Page 72 of My Infatuation with Isabella

12. Dylan

February 17, 2027

Anger management therapy: Session #11

“The cops arrived on the scene a few minutes later,” I explain. “They took us down to the station and asked me what happened. I told them the story, but I didn’t know that they justassumedI wanted to lay a vandalism charge against her, and they were using that story as my version of events. She found out I was laying a charge, so she told them to charge me withassaultbecause I grabbed her arm, which I only did to stop her from leaving.” I sigh, shaking my head. “It was just a mess. When we got to court, I explained everything to the judge and asked him if I could drop the charges. Bella did the same because...she’s sort of a celebrity now, and Damon told her to keep everything under wraps to avoid bad publicity. The judge agreed because it was a domestic dispute, but said we needed anger management therapy...and that’s how we ended up here.”

“What a fascinating story,” Dr. Burkman says. “It’s like a Hallmark movie...if Hallmark movies had sex and violence...and bad language.”

I laugh. This woman’s weirdness is starting to grow on me. “Thanks, Doc.”

Isabella casts a wary look in my direction. “Why did you have to get stitches?”

I don’t want to use a meeting with Dana as a bargaining chip for information. I also don’t want to tell Bella about the deal I made with my sister. Dana may decide that she doesn’t want to share her story after they meet, so I don’t mention the deal at all. Instead, I abide by my sister’s request and tell Bella what happened without all the details. “I went down to see my parents, and...I got hurt. If I didn’t have to go to the ER, I would’ve been there when you woke up.”

“You’re being cryptic again.” She sighs and shakes her head with a mixture of aggravation and disappointment. “And I don’t know why I expect you to be honest. You know, honesty is not some unattainable goal, De Lorenzo.”

I groan inwardly and throw my head back. “Oh, God. Here we go.”

“It’s not impossible to just tell the truth. So, you snuck out of my room and then conveniently ‘got hurt’...” She air quotes the words to show me how ridiculous she finds my excuse. “...because five-star hotels aresodangerous. Knives are just lying around. Nails are randomly jutting out of doorways. Dr. Burkman, I’m sure you agree. Just walking through the corridors can be very hazardous.”

“Your sarcasm is unnecessary.”

“No, your lies are unnecessary.”

“I’m not lying!”

“And just so we’re clear, half-truths are not truths either.”

I glare at her. Is she serious right now? “Please tell me you see the hypocrisy in that statement.Youwant to preach tomeabout telling the truth, Queen? You? The treacherous snake. The matriarch of deception. You wanna give me a lesson on truth-telling?”

She doesn’t even respond to my question and continues with her attack still lathering on the sarcasm. “I mean, would it kill you to be direct?”

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