Page 35 of Pretty Cruel Love

“Now,” I say, “stand right there. Don’t speak until I tell you to. When it’s time for questions, you’ll answer them.”

I lean back in my chair and pretend to take clinical notes. Instead, I write:

I want to devour your pussy.

You’re fucking beautiful.

I want to hear what my name sounds like when I’m buried deep inside you…

I stare at the words for a moment too long, then press the pen down hard, dragging a thick line through every sentence. My throat tightens—not with regret, exactly, but with restraint.

I doodle a caterpillar over the mess. Then a few crooked pine trees for camouflage. I close the notebook halfway and tap it against my knee.

Twenty minutes pass.

Then forty.

Sadie doesn’t move. She stands perfectly still, only blinking when her stare lingers too long. Occasionally, she glances at her reflection in the mirrored wall behind me. At one point, I catch her watchingmewatchingher, both of us flickering in silver.

She shows no rage, and she doesn’t mumble a single complaint. She only reveals a quiet, confused vulnerability. Or maybe it’s curiosity.

At the one-hour mark, she shoots me a pleading glance—silent but clear:Can I sit now?I shake my head.

I need to see how she handles discomfort, how long it takes for her to splinter the silence and turn the mirror on me.

I decide to make it another hour.

No… Let’s make it two.

15

SADIE

Day Eight

What the hell is the point of this?

My legs are burning—begging me for mercy.

According to the clock on the wall, I’ve been standing for four and a half hours—all while Dr. Weiss lounges in his plush chair and fucking doodles in his notepad.

Is that another caterpillar?

A few years ago, I would’ve snapped—dropped to the floor just to spite him. Prison trained that instinct out of me.

His phone suddenly shrieks to life, and he taps the screen.

“Stay right there,” he says, standing. “We have company.”

He shuts the door behind him without looking back.

The cushions of his chair slowly puff back into shape, tempting me with their downy warmth.

I don’t even get the chance to consider disobeying before he’s back—trailing a salt-and-pepper-haired man behind him.

“Sadie, this is Professor Trenton from Vanderbilt University,” Dr. Weiss says. “He’s the department chair forPsychological Studies and he’s here to join our session and take notes.”

He pulls two chairs from a closet and sets them out for me and the professor.

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