Or maybe, some part of me realizes this is the last house on the block. This is either where I end, or where I begin.
“No.”
“Why not?” he asks, more curious than I’ve ever heard him.
I look out a window and try to appreciate the sunset’s daily artwork. “Because I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Lie,” he says, so calmly that I bristle. “Do you think telling me would give me power over you? That I would then abuse that power?”
I blink, stunned at his admission—his mistaken impression that he has any power over me at all. My heels drop to the floor and laughter bubbles in my throat.
“Are you serious right now? You think that because you have a bunch of facts about my life you have power over me? That you can jerk me around like a puppet? I don’t dance for anyone, Doc!”
One dark eyebrow cocks upward. “I was speaking in terms of doctor/patient confidentiality, Amelia. What kind of power were you referring to?”
Dear God, get me out of this nightmare.
I rub my face roughly with my hands, then drag my fingers through my hair to the crown of my head. Whatever expression I’m wearing must be alarming because for the first time in our more than six hours of conversation, Chastain reacts.
With swift grace, he kneels on the floor before my chair. The heat of his chest radiates onto my legs. For a pregnant moment, his hands hover over my knees, then fall to his sides.
“Are you all right?” he asks, eyes scanning my features.
Unnerved by his proximity, I sneer. “If I were all right, do you think I’d be in a treatment facility for fucked-up adult children?”
He lowers back onto his heels, the fabric of his slacks pulling tight against the muscles of his thighs. “What I think is you’re an intelligent, capable woman, and I have faith that our work will be… what did you call it earlier? Ah, yes. Transformational.”
It’s the gleam of humor in his eyes that undoes me. I laugh. The itch in my bones subsides.
Blue eyes still dancing, he rises smoothly to his feet. “That’s all for this evening, Amelia. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He turns away, and I’m dismissed.
5
nuts for the farm
day 8
The facility doesn’t have a name. No website or media presence. No official purpose statement.
Callum first found out about it when another male model, a close friend, disappeared for six months before reappearing a changed man. Prior to his vanishing act, he suffered from debilitating panic attacks and agoraphobia, both of which had brought his career to a standstill. The astounding success of his treatment stayed in the back of Callum’s mind for a year, until the day he hit his personal rock bottom and asked his friend for details.
“He called it Oasis.” Callum’s words are punctuated by puffs as we jog side by side. The circular trail around the facility is two miles. We’re on our second go-around.
I wipe sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “And gave you a phone number or something?” I pant.
He nods. “Yeah. I felt like I was in a spy movie. It was a voicemail service with no message. Just a beep. I must have dialed a hundred times before I finally left a message.”
“Huh.”
He glances at me. “Can I ask a question? A kind of personal one?”
We’re approaching the doors of the Fish Tank. I slow to a walk and Callum matches my pace, swigging water before handing me the bottle. I take several swallows, then wipe my mouth.
“Yeah, sure. But I might not answer.”
He grins, gorgeous in the bright morning light, his skin glistening with sweat. “Fair enough.” His gaze drops to the dusty trail beneath us. “Why did you say what you did in group yesterday?”
I stare at his bowed head. “I already apologized. Do you want me to do it again?”
Callum looks up, his eyes searching mine. “You know what I mean.”
Eye contact is suddenly too much, so I drop my head back to gaze at the endless, empty sky. “What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
“Truth, truth, truth,” I whisper, then find my backbone and meet his earnest eyes. “When I was seven years old, I took my mother’s lipsticks and smeared them all over the walls in my parents’ bedroom. I was angry because she wouldn’t let me come to my little brother’s swim lesson. She told me how disappointed she was. Then she left with my brother Phillip. I never saw her again.”
Callum goes still. “She died?”
I nod. “Both of them. Car accident on the way home. Even when I heard my father screaming downstairs and Jameson crying, I kept scrubbing the walls. When I was finished, I climbed out the attic window and jumped off the roof.”
As expected, Callum is speechless.
I drain the water bottle and hand it back to him. “I didn’t want to die. Still don’t. I just wanted to be free.” I meet his searching gaze. “There’s something wrong with me. A flaw in my makeup. I might be a sociopath. I’m also a compulsive liar.”
He shakes his head slowly. “You shouldn’t be telling me this.”
I shrug. “Manmade rules are just words. False boundaries put into place by people trying to make sense of things. To establish order where there isn’t any.” I gauge his expression but can’t tell if it’s one of intrigue or revulsion. “Told you I’m fucked up.”
“Was that story true? About your mom?” he asks softly.
It’s partly true. There hadn’t been a lipstick incident. But I had jumped off the roof that night.
“Maybe,” I tell him.
After a moment of stunned silence, Callum laughs. “You’re the most intense person I’ve ever met.”
I wink. “Thanks, sweetcheeks.”
Shaking his head, he asks, “Breakfast?”
I glance at my watch. “Nah. I need to shower before my session with Doc.”
“Want company?”
I know what he means, but ask mildly, “Couples therapy already?”
He smirks. “The offer’s open. I think we’d have a good time.”
“No doubt, but you’re not my type.”
His jaw drops. “Why the hell not?” he asks, stupefied.
I shove his chest lightly and tell him the truth. “Because I like you.”
If the main facility is the bottom half of an oval, the resident cabins comprise the top curve. There are ten in total—spacious studios with a queen bed, bathroom including full-sized tub, quaint sitting area, and a small kitchen. The furnishings are plain, the cream walls bare, but the bed is comfortable and water pressure decent.
I walk past the pool, turquoise and glistening in the sunlight, and follow a gravel path that winds through a succulent garden, rock garden, and a huge labyrinth for meditation I have yet to see used. When the path widens, branching into separate trails for each of the cabins, I take the rightmost one.
I’d left the door unlocked, figuring the only person who might snoop is Tiffany. She has that shifty, kleptomaniac vibe to her. There isn’t anything of personal or monetary value inside, anyway, so I don’t care if she pokes around.
Kicking off my sneakers, I leave them on the doormat and step inside. The cabin is stuffy, but at least ten degrees cooler than outside thanks to the pulled curtains. I shut the door with my hip and yank off my sports bra, then flip on the recessed lights.
“Nice rack.”
My arms fly to my naked chest as I spin toward the bed, where Nix is sprawled in all his pasty, heroin-chicness.
“Get the hell out, Nix.”
His thin eyebrows rise. “I want to talk to you.”
I cross the room to my dresser and open a drawer. Pulling out a tank top, I tug it on, then face the bed with a scowl.
“Serious invasion of privacy, asshole.”
Nix sits up and swings his legs to the floor. “We don’t have privacy and you know it.” His brown eyes roll toward the ceiling. “The cabins are probably wired for sound, if not
video. High-tech nano shit. In the lights or something.”
The thought brings equal parts disgust and curiosity. If he’s right, does it mean Dr. Chastain watches the feeds? I sleep naked and rarely with a sheet.
Nix laughs, an oddly lighthearted sound. I’ve never heard him laugh before.
“What?” I frown.
He points at me. “You like the thought of being under surveillance.”
I force my shoulders to relax as I walk into the tiny kitchen for a glass of water. “I don’t really care. We’re already lab rats. What’s another breach of our so-called rights?” Turning with my water in hand, I snap, “What do you want?”
His laughter fades into a sigh. “I want you to do me a favor.”
I’m instantly intrigued. “Do tell, both the favor and what’s in it for me.”
Nix drags a hand through his floppy brown hair, expression worried. “I want you to keep an eye on Kinsey when I’m gone. In return, I’ll give you a part in a movie when you get out.”
I hide my surprise by taking a sip of water, then take another one while I collect my thoughts. “First of all, I don’t want to be in one of your crap movies. Second, does this mean you’re leaving? Never mind, obviously you are. And third, Kinsey hates me and I’m not her biggest fan, either, so what makes you think I’d have anything to do with her?”
“Because even though you’re a crazy bitch, I think you’re an honest one.”
If only he knew.
“You had a different opinion in group yesterday.”
“Yeah, but that was before.”
My eyes narrow. “I’m five seconds past being over this conversation.”
For the first time, Nix looks straight at me, like I’m an actual person instead of an extra in his life. “You really don’t give a shit about anything, do you?”
“Nope, I don’t.”
Instead of giving up, he pulls out the big guns. And big guns they are. “Then you probably won’t care that Dr. Chastain pays nightly visits to Kinsey’s cabin.”
Something akin to dread washes over me, followed by a dollop of disbelief, and finally the acidic burn of jealousy.
Unbelievable.
I make a show of unplugging my ears. “I must have heatstroke, because I think you just told me Doc and Kinsey are getting it on.”
Nix’s nostrils flare. “I did.”
It’s not true.
Definitely not true.
Is it true?
I clear my throat. “I thought you and Kinsey were banging.”
“We aren’t—haven’t.”
He looks away, but not fast enough to hide the emotion in his eyes. I feel a familiar swell of pleasure, like a child unwrapping their favorite lollypop. Only my candy is secrets. The special triggers everyone carries that when pressed, explode lives.
Nix is in love with Kinsey Kemper. Puppies, hearts, and chocolate love. Have my babies and grow old with me love.
Gross. And oddly sweet.
While I’m considering what to do with my new candy, he says, “I’m leaving tomorrow. Kinsey has another couple of weeks.” He looks at me imploringly. “She has issues, I know, but she’s not a bad person once you get to know her. I’m worried she’s being taken advantage of.”
“Have you considered asking her what’s going on?”
He nods curtly. “She denied it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not happening. She’s covering for him.”
Do you think I would abuse my power?
As I remember Chastain’s words, Nix continues morosely, “This is difficult for me to say, because I really believe Dr. Chastain saved my life. I feel better than I have in twenty years. I just… don’t know what to think.”
Neither do I, but I’m not about to admit that. “You’re forgetting that I don’t care. Christ, if you’re that worried, grow some balls and hire a lawyer. Pretty sure doctors shouldn’t be screwing their patients.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Not my problem.”
His shoulders slump in defeat; a moment later, anger brings him to his feet. He storms past me, throwing over his shoulder, “Have a shitty life, Mia.”
The front door slams behind him. My lips curl in distaste as an unfamiliar feeling washes through me. Shame? No…
Guilt.
“Goddammit.” I storm outside after him. He’s already halfway to his cabin, three down from mine.
“Fine!” I yell.
Nix stops and spins around. He stares at me for several weighted moments, then nods before resuming his walk.
The door of the cabin beside mine opens and a shirtless Callum walks outside, head swiveling between Nix’s back and me.
“What was that about?”
I pout. “Bastard wouldn’t airdrop booze for me when he gets out.”
His brows rise. “Oh, that’s right. He’s out tomorrow. Keep forgetting.” He chuckles. “Did you really ask him to airdrop alcohol?”
“Hell yes, I did. If I’d known this was a dry town, I would’ve never gotten in that car.”
Grinning, Callum glances at his watch. “You’re late.”
“Shit!”
I’m ten fast steps toward the facility when Callum calls out behind me. “Ohhh, Miiiaaaa? Aren’t you forgetting something?”
I shove my middle finger in the air and keep walking, ignoring the laughter that rings out.
At the back door of the Fish Tank, I pull off my gravel-ridden running socks and drop them on the cement, then step inside and stride down the left hallway.
The office door is open, Dr. Chastain already seated in his customary chair.
“Amelia,” he says, looking up with a frown. “You’re late.”
I sink into the opposite chair and blink innocently. “I got my period and had to drop into medical for some tampons.”
“You’re a good liar,” he says after a moment, “but you’d do well to remember I’m a better one.”
I laugh to cover a twinge of unease. “Can’t hustle a hustler?”
Those icy eyes don’t blink. “Exactly.”
I vow to think of a fate worse than castration. Jameson is in for a world of pain for putting me in this nut farm.
6
rabbit hole
day 8
Dr. Chastain consults the notepad resting on his lap. Not for the first time, I wonder what’s written there. Has he reached a diagnosis? Does he have a plan?
I think about the end goal—my mental health—and what that looks like to Chastain. Amelia Sloan, Bleeding Heart Philanthropist? Or is his endgame to have me walk out of here an emotional mess?
This isn’t my first trip down Psychiatry Lane, obviously. And really, all therapists want the same thing: to rip open my scars and make me confront my deepest fears. What none of them have understood is I don’t have any fears.
“I’d like to talk about Donovan Vicks, your first love.”
Memory provides me with the physique of a young man, tan and muscled from his chosen sport of water polo. Chlorine-faded blond hair, almost white, that shines like a halo in the sun. Dimples to either side of his smile. Blue eyes, dark like the ocean he loved.
“He kissed like a Mack truck,” I say, watching dust motes dance near the window. “Put flowers in my locker almost every day.”
“Did you lose your virginity to him?”
My mind races, still thinking about endgames. Can I fake a transformation to Amelia the Tenderhearted? Or will Dr. Chastain keep me here until I finally go insane?
Closing my eyes, I replace the picture of Donovan with the face of my brother. Worried and hopeful. I wonder if he’s sleeping any easier, knowing I’m safe.
Am I safe?
I face Dr. Chastain. “Let’s make a deal.”
Dark brows twitch over calculating, focused eyes. “What kind of deal?”
“You answer my questions honestly, and I’ll do the same.”
He regards me silently for several moments. “Fine, but I can’t promise I’l
l answer all your questions. If I deem them inappropriate, I’ll pass.”
“Duly noted.”
Clouds pass outside, blotting the sunlight. A chill rises over my bare arms and circles down my chest, tightening my nipples beneath my blue tank top. I don’t bother crossing my arms, as it will only draw attention to my chest. And right now, that’s the last thing I want.
“My first question is how long am I in for?”
“Thirty days.”
Relief melts through my tense shoulders, dropping them. “That’s it?”
He frowns. “They didn’t tell you during intake?”
“They did, but I didn’t believe them.”
He pauses, the tiniest of smiles on his face. “But you believe me?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t let it swell your head, Doc.”
Chuckling, he adjusts his glasses. “Okay, it’s my turn. What did you love about Donovan?”
“His smile,” I answer honestly. “At least in the beginning. After a while, I started resenting it.”
“Why?”
“Because he smiled at everyone. My turn. Where did you go to school?”
“Yale for undergrad, then UCLA.” He glances over my shoulder. “My qualifications are on the wall, Amelia.”
I’ve seen the plaques, of course. “They could be fake.”
“Are they?”
I study him for tells, but he’s either a better liar than I am or he’s being honest. The first option is as interesting as it is disturbing.
“They’re probably real,” I finally answer.
He glances down. “How did your relationship with Donovan end?”
“I paid a girl to get him drunk at a party and seduce him. He took the bait and cheated on me.”
Chastain doesn’t look surprised by this information, even though there’s no way Jameson told him. I’ve never told anyone.
“How did that feel?”
I shrug. “It sucked. How old are you?”
The Fall Before Flight Page 3