Page 3 of Exposed
I smile weakly. Benji is always polite and considerate. Sometimes, I wonder if I deserve him.
Before those doubts begin to fester, I change the subject: “Will the doctor have me stay after the initial examination?”
“You mean overnight?”
I shrug. “Sure.”
“I mean, I’d prefer not,” Benji says. “But yeah. Between the videos and losing your job, he might think you need extra help.”
Benji told the doctor I was found masturbating with a knife handle at work and was fired, which is similar to what the records say about my mother. Whether her records are truthful is another story.
As for me, I was actually fired because I stoppedshowing up for my shifts. After I became obsessed with finding out everything I could about my mother and the Wellard Asylum, work, my relationships, sleeping, even eating regular meals were no longer my priorities.
Then came the videos.
My cheeks heat. I turn to the side, away from Benji. We did a lot of messed-up things to be here, like pissing and choking videos. It’s embarrassing. I’m not a toilet or a victim; I’m aperson,and I only asked him to do those things so I could get the chance to kill my mother’s murderer.
But I just?—
I just?—
“You okay?” Benji asks.
I gnaw on the inside of my lip. My mother’s file says she was into strange sexual acts, including arousal from urine; I don’t know if it’s true or if it was something Dr. Ambrose might have made up. Based on my research, Dr. Ambrose seems like the kind of person who would lie about anything to keep someone under his control. I know he lied about her death; I wouldn’t be surprised if any notes he took on her were based on his own disgusting interests.
What if I like those disgusting things too?
I shudder. My fingers link and unlink rapidly in my lap. I can’t sit still. People have said I’m a freak like my mother, but even if I share her blood, it doesn’t mean I’ll be like her.
This isn’t aboutmydesires. This isn’t even aboutme.This is about avenging my mother.
I’m going to kill Dr. Ambrose.
“Violet?” Benji asks.
I shake my head. “I’m fine. I’mfine,” I say, more to myself than to him. “And it’s not his assistant doing the appointment, right? It’s just him?”
“I don’t know.” Benji lifts his shoulders. “His assistant is here and there. Plan it like he will be there, and either way, you’ll be good to go.”
Because of our long-term preparations to get me admitted under a fake diagnosis, Benji knows the asylum well. During the consultations about his concern for my sexual fantasies, Benji mentioned my connection to a past patient to Dr. Ambrose, and the next time he visited, my mother’s file was on top of Dr. Ambrose’s desk. It was easy for Benji to take the file.
The photographs in it were hard to stomach though.
The monochrome pictures were close-up shots of her body, as if the images were records of her progress. I had to piece them together. Based on my birth certificate and the timestamps on the photos, she was only a day past childbirth, her belly still round and her bruising visible. Black patches marked her breasts and arms. There were even small wounds on her inner thighs, close to her sex.
Her death records claim she died from childbirth; it was obviouslymorethan that. And Dr. Ambrose was heronlycaretaker back then, so he’s responsible for whatever happened to her, and back then, he was onlyNurseAmbrose. According to his notes, he kept her in isolationto keep her perversions from escalating.
Perversions. I hate that word. It’s just like “freak.” Both words imply there is a true normal. A “good” path everyone tries to stay on when the weirdos like me stray.
But there is no “normal,” and I’m not a “freak.”
“What’s the doctor like again?” I ask absently.
“He’s big. Not scary looking or anything. Kind of…” Benji’s gaze drifts off, finding its way to the building’s exterior. He flinches. “I don’t know. It’s like he can get under your skin. A parasite you don’t know is there. The kind that eats your insides.”
I shiver right as a black sedan drives past. It parks near a tree.
A chill settles over my heart. Somehow, I know it’s the doctor.
