Page 9 of Say You're Mine

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" she hisses, her eyes glinting with malice. "Batting your eyelashes, playing the poor, misunderstood boy. But I see through you, Juniper Deveaux. I know what you are."

I feel a flash of fear, my carefully constructed mask slipping for just a moment. But I quickly recover, schooling my features into a look of wounded confusion.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Nurse Ratched," I say, my voice trembling with just the right amount of vulnerable sincerity. "I'm just trying to get better. To be a good patient."

Her lip curls in a sneer, her fingers tightening around my arm in a bruising grip. "You're a liar and a manipulator. And I won't let you corrupt Dr. Brenneman with your twisted little games."

It's like a switch flips in my brain, a red haze descending over my vision. I feel the darkness rising up within me, the monster clawing at its chains.

But I shove it back down, forcing a look of terrified anguish onto my face. "Please, Nurse Ratched. You're hurting me. I...I don't understand. What have I done wrong?"

And then, like a fucking white knight, Dr. Brenneman appears. He takes one look at the scene, at Nurse Ratched's grip on my arm and my tear-filled eyes, and his face hardens with righteous indignation.

"What's going on here?" he demands, his voice booming with authority.

Nurse Ratched releases me like I'm a live wire, taking a step back. "Doctor, I was just--"

"You were just assaulting a patient, is what you were doing," he cuts her off, his eyes flashing with anger. "This is unacceptable behavior, Nurse Ratched. I won't stand for it."

He turns to me, his expression softening with concern. "Juniper, are you alright? Did she hurt you?"

I let my lower lip tremble, a single tear tracking down my cheek. "I...I don't know what I did wrong, Doctor. I was just trying to be good."

He nods, patting my shoulder in a fatherly gesture. "You didn't do anything wrong, my boy. Nurse Ratched's behavior was completely out of line. I'll deal with her, don't you worry."

And just like that, he leads me away, his arm around my shoulders like a protective shield.

It's almost too easy, the way he falls for it.

As time passes he laps up my gratitude, my adoration. He grants me small privileges, extra time in the gardens, a taste of freedom I've been craving. I walk a dangerous tightrope, plotting my escape while maintaining the illusion of compliance.

But even as I scheme, a voice whispers doubt. What if I fail? What if I'm condemned to waste away in this sterile hell, with only the memory of Cara to sustain me?

The thought is devastating. Cara is my lifeline, my reason for fighting. And it's during one of these precious garden walks that I seize my chance.

"You know, Doc," I say, keeping my voice low and conspiratorial, "I've been thinking a lot about what you said in our last session. About facing my demons, owning my mistakes."

Dr. Brenneman nods, his expression a mix of smugness and condescension. "I'm glad to hear it, Juniper. Acknowledging our faults is the first step towards true healing."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, to let the mask slip for even a moment. Instead, I paste on a look of earnest contrition, ducking my head as if in shame.

"I want to make amends," I continue, injecting a quaver of emotion into my voice. "To the people I've hurt. Especially Cara."

At the mention of her name, Dr. Brenneman's brow furrows, his gaze sharpening with disapproval. "Juniper, we've talked about this. Your relationship with Ms. Briers is unhealthy, toxic. It's best for both of you to maintain distance."

I shake my head, letting a hint of desperation bleed into my expression. "But that's just it, Doc. I need closure. I need to apologize, to let her know how sorry I am for everything I've put her through."

I step closer, lowering my voice to a fevered whisper. "Please, Doctor. I'm begging you. Just one phone call. One chance to make things right. It's the only way I'll ever be able to move on, to truly heal."

Dr. Brenneman hesitates, conflict warring across his features. I can see the gears turning in his mind, the calculations of risk and reward.

And then, just as I knew he would, he crumbles.

"Very well," he says, his tone clipped and reluctant. "One call, supervised. And if I feel the conversation is becoming detrimental, I reserve the right to terminate it immediately."

I nod frantically, a grateful smile splitting my face. "Of course, Doctor. Thank you. Thank you so much."

He leads me back inside, to his office. The phone sits on his desk like a coiled serpent, a temptation and a promise all in one.

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