Page 22 of Pretty Cruel Love

“No need to call me ‘sir.’” He wags a finger. “I’m Mr. Sheldon, Dr. Weiss’s project advisor. Did you sleep well last night?”

“Yes, sir—I mean, yes, Mr. Sheldon.” I start to walk over to help him with the bags, but the sounds of my hand chains echo through the room and serve me a reminder I’d almost forgotten.

I’m still in custody.

“It’s okay.” He smiles as if reading my mind. “It’s the thought that counts, and you’ll be out of those awful things soon.”

I watch him set the bags on the kitchen counter and open them one by one: new books and papers, medication, snacks.

“Dr. Weiss would like you to take this entire bottle of medication by noon,” he says. “The side effects can be pretty intense, so he made me bring you some extra snacks in case you black out before lunch is served.”

I squint as he lays out the bags’ contents: bags of flavored bagels, balls of butter, and small tins of flavored cream cheeses.

Okay, I’m definitely making a run for it before this program is over.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Sheldon.” I pause. “Is Dr. Weiss coming at some point today? Aren’t we supposed to have a session?”

“Yes, he should’ve sat with you yesterday, but…” His voice trails off, and he doesn’t pick up where he left off. Instead, he unwraps a set of plastic cutlery and sets it next to the butter.

“There have been quite a few changes to our agenda, so he won’t be able to see you today,” he says finally. “Alas, I’m leaving a note for you to fill out your next ‘then’ page, a folded request with his next chess move, and he requests that you fill your afternoon by doing what you would do if you were on the outside.”

“Without internet access or television?”

“Ah.” He holds back a laugh. “Good point. Have a good day, Miss Pretty.”

He leaves without another word.

Sighing, I down the medication and am growling with hunger within an hour. I devour the breakfast and the bagels, and quickly pen a “then” page per Dr. Weiss’s request.

Collapsing onto the bed, I read the first few chapters of the top book on my bookshelf. It’s a tragic tale I’ve read too many times to count, a tale that comes shipped to me weekly since my supporters caught wind of it:The Count of Monte Cristo.

8.5

SADIE

Day 6

(Day three for me)

The next time I open my eyes, a brunette woman is slipping into the cabin. She doesn’t say a word to me. She just sets down a blue bottle of medication, a folded note with another chess play, and another “then” page assignment.

Still, no Dr. Weiss.

This isn’t how the experiment is supposed to go…

Later that afternoon

I roll over in bed, ready to see what’s for dinner, but Dr. Weiss is sitting in the chair next to me.

With his white sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his deep blue eyes locked on me, it makes me wonder just how long he’s been here watching.

“Hello,” he says, his voice deep.

“Hi.”

A slow smile spreads across his face and he lifts a clipboard and a coffee from my desk.

“Are you ready for our first session, Miss Pretty?” he asks.

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