Page 55 of Wicked Sins

“Myrealsister.”

“That’s…” Brian breaks off, humming for a moment. “Emma, right?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s got that…condition, right?”

Condition?

I glare so hard at the wall opposite me, I’m surprised the framed photo of last year’s Happy Mountain sack race doesn’t spontaneously combust. Who the fuck Photoshopped that picture so that everyone in it is smiling? That guy deserves a fucking medal.

“She’s mentally disabled,” I correct, anddamnfucking casually, if I do say so myself.

My hands are in fists—when did that happen?—and it’s almost impossible to smooth them out over my thighs.

“Hey, sure.” Brian sits forward and claps his hand on my shoulder. “Family is crucial, Josiah. Now, do you think you could do something brave and maybe speak to your father too?”

I almost don’t catch the snort that wants to shoot out my nose. Instead, I make a fucking show of looking all thoughtful and shit. I even grip my chin and start nodding.

The dip shit eats it up with a fucking ladle.

“Josiah?”

“Maybe—” I inhale audibly, but it’s more to keep my anger tamed than anything else. “Maybe next time. I don’t think…I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

“I’m proud of you. You know that, right?” His hand slides off my shoulder a millisecond before I would have grabbed it, twisted, and broke all his fucking fingers.

“So can I…?”

“Of course, slugger. Go right ahead.” Brian waves a hand.

I’m already up, following his gesture from the room. Why do I always need a goddamn shower when I’m done talking to him? Our first therapy session was the fucking worst. He kept asking me why I was so angry at my father. And then I’d tell him, and he’d rephrase the question like I’d given him the wrong answer.

There’s a small room just off the main hallway. I grab the handle and turn, almost breaking my shoulder when it thumps into the closed door. I step back, clenching my jaw so hard I have no doubt Brian can see my irritation when he walks up behind me.

“Sorry, man,” he says through a laugh. “We’ve been keeping it locked after what happened with Sylvester.”

I duck my head and can only hope he takes it as a gesture of humility and not me trying to keep my temper. As soon as that keycard goes back in his pocket, I shove open the door, whirl around, and shut it in his face.

There’s a computer here, but it’s one of those old school ones with the massive CRT monitors. Everything is beige. It still has a floppy drive. We’re supposed to use it if we have to write papers, but everyone makes sure to get that shit done in the school building, where they have up to date PC’s that are actually capable of connecting to the fucking Internet.

I wait a few minutes, hands on my knees, to make sure Brian isn’t still listening at the door. For all I know, they bug this room, but I have to believe that doing that would contravene some kind of human right.

I’m still laughing silently at the thought when I pick up the receiver and dial the aftercare Emma goes to when she’s done with school.

“Yes?” comes an elderly woman’s voice.

“Hey, Sara, it’s Josiah.”

“Oh, Mr. Bale. Didn’t think we’d hear from you again so soon.”

I smile despite myself. Sara’s one of Emma’s caregivers. “Would you like to speak with Emma?”

“Thanks.”

“I think she’s coloring. Let me go check,” Sara says. There’s some background noise, muted voices, and then Sara comes back onto the line. “Here she is,” she says.

There’s more noise—fabric rustling, more muted voices—and then a hesitant, warbling, “‘Ello?”

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