I continue, “Her cries from the pain of his fist became moans and screams of pleasure. She was a whore and he repulsed me for being so driven by lustful need. He was pathetic, his thin hips bashed at her as he screamed explicit words that got her more turned on. He should have hit her again and again until she became silent.”
“Did you want him to kill her?”
“I wanted them to kill each other while I watched.” I raise a brow, challenging her to question my sanity.
“I read in your file that your father isn’t Blake’s biological father, and that there are other siblings on both sides. Who lived in your household?”
“Blake has siblings on his father’s side but we didn’t know of them when we were young. It was just Blake and I, plus our parents, if you can call them that.”
“There were no other children that you know of on your father’s side?” she asks with a cocked brow.
“No,” I grind out. The stupid bitch
“What about pets? Did you have any pets?”
“We had a puppy, sort of. It was Blake’s. He found it while walking me home from school one day. He was twelve and I was six, and this car hit the dog right in front of us and then drove off. Blake was crazy angry and chased the car for a good stretch of road before realizing it was pointless. I didn’t understand his rage. It was just a useless animal, but he picked that thing up. Its leg looked all wrong; broken and twisted. When we got it home he asked my Dad to take him to a vet. Dad laughed and told him they would just kill it because it’s a stray. Blake kept it in our room but it cried all night in pain. I was sick of the noise so I snuck it outside and used Dad’s axe to chop its leg off, thinking that was the source of its pain so if I took it, it would stop whining. The blood was everywhere and the stupid thing was howling real loud.” The noise plays in my head as I re-tell the memory. “I swung again and chopped his head off, dumping the body in a stream that ran along the woods at the back of our house. When Blake woke up the next day, Mom told him the dog must have run away. She cried when she found my blood-soaked clothes but never spoke about it. I didn’t feel anything but pity for such pathetic animals. They can’t even care for themselves. They’re incompetent.”
“Why did your mother cry? Did she know what you did?” Dr. Jenna asks, confused.
I shift in my seat and tap my fingers on the armrest of the chair. I bask in the delight of her eyes snapping to the movement and then she jots down something on her pad.
All these psychiatrists love Mommy issues and want to blame our behavior on the abuse of a parent.
“She sensed darkness inside me; mother’s instincts.” I laugh but it’s without humor. “It was the only one she ever had. She used to ask me if I loved her. It became like an obsession for her to hear it. She would hold my face, look in my eyes and practically beg me to tell her I loved her. I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was empty.”
I gaze directly at Dr. Jenna while I talk and she stares back, fixated.
“Sometimes I wished I knew what it was I was supposed to feel because it was almost lonely inside my head knowing everyone around me felt things I didn’t. I was disjointed from the world. It appeared such a burden to everyone. It ruled their lives and I was given a gift to never have to be constrained by this love they spoke of feeling. It was their weakness, a flaw I didn’t possess.”
“It’s not a weakness to feel love or heartbreak. The strongest thing we can do is accept love, return it, learn and understand it, and most importantly feel it,” Dr. Jenna interrupts with pure conviction.
“That’s your opinion. You’re telling me I’m not strong because I can’t feel love?”
“So you do believe you can’t love?”
I look up at the clock and rise to my feet, inhaling sharply when my less than stellar stitches pull. “Times up, Doc. We can save that question for next time.”
She follows suit and gets to her feet. “I have a package for you from Dr. Leighton’s files. It’s your personal effects and documentation. Let me tell Josie, my receptionist, to get it prepared for you.” She drops her eyes to my shirt then looks back up at me warily. “You’re bleeding.”
Great. I need to improve my medical skills.
“Shaving accident.”
“On your stomach?” she asks, unconvinced.
“Vanity needs to be approached with caution. I’m told hairless is how the ladies like it these days.”
“Without blood is how most women like it,” she replies.
I want to scream, ‘It’s so much better with blood!’ But I hold my tongue.
“If you’d like to wait outside for five minutes, Josie will be with you. Oh, and Ryan, there was a listing for an apartment that Dr. Leighton must have found for you. Looks like a nice place.” She hands me a print out of the advertisement then walks over to the door and holds it open for me. She follows me out and goes to a room with Kitchen labeled above it.
Five minutes turned into thirty, and if there’s one thing I lack today, it’s patience for stupid fucking bitches taking their damn time because they’re useless at their job. The only good thing about the dumb receptionist is she takes long rest room breaks, which gives me a chance to snoop through her desk, finding a file with Dr. Jenna’s address on. Good to know. I look down at the huge envelope Josie the senseless receptionist gave me, and an involuntary sigh leaves me. I’m going to contact the number on the advertisement for a new place to live first thing tomorrow. I decide to make an appointment for next week with Dr. Jenna, she amuses me. She thinks she’s clever and our first meeting was a battle of wits, but it can never be a battle of wits between us, she’s too unarmed.
My phone chirps, alerting me to a call. Isabella’s name flashes on the screen with a naked picture of her. She must have added herself. I slip my thumb over the answer icon and greet her with a growl.
“What the fuck do you want and how do you have this number?”
“I need you to come pick me up,” she croaks down the receiver.
“I don’t have a car, moron. Walk.”
“I don’t want to walk alone. This guy got really pissed when I couldn’t perform like he wanted because of the stab wound you inflicted!”
Perform? What the fuck is she talking about?
“Ryan,” she whines, and I wonder why I even took her call.
“Isabella, this guy could slice you up and eat you for all I care. Why ring me?”
I hear rustling down the line and heavy breathing before she answers. “You’re such an asshole, do you know that?”
“Yes, and I’m still not coming to get you from wherever the fuck you are.”
“I’m at Club Nine, douchebag! I was supposed to start tonight and I’ve already been fired!”
Club Nine? How did a little bitch like her get a job working there? They were very selective with their whores back when I used to go there. Then again, I did slice a few up. Maybe they struggled to get workers to replace them. I smirk and end the call.
My feet take me there, despite knowing I shouldn’t go. It’s not to collect Isabella; I couldn’t give a fuck about her. Maybe some rich prick that has a membership there is pissed at her, but he won’t follow her, he’ll just get compensated by one of the other girls.
I feel a little nostalgic standing across from the club I used to visit frequently. I wonder if Mistress Dawn still handles a whip these days? I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here but day has faded into night.