Page 94 of Reckoning

But today all that changes. Today Ihaveto see Martin again.

He struts into Koen’s house with a judgemental look in his eyes.

I refused to go to his office, refused to be anywhere near it. I know we could have met somewhere else but this felt safer. Being in my space felt safer.

My lips quirk as I realise I know consider Koen’s home as mine. Would Koen enjoy that fact? I guess it doesn’t really matter either way. I belong to him now, that’s the deal I made and I won’t go back on it. I won’t change my mind. I made my bed, and I’m more than willingly to let Koen fuck me in it.

“So this is where he lives?” Martin says like he’s more interested in Koen than me.

“There’s a study we can use.” I state ignoring his comment entirely as I lead him through the hallway. I’ve already shut off the main doors, hidden as much as I can. I don’t know why but this feels like an invasion of privacy. It feels like an insult to have him here.

He takes a seat, crossing his legs, fixing me with a judgy look that I try to ignore as I shut the door and force myself to not flip out.

When I sit down he makes a point of just watching me. Like he can read my thoughts. Like he knows every sordid little detail of my life.

“How have you been?” He asks.

“Fine.” I say quickly.

His eyebrow raises, he pulls something out of his battered leather satchel and he flicks through the papers like he’s some sort of tv cop and this is an interview. “You got drunk and crashed a car.” He comments. “And now you appear to be hiding out with a known criminal.”

“I’m not hiding out.” I snap.

His eyes seem to sparkle like my annoyance is amusing to him.

“Are you fucking him?”

“Excuse me?” I gasp.

He sits back in his chair, assessing me for a second. “If you’re having a sexual relationship…”

“It’s none of your damn business.” I reply.

“Sofia, after everything you’ve been through now is not the time to be shacking up…”

I’m on my feet in an instant. “Whatever is going on between me and Koen is no concern of yours.” I repeat. “Surely you didn’t come here simply to discuss my love life?”

He lets out a low breath, gesturing to the chair I just got up from. “Of course not. We’re here to talk about your feelings, your trauma, to help you work through your severe PTSD.”

He sounds so smug. So damn condescending. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to punch him more than in this moment.

But a voice in my head is whispering that I don’t have a choice, it’s a hoop I have to jump through. Hastings won’t keep giving me an entirely free pass. I have to play my part to, and this is sadly part of it.

I sit back down, folding my arms, glaring at him.

He starts flicking through the papers again and I realise it’s my file. Everything he’s ever written about me. He’s never had this out before, he’s normally kept this hidden away. I’m so curious to know what he’s written about me that it takes everything I have not to rip it out of his hands and make a runner.

“Last time we met we were discussing the videos. How they made you feel.” He comments.

I huff, that’s not how it went but fine.

“He took you to the Cuckoo Club, didn’t he? What did those nights involve?”

I gulp, shutting my eyes, trying to bury the emotion that rises up and threatens to drown me.

What did they involve? I was dressed up, drugged, and laid out like a five course buffet for Otto and his friends to feast on. Of course, once Otto started turning to more hardcore drugs everything gets hazy. Perhaps I should be grateful to my husband for that. The heroin spared me some of the worst parts at the end, but then, not knowing is just as bad.

My memory of those last few months is patchy at best and I think that’s partly why my mind keeps getting stuck. It’s like I can’t move on because my brain can’t process it. I can’t fully deal with what I went through because I don’t understand everything I went through.

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