Page 95 of Brainwashed
“That is not true,” he grouses, the frustration in his tone kicking up a notch. “I still have a lot of work to do with you, Felix. We’re only just getting started.”
I blink at him. The way my stomach is flipping right now is inconvenient as hell. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t consent to being recorded.”
His gaze narrows, and his amber eyes go dark as he leans forward. “You don’tconsent?”
“No.” I gulp, trying my hardest to stand my ground. “No consent.”
His head cocks to the side. “You don’t think I could get it from you?”
My eyes go blinky. “Huh…?”
“You don’t need to consent, Felix,” he tells me, smug in his disinterest. “You’remine, to deal with as I see fit. Warden’s orders.”
There’s a zap of fear that shoots up my spine, like a rush of endorphins. It’s such a rare sensation for me, it causes a throb deep in the pit of my stomach. It feels… oddly tantalizing.
Forcing myself not to dwell on all the tingles, I murmur, “Hm… who’s the possessive one now?”
Dr. Love gives me a stern look. “Deflecting.”
“Fine… Maybe I’ll just go mute,” I mutter petulantly. “I don’tneedto talk to you, after all.”
He inches in closer. “I have ways of getting it out of you.”
“Are we still talking about words…?” My voice creeps from my throat.
That gets him. His face sort of drops, and he sits back fast, repositioning in his seat. His jaw ticks visibly as he tosses his phone aggressively onto the table.
“Fine. No recording.” He folds his arms across his chest. The way the fabric strains over his biceps is mesmerizing. “What precisely in my notes bothered you so much?”
I’m caught off guard. I didn’t expect him to ask. Or care. “Um…”
His brows raise expectantly. “Were any of my assessmentsincorrect?” I fumble for a second and he cajoles, “Speak up, Felix. If I’m wrong, I need to know about it.”
Thinking back to the notes, I recall the bit about my wanting topossesspeople. Thinking of my victims as objects for me to own…
It’s definitely notincorrect.
Thedelusions of grandeurthing makes sense too, even if I’m not crazy about how it makes me sound.
Then my mind stops on the last note I read. About my sexual gratification.
“My sex life isn’t boring.” The words fall out of my mouth, and the moment they do, I immediately regret them.
Dr. Love’s expression goes from patronizing to downright stupefied. I can almost hear those littlechirp chirpnoises when he blinks, like a cartoon character.
“I just mean, uh… I get sexual gratification from my relationships.” I try explaining myself, but it still comes out defensive and lacking confidence.
He gawks at me. “Did I say that you don’t?”
“Well, yea. Pretty much.” My fingers dig into my thighs. “In your notes, you said it doesn’t seem like I’m fully satisfied with what we do together.” I pause and stammer, “What I do withthem, I mean. My victims.”
He shifts, then presses his fingers together in front of him. “And it bothers you that I might think you’re unsatisfied…”
I nod. “Yes.” Then I stop and shake my head. “I mean, no. I don’tcare, I just—”
“Felix, you obviously care. You’re making a spectacle of it. Delaying our session, my research. Clearly, you’re upset that I might even consider your sex life less than magnificent.”
“Magnificent.” I scoff. “That’s a word choice, I guess.”
