Page 93 of Brainwashed
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My jaw clenches.
I’m not sure that I disagree with him. That’s not the issue. It’s the way he’s writing about me here. He says that I treat my victims like possessions. Well, they are. They’remine. I killed them so I could keep them, and he knows that.
But he’s worse. He treats me like a lab rat.
He doesn’t want you, Felix. No matter how much you want him.You’re an object.
Flipping to the next page, I stow my disappointment and keep reading.
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Delusions of grandeur.
For someone so self-aware, Felix seems to have a view of himself and what he’s done that’s a bit romanticized. He feels no remorse, which is obvious. And he loves thinking about his victims. He fixates on them. But it’s not sexual?
I wonder about that question mark. He’s unsure.
Onto the next page I go.
Felix’s sexual urges are fascinating. He becomes aroused by his process and product interchangeably. But when I ask him about the sex, he never seems particularly thrilled about it.
Has he truly reached the gratification he’s searching for? The lust and affection together?
I close the notebook with a slap and toss it onto the floor. Banging my head against the side of the desk, I close my eyes and breathe out slowly.
What does he know, anyway??
My sex life isfine. What I felt for my exes… It was what I needed.
I’ve reached gratification, you know-it-all charlatan.
But even thinking the words doesn’t feel satisfactory to me. There’s a deep itch somewhere inside, begging to be scratched. I’ve always thought that my kills sated it until I was thirsty for more. But did theyreally?
My fist clenches at my side. I’m second-guessing myself and I hate that. He’s gotten into my head so deep in such a short amount of time, this doctor. It’s worrying. And even now, I find myself watching the door, waiting for him to come back. Wishing and hoping it will open and his stern, emotionless face will appear to assess me some more.
Slumping over, I walk my thoughts to my last victim. The last one I actually slept with.
Nick. I didn’t know much about him other than that he was very good-looking. He was of a similar build, and he had a mouth I couldn’t have dreamt up if I tried.
But when we got to the actual sex, I remember it took me a while to come. It felt good, it always does. But something was missing, and even now, remembering it, I can’t put my finger on what that is. My body is tight and frustrated, keyed up with these thoughts and self-doubts.
And they’re all his fault.
My doctor, with his perfect skin and strong, tattooed arms. His clothes that barely fit around his large body and his eyes the color of precious stones.
My fingers slide up to my throat and I remember him gripping it. My dick jumps.
The sight of my blood on his lips…
My cock is throbbing in my pants. Running a hand over my erection, I let out a soft breath.
Where are you, new Want? And how do I get you to want me back?
I open my eyes to the feeling of someone watching me.
It startles me at first. People don’t watch me sleep. I’m usually the one doing the watching.
