Page 55 of Cherry Auction

“Fine. What does it do?” I ask impatiently.

“I was about to tell you. If you’d give me a moment to speak.” Another glare.

I shut my mouth even though I want to shout a hundred more questions. The pent up energy inside me needs an outlet. I need to fix this. I need to get in there with Brooke. I need to see her. Hold her. Make it right.

She takes a quick breath. “Depersonalization is when you detach from yourself. From your body, your mind, your feelings. It lets you feel like you’re on the outside of your body. Sometimes like you’re watching your thoughts and feelings from a distance. Sub-space can be a healthy way for people to access this space safely, because it can also be euphoric. Some think healing, even, because it provides a safe way into depersonalization, and back out through aftercare.” Her glare turns harder as she seethes, “When practicedproperly.”

I’ll take this lady’s rage and all Caleb and anyone else wants to dish out on me. Later.

“What can you do to fix her?” I demand.

“It’s not like we can give her a pill or wave a magic wand and fix her.” She looks at me incredulously.

I glance at Caleb. Her initial suggestion isn’t pills. Okay. She’s already passed my first test.

I cross my arms, foot tapping impatiently. “What then?”

I detest not being the one with answers. I run my life in a very particular way to make sure I’m in control of every room I step into. And now, when I need it the most, I’m fucking floundering. I don’t know what the hell to do, and it makes me want to hurt something. Tears. Screams in response to measured strikes. That’s what I need. Instead all I can do is stand here and tap my fucking foot, relying on half-a-doctor to fix things.

Professor Roberts puts her thumb to her mouth, biting her nail and pacing a little. “I’m not a doctor. I can’t design a treatment plan. I shouldn’t even be talking to you after consulting with her since you aren’t family. It violates all sorts of doctor/patient confidentiality shit?—”

“Fine,” I bite out. “But like you said, you’re not a doctor yet. So say you hypothetically ran across a case like this. In a fictional, hypothetical school scenario. What the fuck would you do?”

Professor Robert’s eyes come towards me and she stops gnawing on her thumbnail. “I suggest taking her back home to a familiar environment where she feels loved, comfortable and safe. Until she starts to feel like herself again. Consideringher current state and recent amnesia diagnosis, I would want to consult with her residing doctor. I’d want to ask if they think dissociative amnesia could’ve been a cause of her original memory loss, perhaps catalyzed by the blow to her head.”

“What?” I bark. “The amnesia’s real?”

“I thought you ran a safe, ethical club,” the woman continues furiously to Caleb, still refusing to look at me. “Is this why you won’t let me observe? She looks well-nourished enough, but when was the last time she had a shower?”

Shame cows my head.You’re a stupid fucking incompetent little bitch dog, aren’t ya boy?

I squeeze my eyes shut and turn away from Caleb and the Professor. I know that care of the sub always comes first and foremost. Full stop. I never should have started playing with Mads, no matter what. No matter my rage and thirst for revenge.Especiallybecause of my thirst for revenge. Fuck.

What was I thinking? I wasn’t. That was the problem. Why didn’t I look at the records Moira sent over? I never even checked the email.

“What?” Caleb holds his hands up. “No! This situation just went off the rails. I swear. This is not usual club protocol.”

I yank my phone out and thumb through my many emails to find Moira’s. “If you know her history, you know there is no home to go back to,” I mutter as I keep searching. “There’s nowhere safe and cozy for her to land.”

There. I click on the email and bring up the attachments.

And my jaw tenses at the second line.Age: estimated* 22-24.

What thefuck?

I shake my head in denial. That can’t be right. I knew her nine years ago. She’s two years older than me, and she was nineteen then. So she’s twenty-eightnow, not— Not?—

I mean, it’s true she still looks really young now but?—

I shake my head again. She couldn’t have been… I quickly do the math and feel sick. She couldn’t have beenthirteenwhen I fucking knew her back then.

No way.

My eyes scan through the rest of the report. The estimated age had an asterisk beside it, so I follow it down to read the notes:*X-rays indicate bones have not completed fusion.

What in theactualfuck? If this is right, then… She was barely older than Moira. Holy fucking shit, I’m going to be sick. We never had sex or anything. But we made out plenty.

My hand clenches around my phone in a white-knuckled grip.

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