Page 46 of Deadly Ruck
"Are you my therapist now?" I teased half-heartedly.
He lowered his hands, placing his arms on his thighs and leaning towards me. "If you need one. I know you, you'll be dwelling on what happened. Beating yourself up about it, although none of it was your fault. So, talk to me."
I pressed my lips together for a moment. "I killed three men yesterday. Three more than I've ever killed before."
"And you feel… How?" He raised his eyebrows at me in question.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I'm not sure if I feel anything yet. Is that normal?"
He smiled. "You're asking me about normal? I should refer you to Ares, he'll tell you. For the record, I think it's perfectly normal. But something else is bothering you. Out with it."
"I never could get anything past you, could I?" I asked.
"Never," he agreed. "That's what big brothers are for. Go on, you can talk to me. What's going through your mind?"
"I'm worried about what happens after," I said slowly. "What happens when I'm not numb anymore?"
"Do you have the overwhelming urge to chain someone to the ceiling and peel off layers of skin with a vegetable peeler?" he asked.
I grimaced. "No."
"Do you want to pull off fingernails with a set of pliers?" he asked.
"Also no," I said.
"Okay, what about walking up to some stranger and slicing open their throat, feeling their warm, sticky blood coating yourhand?" He opened and closed his fingers as though imagining just that.
"I don't want to do any of those things," I said.
"Then you're probably normal," he concluded. "Killing people hasn't turned you into an unhinged psychopath. Or even a hinged one."
"Is that what you are?" I teased.
He smiled. "Something like that. Except that I have empathy, which the average psychopath doesn't."
"Yes, you do," I said. He wouldn't be capable of caring about me, or his partners if he didn't. But he cared about me and them, deeply.
"Is that what's had you worried all these years?" he asked. "You thought you might end up like me?"
"I guess so," I said. "I mean, yes. No offence."
"First of all, I'd never take offence at anything you say." He counted the points off on his fingers. "Second of all, there's only room for one of me in our immediate family. Any of your boyfriends is welcome to take part, but not another Miller. Third of all, that was never going to be you. I could have told you that wasn't in your blood. Your compassion wouldn't let you do the things I do. Don't tell anyone, but you're a much nicer person than I am."
"I don't know about that," I said, "but you're right. I never wanted to do the things you do. I was just scared to be myself in case I was wrong. Terrified, if I'm honest."
"And now?" he asked.
"Now I want to be the me I was always supposed to be," I said. "I can't fight it anymore. I don't want to."
"Is this because the Smashers fired you?" he asked gently. "Are you feeling lost?"
I considered his question carefully. "I suppose I'm feeling a little bit lost, but at the same time I'm feeling… I don't know,found? I don't know if what I thought I wanted my whole life is what I really want after all. I thought medicine was everything, but now… it might have been a side quest on the way to whatever's next."
"What is that?" he asked. "I don't think you're going to come and work with me."
"Not directly," I agreed. "I'm not sure the Brantley family is going to give me much choice in what I do. I suppose I'll have to wait and see what they want from me."
"I have a feeling that will be a lot," he said. "Starting with something in particular.
