged my knees to my chest and rested my chin on top of them.
She tapped the picture, her eyes narrowed in concentration when she leveled me with an intent stare. “Can you tell me about him?”
My mouth was instantly parched.
I searched around in my brain for an adequate lie to give to a woman who was trained on how to sniff them out.
“What do you mean? It’s just a drawing.”
Her brows drew together. Cautious speculation. “He looks a lot like you.”
She glanced between me and the drawing, as if she were categorizing each similarity.
“You have an amazing talent, really,” she said, almost to herself. “It’s a stunning piece of art.”
“Thank you.”
“And we could go on about your natural talent, but I really think we should address this man in the picture.”
She rocked back in her chair, casually, as if to put me at ease.