Page 51 of Exile
"I'll drag it out of you later," he threatens quietly, an almost edge of danger to his promise.
Grey laughs beside us, reaching over to grab my arm and pulls me against his chest. "I think you've finally met your match, Deadman," he murmurs in amusement before brushing his mouth against mine. "But you're certainly rubbing off on our pretty girl."
Chapter 19
Avery
Is it wrong that I'm having murderous thoughts about permanently deleting Dr. Christopher Smith? And no, I'm not reflecting back on the time he accidentally framed me for murder… or the fact he secretly and illegally married me to his cousin.
I'm referring to the fact that he'sapparentlyoff sick today.
He better hope to God he's shitting out a storm or vomiting like the girl fromThe Exorcistbecause I may set Grey or Theo loose on him when he returns.
"Ms. White. Are you planning on wasting my time?"
I scowl at Elsher from across the room, my arms tightly crossed against my chest. "You do that well enough on your own."
That's right. Thanks to Dr. Smith's explosive diarrhea I've been forced to attend a session with Elsher. Okay, I don't know if it's diarrhea, but I'm telling myself that it is. Painful, gut breaking, Hell on Earth norovirus because even then, being in this room with this man is more agonizing.
If I had some prior warning, I would have feigned illness myself and spent some quality time with Dr. Markel.Unfortunately, I only found out five minutes ago when I was shoved into his room by the guard.
Elsher sighs heavily, tossing my file onto the desk. He leans back in his chair with a bored expression and starts…ignoring me?
The clock on the wall ticks obnoxiously loud and I swear I can feel my eye start twitching.
It's only an hour, Avery. You can do this.
My leg bounces as the minutes pass in complete silence. It feels like some kind of test, the two of us seeing who will crack first.
Sadly, I have too many thoughts. In the time that we play this game of chicken, I have a full internal conversation with myself, swearing and cursing this pathetic excuse of a psychiatrist. Eventually, the verbal vomit starts to filter out.
"So, kidnapped anyone else lately? Are the missing patients being cooperative downstairs? Or have you just killed them already?"
A little extreme, I'll admit. But it gets the desired reaction.
Elsher snaps his angry gaze to me, knuckles white as his fists ball up. "You're out of line, Ms. White."
"Ooh… tragedy," I say sarcastically. "At least you'll have some gossip to report back to Whittingham later when you braid each other's pubes."
He straightens his chair, leaning forward as his calculated gaze lingers on my face. "It's a shame that you're beyondhelp. You could benefit from some of their treatment methods."
"Oh, you mean like being forced into ice cold water. Or, being electrocuted? I have to admit that one was rough. But the icing on the cake for me was nearly overdosing on drugs and being forced to watch pornography. I bet you sick fucks had a good laugh at that one. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you all sit around Whittingham's office and jerk off to videos of patients fucking. Have I provided enough content?"
My words are sharp and laced with venom, but there's still a sickening squeeze in my stomach at the thought. I know there's cameras everywhere and no doubt they have captured their fair share of sexual encounters. I mean, the library sees more action than a hotel and that's where they originally got their footage of Grey and Leah.
Elsher laughs dryly. "Your words mean nothing, Ms. White. There isn't anything you can say that can hurt me. My training—"
"You mean that bullshit excuse of a degree?" I cut in. "I assume you have no morals or ethical dignity left since you choose to use your training to be the most deplorable, vile human known to man."
"Interesting sentiment coming from someone who murdered someone."
I shrug. He's used this same tactic multiple times now that it's useless. Besides, I already mentally beat myself up enough about my father's death that people can't hurt me asmuch as I can hurt myself. But those days are slowly moving behind me. I refuse to let this man—no—this monster, make me feel any less of a person because he favors victim blaming and manipulation.
"Karma."
He cocks an eyebrow at the singular word, surprised. "You honestly believe that you can justify your actions by calling itkarma."
"Sure," I agree light-heartedly. "Same way as you justify your torture as so-calledtreatments."
