Page 3 of Unethical

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t even remember him.”

This is a lie. I remember him. I remember the way he looked when he was up to something, the little quirk of his brow. I remember his laugh. Most of all, I remember the sound of his body colliding with rocks at the bottom of the fucking well.

“What happened to him?”

“He fell down a well on the property.”

“How did your parents cope with that loss?”

I sit up. “I don’t fucking know. And then they died too, so it doesn’t matter.”

The air shifts. She no longer looks so sure of herself. Her confidence has drained from her eyes, replaced by a glint of fear.

“Will you tell me more about that?” Her voice quivers a bit, so she clears her throat and sips from a water bottle on her desk.

“Absolutely not,” I snap.

She should count herself blessed to have received this much information from me already. I don’t need to talk about my brother or my parents. I don’t want to. The only other person who knows what happened that day is dead, and I’m done discussing it. She can go look up the article from the fucking paper if she’s hungry for more dirty details.

It was all over the news. I was labeled a psychopathic child because I didn’t act the way I “should have” after the incident. I saw no point in crying and being miserable. He was already dead. Tormenting myself about it wouldn’t bring him back.

“What about your parents?”

“I’m not talking about them.” I’ve had enough. I stand to leave.

“If you exit this room, I’ll have to report that you’re being non-compliant,” she says. She raises her chest, her confidence returning with full force.

I sit down again, look at the clock, and shrug. “Fine. I guess we’ll be silent for the next half hour. Is that compliant enough?”

And that’s exactly what we do. We sit in silence as the clock counts the seconds with a monotonous tick that scrapes against the backs of my eyeballs.

I stare at her until her cheeks flush red and she crosses her legs. She grabs her laptop and places it on her lap, then starts typing away. Each clack of the keys unhinges me a little more.

I assume they normally do this shit after the session, but what else can she do during this painful silence between us?

I’m tempted to lean forward and rip the hunk of metal from her hands to read what she’s saying about me. I want to see how she’s framed what little bit of information I’ve shared with her when she doesn’t even have the full picture.

Go ahead. Micro-analyze and judge me for a few sentences.

I’m used to it. People in my life have thought they understood me, but their misunderstandings are why I’m the way I am today. Why I’ve done the things I’ve done.

The clock strikes the hour, and I stand up. I don’t look back at her as I whip open the door. “See you next week, doc.”

Chapter Four

Sarah

Ispin in my chair and twirl a pencil between my fingers. I’ve been dreading this day since my first tense visit with Maxim last week. I look up at the clock. He’s late. Again.

And he’s deranged.

My boss doesn’t like that word. He wants me to use appropriate terminology, but I just want to call a spade a spade.

Maxim is either psychopathic or sociopathic, but I haven’t figured out which one because I’ve only spent two very guarded hours with him so far. I’m not surprised he went to prison. In fact, I’m more surprised he’soutof prison. His record wasn’t all that lengthy, but his convictions aren’t what unnerve me.

When I’m looking at him, I see nerves firing in his mind that are best left dormant. I can almost feel the hum of the devil coming to life when he enters a room. His presence demands my attention, but he doesn’t look especially menacing...until he speaks. He’s?—

I turn my chair and see him behind me, leaning against the doorway. Justwatchingme.

---