Page 8 of Say You're Mine

No. I won't let it end like this. I won't let Elaine Deveaux and her poisonous words win.

"I'm okay, or at least I will be." My hands move to my stomach as a smile pulls at my lips. "Don't worry little one, I may have lost this battle, but the war has just begun. P.S. Your grandmother, well one of them anyway…she may look pretty on the outside, but she's a real ugly bitch."

But I can't give up. I won't. Not when everything I hold dear hangs in the balance.

I take a deep breath, letting the cool air fill my lungs, steady my racing heart. Then I step forward, melting into the crowd, just another lost soul in a sea of millions.

But I'm not lost. Not anymore. I have a purpose, a mission. A love worth fighting for, worth laying down my very life.

Juniper Deveaux, wherever you are...I'm coming for you. And Heaven help anyone who stands in my way.

Chapter three

June

The days bleed together, an endless monotony of sterile white walls and the cloying stench of antiseptic. I feel like I'm losing my mind in here, the walls of this glorified cage closing in until I can barely breathe.

But I can't let it show. Can't let the cracks in my façade widen, lest they see the twisted, writhing thing lurking beneath. So I play the part they've assigned me, the dutiful patient, contrite and cooperative.

It's easy enough, in the beginning. I've always been good at wearing masks, at slipping into whatever role is required of me. The charismatic charmer, the ruthless businessman, the devoted son...

And now, the reformed sinner, desperate to atone for his wicked ways.

I smile at the nurses, all boyish contrition and wounded vulnerability. I spill my guts in therapy, weaving a tapestry of half-truths and outright lies, painting myself as the victim of my own toxic impulses.

"I just want to be better," I tell them, my eyes wide and earnest. "I want to be the man she deserves. The man I know I can be."

But even as the words leave my lips, a flicker of doubt sparks to life in my chest. Am I really capable of change? Can I truly shed the darkness that clings to my soul like a second skin?

For a moment, the mask slips, and I feel a yawning chasm of fear and loneliness open up within me. The scared, broken boy I've tried so hard to bury rears his head, whimpering in the shadows.

But I quickly shove him back down, locking him away in the deepest recesses of my mind. I can't afford weakness. Not now. Not when my very sanity hangs in the balance.

And so I press on, playing the game, telling them what they want to hear. But all the while, my mind is consumed with thoughts of her.

Cara.

The name is a prayer, a curse, an incantation seared into my very bones. She is the light to my darkness, the salvation to my damnation. And I will move heaven and hell to get back to her.

I start small, gathering information, hoarding secrets like a dragon guarding its treasure. I charm the nurses, trading flirtatious smiles and whispered confidences. I study the orderlies, learning their routines, their weaknesses.

And piece by piece, the puzzle begins to take shape.

I learn the blind spots in the security cameras, the gaps in the guard rotations. I memorize the layout of the facility, every exit and emergency route.

But it's not enough. I need more. More access, more freedom to move.

And then, like a gift from the gods, Dr. Brenneman enters the picture.

He's a pompous ass, all puffed up self-importance and barely concealed contempt. But he's also my ticket out of here. My key to the kingdom.

I start slowly, letting him think he's the one in control. I hang on his every word in therapy, nodding along with wide-eyed sincerity as he spouts his pseudo-intellectual bullshit.

"You're so insightful, Doctor," I gush, laying it on thick. "I feel like you really understand me. Like you're the only one who can help me get better."

His chest puffs up with pride, his ego stroked like a purring cat. He laps up the praise, growing bolder, more careless with each session.

And then, the breaking point. A confrontation in the hallway, Nurse Ratched's sneering face inches from my own.

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