Page 112 of Brainwashed
Right now, I’m on the high side of normal.Eighty-eight beats per minute.
And I know why, too. It’s because I’m sitting across from my doctor, the new object of my obsessive fantasies. On the same couch where the last time I saw him, he commanded me to jerk my dick off while he watched in the name ofresearch.
If anyone else in the world told me that story, I’d laugh in their face and tell them,yea, that dude just wanted to watch you jerk off.
It seems like the obvious reason.I mean, who watches someone stroke their cock as a form of education??
But around here, it makes sense. And where Dr. Robot is concerned, there seems to be no earthly possibility that he’s interested in my dick as anything other than another piece of my body that reacts to my monstrous tendencies.
Dr. Love is a rock.Seriously.He’s yet to show any kind of sign that he evenremembersme jerking off in front of him the other day. Of course he remembers it… But he probably only thinks about it in terms of behavioral science. Just like Johansson and Templeton. How sexual stimulation affects the neurons in my brain or some shit.
Leave it to these assholes to make orgasms boring.
Still, I can’t help the way I’ve been gravitating toward this man. The way he stares at me—like he’s doing right now. No emotion to speak of. No desire for anything other than what’s inside my mind.
I’m telling you, it appeals to the stubborn side of me so damn much, I find myself desperate to make even the tiniest crack in his ten-inch-thick steel shield of resolve. And what’s worse, the delusional part of myself tells me it’s possible…
After all, he did show up in my cell last night. Looking all manners of delicious in fitted workout clothes, just enough sweat for me to imagine licking it off of him.
I shift in my seat and bite my cheek. We’ve already been sitting here for ten minutes and he hasn’t said shit. So I guess we’ve regressed in our relationship, back to the silent staring contests from when we first met.
Well, I’m not having it. I want some information. I want to know things about him, since he’s practically an encyclopedia of knowledge on me.
Nodding at him, I say, “I saw more of your tattoos last night. Do you have them all over or just on your arms?”
He squints a bit, but says nothing.
Okay, so that one’s a bust. How about—
“Do you like music?” I ask. “What’s your favorite song?” He continues to stare at me, and I roll my eyes. “Come on… Humor me. I want to know.”
But he keeps his lips zipped.
“Fine. Where are you from…?” I keep trying.Not giving up.“I saw a Johns Hopkins water bottle in your desk. Are you from Baltimore?”
He blinks. No words.
“Are you religious?” I ask, twiddling my thumbs. “Did your parents ever force you to go to Sunday school like mine did?”
Every time my words dry up, the silence in the room takes over, and it’sdeafening. I can’t take it anymore.
“Dr. Love,please,” I whine, flopping back on the couch. “Can we please talk?? I’m dying here.”
He inhales, then exhales audibly. Even that seems to take him forever. “Felix, we’re here to talk about you, not me.”
“I’m not that interesting.” I smirk teasingly.
He’s clearly not amused.Literal robot, I swear to God.
He slouches an inch in his chair, observing me. “Have your urges been returning?”
Gulp.“Huh…?”
“Since killing Kieran,” he goes on and I release a breath. “Have you found yourself…craving?”
Oh, I’m craving, alright.
“I mean, I wouldn’t say no… if you put a knife in my hand,” I mutter with a shrug. “Why? Are you considering another experiment? Because if so, I’m happy to go through the files and pick someone—”
