Page 20 of Exposed
“In our past consultations, you mentioned the patient’s obsession with her birth mother, implying the news about her mother’s deathmayhave been the catalyst to her sexual inclinations.” The bumbling idiot nods his head frantically. My jaw twitches. “While you are alone, perhaps you should visit the mother’s grave and see ifthere are any signs of escalation she’s been hiding from you.”
“Right,” he mumbles. “Escalations. She always goes there. I went once when we first moved in together. Maybe I should go now, while she’s with you. She might?—”
“Good,” I say. “I’m afraid you may find disturbing proof of her illness. Take note of it. Report back to my assistant; he’ll add the information to Violet’s file.”
I stand and peer down at the little man. It’s irritating that not only am Inotback with my favorite patient already, but I have to explain the situation in minute detail to this complete idiot.
It must be done, though. It’s part of the process to release her from all other control.
“The patient alluded to desiring sexual relations with her mother,” I lie. Benji’s stature crumbles, a skeleton made of popsicle sticks tumbling to the floor. Feigning disgust, I shake my head and click my tongue. “Not only is it incest, it may also be necrophilia. Once you see proof of her escalations, you will understand how badly she needs my guidance. And if she denies any part of it, trust me: it’s simply a manifestation of her symptoms.”
Benji moans, and I suppress a grin. Violet has yet to mention her mother to me; Benji doesn’t know that though. Since the first time we met, Benji has always been agreeable toward me, enthusiastic to obey my words. Still, I need his full support when it comes to Violet, and there’s a chance this is the first time he’s truly connected with another person; thus, I need him to fully believe she’s incapable of existing outside of the asylum. Hints of incestuous necrophilia will seal her fate.
I gesture toward the door. “We will begin the successivetesting phase soon. You may have a word with Violet before we begin.” I jot another note on the file in front of me about Benji’s subtle resistance in agreeing to the treatment. “After that, we don’t have a cafeteria, but there is a kitchen. Please make yourself useful there.”
He says a few more words questioning me; I dismiss him with my hand. The idiot leaves the room to discuss the diagnosis with his girlfriend.
His girlfriend…for now.
Soon, she’ll be completely mine, and I will always do what’s best for her.
Before I learned about my mother’s death, I heard rumors about the Wellard Asylum. People would whisper, saying they drove their cars faster whenever they saw those gates; how they held their breath, as if the faintest sigh could wake the most wretched evils within; how theyknewpeople disappeared inside of its walls. It wasn’t a fear of the patients; it was the doctors, the staff, and the asylumitselfthat created this haunting aura. Sometimes, I would imagine long, dark buildings rising up from the fog, and ghosts, so many ghosts, wandering the grounds, spirits trapped in this existence long before they actually died.
When I saw the asylum in person for the first time, I realized it wasn’t a haunted house. It was like the rest of the world: a structure controlled by corruption. The asylum’s mission statement in an old newspaper claimed they want to help others, but the chain-link fences and barred windows tell a different story.
Now, with my arms restrained to an exam table, my spine tingles, and that discomfort spreads roots in the base of my neck,leashingme to this place. A cage. A collar. A lead. I’m not a pet here; I’m a creature to study, to mold, tomanipulate, and it’s only going to get worse, because it’s not the asylum, the staff, or any doctor who is clutching my chains.
It’s Dr. Ambrose himself.
The assistant rests against the edge of the sink, completely engrossed in writing his notes. To him, I’m another part of the building, a piece of decaying furniture to be forgotten.
It’s better like this though. If I don’t exist to him, then he’ll leave me alone.
When I did catch his attention, he restrained me for covering my breasts.
Her entire self will remain exposed,Dr. Ambrose had said.It’s time she accepts who she truly is.
This isnotwho I am.
I stare at the rotting tile, the stench of disinfectant, sulfur, and my drying arousal ripe in the air. Did my mother step foot in this exam room? Was the tile clean back then? What if I become like her? What if I die here too? What if being here, restrained in an exam room, is the last time I’m able to think for myself?
A desert storm blusters through my head; I swallow a lump in my throat. I don’t know why that thought crossed my mind. Dr. Ambrose is probably trying to brainwash me, but I’m not going to give up my mind because of his stupid games.
Ihatehim.
My foster parents were neglectful at best. I survived, and they made it clear early on they would never love me, and in a way, it settled my expectations. My ex and Benji made me smile, but they didn’t move me like this.
This is the first time I’ve felt this strongly aboutanyone,and I can’t let that go. Not yet. Not completely. Not until Dr. Ambrose is dead.
And until then, I will suffer through everything he gives me. For my mother.
It’s about her. Right…
A dull ache rolls in the pit of my stomach. I twist my wrists against the restraints. I’m stuck against the exam table, and my palms are clammy. Sometimes, when I let my brain go into the darkest corners of my mind, I know being here is about more than my mother, her killer, revenge, or justice. I’m here because Iwantto endure what she endured: every pain, every pleasure, every messed-up thing leading to her death. I want a connection to her, or any semblance of one, because then I won’t be an outsider. A reject.
Because I don’t want to be alone anymore.
My ex’s words vibrate inside of me, swishing like bubbles down the drain:Fucking freak.
