“Please tell me what happened.”

“The white room didn’t work. And I needed… I mean, when he said all that, I got angry. Angry and I started to lose control.”

“Did you curl?”

“No. I—” I didn’t know what to say. I’d practiced it ten times in the shower since the moment, tried to figure out how to present it in the manner that was the least psychotic.

He waited. Of course he did.

“I fell off the chair onto the floor. The tile. It knocked me out. Very briefly.” There. Words spoken. Concept communicated.

“You knocked yourself out.” He spoke slowly.

“Yes. Briefly. I was only out for a couple of seconds.” Thirty or sixty, tops. Maybe a few minutes. I’d come to with Jeremy above me, his face tight and worried. There hadn’t been any discussion of family or dinners or being normal after that.

“And you were fine after that?”

“Yes. It kind of reset me.”

“You can’t go around knocking yourself out whenever you lose control, Deanna.”

I didn’t say anything. Instead, I ran my hand over the top of my head. Lifted slightly off the mattress and felt at the tender spot at the back of my head.

“Have you been to a doctor? Head injuries can have a number of complications.”

I snorted. “Says the man who doesn’t want me to leave the apartment.”

“I thought you had a doctor on call. Something of that sort.”

“I do.” I dropped my hand and rolled over slightly. Pulled a blanket over me to fight off a chill. “I guess I can call him.”

“You should. And don’t do that again, Deanna.”

“It’s better than me hurting him.”

“Hurting yourself is a path you don’t need to go down. Can you hold off on seeing him for a little while? Have some extra sessions with me?”

Hold off on seeing Jeremy? I bit my bottom lip and considered the possibility. A horrible prescription for him to give me. “I don’t know.”

“One day at least. Let’s talk tomorrow at three.”

“Short this month?” I joked. “Trying to increase your hours?”

He didn’t respond.

“Fine,” I finally said. “Three.”

“Talk to you then.”

He hung up first. After a long while, I locked my phone and tossed it aside.

Then I looked up Dr. Pat.

CHAPTER 16

Past

SUCCESS, IN MY life, has been a balancing act. If one end of the seesaw got too heavy, I hit the ground. Game over. Or, as has happened in the past, I killed someone. My balancing act used to solely exist within the walls of 6E. I spent three solid years in these walls, not leaving once. Then, a year ago, I left the apartment. I told myself it was a one-time thing and believed the lie. But that step, that experience? It was a drug, one that itched through my veins and stretched my blood vessels, my body hungry for another fix as soon as I locked myself back up. So I took more hits in the form of evening jaunts to the convenience store across the street. Inhaled deep, bought a car, and put a few hundred miles on her. Visited a few stores. Killed someone else. After that death, I withdrew completely. I shut the door and vowed to not step back out. In the last nine months, I’ve occasionally cheated. Twice I went for a drive in FtypeBaby. I got wild and visited a dentist three months ago. Caught up with a few years of dental neglect and four cavities. Took the gas the doctor offered and managed to not hurt anyone. Other than that, I have behaved. Haven’t hurt anyone, though I’ve fantasized a thousand scenarios of screams.

My life as a recluse had been set up and coordinated very carefully over the last four years. Dr. Pat was a piece to that puzzle. He provided me the drugs I use to pay Simon. He also, in rare moments of ailments, stood in as my doctor. Dr. Derek wanted me to see a doctor, so Dr. Pat is whom I texted.

I need your services.

It took almost an hour to get a response, a record in the four years of our working relationship.

When?

Whenever you’re free.

Will I need visual?

No. I don’t think so.

He called me ten minutes later, his voice muffled, with a bit of an echo. Most likely in the bathroom, leaning against the wall as he took care of his dirty little secret’s medical needs. Our conversation was quick and efficient. I described my injury, he asked a series of educated questions, I answered truthfully. We determined, in the course of four minutes and twenty-two seconds, that I was fine, but needed to watch out for a handful of symptoms, the appearance of which should prompt a visit to the ER. Then I thanked him, we set up a time for payment, and the call ended. An eavesdropper would never have known the truth. That the happily married father of three liked to ride dildos while I watched.

CHAPTER 17

Past

“HEY, BEAUTIFUL.”

I relaxed against the pillows and pushed aside the keyboard. “Hey, Mike.”

“Long time, babe.”

“I know.” I didn’t say more, even though there were a hundred things I could have said.

My boyfriend doesn’t like you.

We’ve fought over these chats.

He resents you for his house.

He thinks I enjoy our cybersex.

I do enjoy our cybersex and maybe that’s a problem.

Tonight though, I needed Mike. I needed Mike in a way that none of my other clients would do. I needed the comfortable grip of a man who knew my buttons. I needed to hear someone breathe my name and to know that they found me attractive. The real me, not Jessica Reilly. The me that did evil and lied and lived a life of solitude. Mike knew me, and when he moaned my name, it was real and pure and fulfilling.

What will you do if Jeremy breaks up with you?

Damn Dr. Derek. His words haunted me, they stalked the empty corners of my day, and I wanted nothing but an escape.

“What do you want, baby?”

I grinned into the camera and curved into my pillow. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one asking you that? You are paying me for a reason.”

“Fine.” His voice deepened, a trace of masculine authority entering it. “Take off that shirt. I need to see your perfect body.”

I dragged the shirt up and over my breasts.

“Further. All the way off.” He growled into the mic. I arched my back off the mattress and worked my shoulders out of the material. “Perfect. Lie back down, baby. Lie back down and close your eyes.” I did as I was told, my eyes closing as I sank into the pillows. “Tell me, Deanna.”

I wet my lips. “I want you.”

“Keep those eyes closed. Keep them closed and picture me right now. I have my cock in my hand and it is so fucking hard for you. It aches it’s so hard. What do you want to do with it?”

I kept my eyes closed and pictured him, sitting back in his chair. Saw his pants unbuttoned and his legs spread slightly. Pictured his cock standing straight up, his hand tightly wrapped around it, the head swollen and ready. I ran my hand down my stomach and slid it under my thong.

“No.” His voice was gruff. “Over your panties. I want you to tease yourself and imagine it’s my tongue.”

“What would you do?” I asked, my fingers quick to obey, quick to slide over the satin and tease at the outside of my clit.

“Good, Deanna. I can’t even watch you without needing you.” He groaned the words and I imagined the pump of his cock, the squeeze of his hand, the jerk of his touch as his hips bucked underneath the action. “I want to worship you with my mouth. Go over your panties and suck you into my mouth. Tease your clit with my tongue before I pull aside your thong and bury my face in you. Taste your cum on my mouth. Feel you tremble under my hands. I—” His voice breaks and my eyes open, wanting to see, wanting more. God, if he was before me…