Page 31 of Pretty Cruel Love

When I reach the chessboard, I pick up the pieces and place everything as it was from our last game. He glances at my unmade bed, and I move to straighten the sheets and pillows.

The moment I’m finished, he pulls me against his chest.

“Do you think this is a fucking game?” he hisses. “Your freedom is hanging in the balance, and you want to throw a goddamn temper tantrum?”

“They’re never going to release me… I can feel it.”

“So you’re not willing to give my plan a try?” He looks as if I’ve wounded him, as if the roles are briefly reversed. “If you really believe you’re innocent, this behavior doesn’t make any sense, and you’re not the violent type, so why are you doing this?”

“You promised to take off the handcuffs…” I relent. “You made me get my hopes up, and then you snatched everything away.”

“I needed the last dose of your medication to settle,” he says, voice low. “There are side effects… dangerous ones.”

“Then you should’ve said that instead of acting like an asshole…”

Silence crackles between us.

I tilt my head, studying him. He's probably telling the truth. Ever since the meds changed, I’ve been pacing this place like I’m coming undone—my skin too hot, my mind too sharp. Maybe it’s not him playing games. Maybe it’s me unraveling.

His expression slowly softens, and he grabs my right hand. Holding it between us, he stares at the faint red marks on my skin and lets out a sigh.

“Grab the keys out of my pocket with your other hand,” he says.

I oblige, slipping a hand deep into his pocket, stopping when I feel something hard. I blush and let my finger travel deeper until I feel metal. Looping my finger through the ring, I slowly pull the keys out.

He gently takes them from my hands and slides the key into the lock.

After two sharp twists, the chains clatter to the floor.

“Go sit on the couch and wait for me,” he says. “We’re going to have a conversation.”

He turns away and picks up two duffel bags by the door, disappearing past his suite that I’m not allowed to see.

When he returns, he’s armed with two white jars and a roll of gauze.

He settles next to me, his leg pressing against mine. Then he carefully takes my left wrist, spreading a layer of cream across my skin.

I glance up at the wall camera in front of us, confused.

“No one is watching us right now,” he says. “Is that a problem for you?”

“No…”

“Good.” He reaches for my other wrist, gently soothing it. “As of tonight, I’ve moved in here with you, so we need to go over the rules again.”

“Sessions for you are mandatory, whether I show up or not. If I don’t, there’s a reason.” He massages my skin. “Clear?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Dr. Weiss,” he corrects me.

“Yes, Dr. Weiss.”

“There’s an entire team of people who read all the transcripts and look for any sign of insubordination,” he says, “any tiny reason why you shouldn’t be let back into society. Don’t hand that to them on a silver platter by letting your emotions get the best of you.”

“Okay.” I suck in a deep breath as he tightens the wrap around my wrist.

“Good girl,” he says, looking deep into my eyes. “Here are the final three rules while we’re locked in this cabin…”

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