Page 95 of Reckoning

But I understand enough.

I remember enough.

“Sofia?”

I blink, looking back at his bland, boring face. I have no idea how long I just zoned out for.

“What about your father, I know there’s some history there…”

I scowl, folding my arms, muttering that we’re not here to discuss him. We’re not here to talk about my family, about my parents, about Roman. We’re here to talk about my dear dead husband. About what he put me through. That’s it. Nothing more.

He shakes his head like he wants to actually snap back but clearly thinks better of it. Apparently, I really am pissing him off today and I’ll admit I kind of like it.

“How are you sleeping?” He asks. It’s one of his favourite questions. One he seems fixated on.

“I sleep fine.” I lie.

And he knows I’m lying. Of course he does but like always he doesn’t probe me.

“I want you to try some new exercises. When you’re alone, when you’re in bed, I want you to shut your eyes, I want you to think back to one moment, one memory, visualise it in your head, visualise what your husband is doing, what his friends are doing, and then I want you to imagine that you can walk away. That you can simply leave.”

Is he for real? He wants me to actually try that? It’s bad enough dreaming about it. There’s no way in hell I’m going to consciously try to bring up those memories.

“It’ll retrain your brain. It’ll make you think that you had control in those moments.”

“But I didn’t.” I say before I can stop myself. “I had no control.”

“Exactly.” He replies with a smile that feels so out of place. “Your husband took that from you. He stripped it from you.”

My heart is thumping, I feel like I’m on the verge of a panic attack at just the thought of what he’s suggesting.

“I also think we should try the meds again.” He adds so casually.

I almost let out a laugh. Thankfully my fury seems to override my panic and I flit back from fear to anger. “No.”

He tuts, pulling the bottle and he places it down on the side table beside him. “It will help, Sofia. You’re clearly not making any progress without them.”

I narrow my eyes, half tempted to tell him to shove them up his arse but thankfully he’s getting to his feet. “Let’s call it a day.”

“Fine.” I reply through gritted teeth.

He all but sees himself to the door, like he’s got some sort of eidetic memory and has already has the entire floor plan memorised.

“I’ll see you again next week.” He says cheerfully and I grunt back before slamming the door in his face.

I’m trembling, shaking, like I’m on the verge of a breakdown and it takes everything I have not to curl up into a ball.

When I get back to the study I grab the bottle and toss it into the bin. I won’t do it. I won’t willingly drug myself. He may think I’m not getting any better but Ifeelbetter. At least, I did until he walked through the door.

Sofia

The door opens. A torch is shone right in my face. Before I can do anything beyond shield my eyes,someone yanks on the chain secured around my neck.

I gasp, grabbing hold of it but it makes no difference and I’m dragged out of the solitary room he keeps me in. My knees protests, my feet try to get some sort of anchorage but I’m moving too fast to get any grip.

Every step bashes into my already battered body and whoever is doing this just laughs as I cry out.

The metal around my throat digs into my skin and I desperately try to get some leverage.

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