Page 28 of Never Die for a Sinner
Then, I glance at the door at the end of the hall.
I fucking hate that door.
Stalking toward it, I test the knob.
Still locked. Good.
If I had my way, I would have gutted that entire portion of the house, just to get rid of it.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up, almost like the brush of cold fingers sliding down the back of my neck.
Figures. Should have known I’d never really escape him.
Goosebumps rise on my skin, and I swear I feel someone standing behind me.
Only . . . when I turn around, no one’s there.
“Go back to hell,” I mutter under my breath to whatever unseen force is hovering over me, and head back toward my room.
After all . . . the dead can’t hurt you.
Fortunately, neither can nightmares.
“How are you feeling today, Levi?”
You want the truth? The therapist in front of me would shit himself if he knew how I was really feeling.
Suppose I told him I’d spent most of the night lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. My mind alternates between thoughtsof the pretty little brunette across the hall and my father’s vindictive ghost haunting the space between us.
Suppose for a second, I told him that I can still feel the way his body went slack underneath me when I choked the life out of him.
How when I close my eyes, all I see are his glassy ones, staring back at me.
Do you think I’d be sitting in his plush Seattle office, listening to some bullshit classical music that’s supposed to make me feel calm when really it just makes me feel like a fucking idiot for even coming here?
No. I’d be down the street where they throw all the other degenerates and lowlifes who don’t deserve to walk the streets.
“Good, I guess.”
Dr. Proctor readjusts in his seat, raising his ankle to his knee and showcasing his obnoxious-ass purple socks.
“Why don’t you expand on that for me?”
Jesus Christ.
I scrub a hand over the back of my neck, glancing at the clock on the wall. I’ve only been here for a bit, but it feels like five fucking years.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I shrug. “I guess I just don’t have any complaints.”
Proctor nods, though I can tell he’s not convinced.
“Tell me, how are you sleeping at night?”
Like shit.
“Good. I get about six or seven hours most of the time.”
“And have you been staying away from alcohol like we discussed in your last visit?”
