Page 13 of Under Fyre

“You do.”

I ignore him. “And yourcureis to kidnap and imprison me?” My voice is high-pitched, manic. “I know you’re crazy, but for God’s sake, that’s—”

“You’d prefer to have a broken mind?”

My mouth opens, but I’m at a loss.

Broken?

That’s a bitharshisn’t it?

Then again…I know things aren’t right inside my head. My fixation with sex, with losing myself to the oblivion of a climax, the string of odd thoughts that normally populate my mind.

I have an obsession too. Except, unlike Fyre, it’s not centered around a single person. It’s about…release.

I take another few sips of tea, dropping my eyes in surrender. When the silence becomes too much, I mutter, “There’s got to be a better way.”

“They’ve tried everything else.”

My eyes shoot up and lock with his. “They?”

“Your other therapists.”

I blink at him, frown. “I only had one. Sharon something or other.”

“You’ve had several,” Fyre says, a sad smile playing on his mouth. “The fact that you don’t remember the others is testament to just how damaged your mind is.”

“You’re lying.”

“To what end?”

“No fucking idea.” I shrug up my shoulders. “I’d have to be as crazy as you to understand.”

He watches me for a moment, and then stands and walks out of the bedroom, locking the door behind him.

Is that it? Did I win?

But no, it wouldn’t—couldn’t—be that easy. Fyre returns with a laptop and takes a seat beside me on the bed. “If you won’t take me on my word, then I will show you proof.”

I don’t want him close to me. Not because I think he’ll jump me—he’s had plenty of opportunities to do that.

If I get close to him, his mere presence will intoxicate me again. I’ll fall under his spell. My reserves of willpower will slowly drain away until I’m nothing but an obedient puppet.

Histoy.

But curiosity gets the better of me. I need to know if he’s lying…or if I’ve genuinely misplaced pieces of my life like an old jigsaw puzzle.

He turns the laptop and drags his fingers over the touchpad, highlighting a square of information on the screen.

I’m staring at a scanned document with some psychologist’s logo in the top right. The area Fyre highlighted however, is the patient’s name.

Charlotte Ash.

I immediately want to tell him it’s fake. It can’t be that difficult to fabricate something like this, right? I’m not good with computers and stuff, but—

He highlights another section.

…concluded eleven sessions of prolonged exposure therapy. Patient claimed not to remember any details of the trauma experienced, and I was therefore unable to activate the fear structure and incorporate new information.P.E. therefore yielded no post-treatment reductions in PTSD symptoms.

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