Page 96 of Cherry Auction

“Not anymore.”

“What should I call you, then?”

My eyes wander off towards the wall as I slip away. “I’ve been so many people,” I murmur. “But usually its just me and her.” She’s there now, whispering in the corner of my mind.

He snaps right in my face and my eyes jump open.

“I’ve worked with folks like you,” the doctor says gently as I lift a hand to my pounding heart. “Folks who’ve been brainwashed as a part of a cult or experienced extensive, brutal psycho-physiological gaslighting like you have. Sometimes a mind finds it necessary to split, sectioning itself off so that only part of oneself experiences the worst of the trauma so the other pieces can remain intact.”

I picture my brain as a fractured mirror.

“So it’s hopeless?” I feel myself sink further and furtheraway from the doctor and the nice room with each passing moment. Everything starts to feel fuzzy. It’d be easy to sink into it and give over to her. Where’s Domhnall? He’s my anchor. Without him, the little box in the corner of my mind beckons.

“Quite the opposite in fact,” Dr. Ezra says. “We’re continuallyastonishedby the brain’s ability to buildnewneural pathways. You’re still young, Miss Sheffield. Some part of the extensive trauma you’ve lived through may always be with you.”

“But,” he leans in, “to tell you the truth, we’re all a little fucked up. And there’s a real opportunity here that you can have a bright future not trapped in your past.”

“Oh.” I almost perk up, confused by the optimism of his words. Is he just blowing smoke up my ass? Then again, he hasn’t mether. I immediately deflate. Some part of me hoped that when I killed my father, she’d go away, too. But she’s still here.

Fuck. Where is Domhnall? I ache for him like he’s a missing limb. I pull my arms around my stomach and pretend they’re his.

“So what would you like to be called? Plenty of people try on names nowadays. What strikes your fancy?”

I shrug. I’ve never cared much about names. My father gave me so many of them. “I don’t care. Brooke. Madison. Whatever you want.”

“It’s for you to pick,” Dr. Ezra says patiently. “Identity isimportant. It’s part of what your father was trying to erase. It’s your job to rediscover it. Whoareyou?”

I just stare at him, feeling the haziness coming on. Identity? Is he kidding? Who the fuck cares? What he’s talking about seems so… inconsequential compared to everything else that’s happened.

He tilts his head at me, a gentle smile on his face. “You’re skeptical. But this is actually quite central. Your whole life, you’ve been given various roles to fill, which you’ve done exquisitely.”

I glow a little under his praise, just like I do anytime Domhnall calls me a good girl.

Then he continues on, “But you’ve also never been given the opportunity to find out whoyouyourself would choose to be all on your own. What doyouwant? What sorts of things doyoulike? What are your hobbies? Opinions?”

He leans forwards in his chair, fingers crossed under his chin. “Whatfooddo you like?”

“Oh just whatever anyone else is eating is fine. I’m not picky.”

One eyebrow hefts. “But what do you,yourself, like? What’s your favorite food? What’s your favorite color? If you had a day that was completely empty with no responsibilities, just to yourself, what would you do?”

His questions are pedantic. So easy they’re stupid. I open my mouth to respond. And go completely blank.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t know. Something.”

He waves a hand. “Then by all means. Tell me.”

“I’d sleep.” I look around. Out the window. “Or do something useful. Wash the dishes. Get some laundry done.”

“I said a day when there are no responsibilities.”

“What if Ilikedoing laundry?” I spit back.

He holds his hands up, but then just sits there in silence.

And then more silence. Waiting for me to answer him about what I like. Which is so fucking ridiculous. Who the fuck even cares?

“I’d go on a walk,” I finally say. Jesus, get off my back already.

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