Page 22 of Judas

“Like hell we are.” My voice is clipped, a full body rage taking root in the depths of my body and psyche.

I may be fucked up, but outside of mother’s alcohol and drug addiction, the good Preacher is where this all came from. Too many times I’ve attempted to expunge his thoughts from my head—evident in the way my body now houses new marksof self-punishment. He built the demons, he fed them. His influence in my life has been nothing but absolute torment, and I have no desire to give that man another second of my precious wind. Attempting to bleed him out of my veins, he still lingers however.

Of the years I have been seeing Mavis, she’s planted too many seeds of acknowledgement into my head. Maybe I knew, all this time, he was the cause. But having a person to blame? It’s not the liberation people like to think it is. Bringing him up stalls our progress and she knows this.

Not only does she want to piss me off today, she wants to sit in silence.

“I know this is a sensitive topic for you, Lucien, but we need to talk about it. You did well in the past, and have managed to tone down some of your violent tendencies, but we are not quite where you need to be.”

Her voice is agitating.

Silence.

“Lucien, can we please not go down this prickly road today?”

Prickly… prickly. I’ll show her fucking prickly.

“Release the cuffs, Mavis.” I drawl.

“Huh?”

She looks at me in the most perplexed manner, head tilting to the side as she struggles to decipher what I’ve plainly ordered her to do. Why is it so difficult for people to listen and follow the simplest directives?

Shifting forward, I lean slightly, my wrists still bound behind my back. The new position has my orange-clad legs spreading, making room for the way I angle further into the space between us. Vastly uninterested in suffocating myself with the chaise cushions, as I was earlier. Rather, what remains—her sense of bafflement.

“Release… the cuffs. I don’t recall stuttering, Mavis.”

“Not that I’d ever put myself in danger, but I can’t do something like that, Mr. Bardot.” Her voice lacks the normal lilt to it.

“Mr. Bardot now? What happened to prickly Lucien?” Challenging her, I move to the very edge of my seat, giving the indication that I plan to either stand or something more ominous.

“L—Lucien.”

“M—Mavis,” I mock.

“Let’s just do your session and then you can go back to your cell. I’ll be out of your hair then.”

“Now where’s the fun in that? You wanted to talk about my father, so we’re going to talk. First, though, you’ll release the cuffs so I can give you a full demonstration on the things he would do to me and my mother. Then we can sit here and go through it play-by-play.”

Watching her throat flex is more satisfying than it needs to be, but I’m an intense man and won’t be backing down.

Finally, she looks away. Down at her yellow legal pad, pen twirling around her thin fingers in the same way drummers spin a mallet around theirs with flare. She’s focusing on the sheet of paper so thoroughly I can see the strain in her eyes. The tension in her shoulders even when she amends her seating position, recognizing she doesn’t stand a fucking chance. Apprehension looks appetizing on her.

“Mavis…” I prompt, hungry for a fight.

“I’m not releasing the cuffs and if you move again, Lucien, I’ll call Officer Lawrence back in here so he can tie you to that chaise. Choose wisely.”

Now we’re talking.

“Nah, you won’t do that. You’re too caught up trying to establish control over a situation that is rapidly deteriorating.You wanted to talk about my father, and we will, scouts honor, but we will do it my way or no way at all.”

A hush befalls us for a moment before I choose to continue.

“This intimidation, don’t really like it, do you? It puts you on edge. You don’t know whether you need to scream for help or run for safety. Then there’s the little nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you no one will come to your aid and you’d be left defenseless with a monster. Well, not entirely defenseless. You have your sharp fucking tongue and the pretty pens I’ve seen you obsess over in the past.”

Slanting to the side, I search her face until her prey-like orbs connect with mine.

“Your pens won’t save you, I promise you that,Mavis.”

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