Page 15 of Psychopath

“Who gets him to admit what he did.” Cleo’s eyes were big, shimmering with excitement. “The one who uncovers his secrets; that alone is worth keeping him on the study. You could be the one to break Zane Black.”

“Not if he breaks me first.”

3

The alarm clock flashed at Quinn from the bedside table. He’d already hit the snooze button four times and was about to go for the fifth, but his reaching hand was savaged.

“Ow, you little shit.”

Mars retracted his claws and ceased gnawing Quinn’s knuckles. He dropped back to the floor where he’d been sat waiting for Quinn to reach over to the clock.

“That was completely uncalled for,” Quinn said, cradling his wounded hand. Mars hadn’t done any damage; it was the shock of the ambush that had made Quinn cry out.

He peered over the side of the bed, narrowing his eyes at Mars as he sat, swinging his tail back and forth. Mars was called Mars because of his rustic red coat. He was short-haired and short-tempered; Quinn quickly found out after adopting him a year before.

“I get it,” Quinn told him. “You’re hungry.”

Mars slow-blinked at him. Before Quinn could reply to that, the alarm clock started ringing. He didn’t press snooze; he turned the alarm off and struggled into a sitting position against the headboard.

Satisfied Quinn wasn’t about to fall back to sleep, Mars left the room, slipping through the gap of the partially open door and disappearing down the stairs.

Quinn sighed and risked a peek at his phone. It was both a relief and a disappointment to find no new messages waiting for him.

He turned back to the bedside table, stretching over the alarm clock to the photo frame on the other side of it. He’d faced it down four weeks ago, but that morning he decided to look again. Quinn smiled in the picture. He wore palm-leave-patterned board shorts and an open blue shirt. Sunglasses were pushed into his hair, and he held a beer in his hand. He’d smiled in the photograph, not because anyone had told him to, but because he’d been happy.

The other man in the photograph, Damon, also smiled. He wore matching shorts and a bright-red shirt that matched his flip-flops and his shades.

Their mutual friends, Alex and Eric, had awed at the beautiful picture. It had fast become one of Quinn’s favourites.

Quinn lifted the frame closer to his face, studying Damon, thinking about Zane’s words from the day before. Photographs like this, with them both looking at the camera, raising their beers, were staged.

Quinn knew he was genuinely happy, but he didn’t know whether Damon was. Sure, he smiled widely, pushing up his slightly sunburned cheeks. There were creases spreading out beneath his shades, all leading Quinn to believe he’d been happy, but was he wrong?

Was Damon starting to twitch with their domesticity?

Did his gaze wander when Quinn had his back turned?

Quinn sighed and placed the photograph back on the bedside table.

Face down.

Mars appeared in the doorway and delivered his passive-aggressive meow.

“Okay, okay,” Quinn said, climbing out of bed. He pointed at the door that led to the ensuite. “I’m going, see?”

Mars slow-blinked at him again, then vanished.

After feeding Mars and nibbling at a piece of toast himself, Quinn found himself staring at the fridge in longing, not for the food inside, but for the various magnets he’d collected from places they’d visited.

Damon had called it cute.

Quinn didn’t know if he believed that anymore.

There had always been an eye roll and a shake of the head whenever Quinn bought one. Quinn turned away. He hated the weekends for this very reason. The prison, the participants, and the study all kept him busy during the week, but as soon as he woke up on Saturday, he knew the sharp edges of his broken heart would cut deeper without a distraction.

Mars hopped onto the kitchen table. Now he’d had food, he allowed Quinn to pet his head.

He’d allowed Quinn to touch him more and more since Damon had left, like he knew Quinn needed comfort. It was against his normal nature, but he was trying anyway.

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