Page 16 of Pretty Cruel Love

“I do,” he says, watching him leave. Then he looks at me. “Let me show you to your side of the cabin.”

I follow him down a hallway and into a room with a floor-to-ceiling glass wall that overlooks a glossy green lake.

In awe, I press my hand to the cold pane, watching moonlight shimmer across the rippling surface.

There are no bars on this window—just a faint warning etched into the sill:Will Shock If Opened.

Stepping back, I look over at the queen-sized bed with its rustic pink sheets. It’s complemented by a plush gray rug that’s larger than my cell, and a stone gray desk that’s fitted with stacks of paper and bottles of pens.

Without thinking, I wander to the brightly lit room that’s across from a bookshelf.

It’s the bathroom—an actual room that's not shared with anyone else.

There’s a half door just like Dr. Weiss promised—tall enough to shield me from prying eyes, and low enough for me to see if someone (or that stupid robot) is waiting on the other side.

The toilet is porcelain white, not metal and gray; the holder next to it offers rolls of soft, thick toilet paper.

Tears well in my eyes as I stare at the clawfoot white tub and the glass-walled shower. There’s a full-length mirror in the corner, and I can’t help stepping in front of it.

The woman staring back at me doesn’t reflect who I am on the inside. She looks a bit defeated and worn, but glimmers of hope are still in her eyes.

It’s been so long since I looked in a mirror that wasn’t stainless steel that I can’t help but smile.

“You should do that more often, especially while you’re here with me…” Dr. Weiss appears over my shoulder, his reflection joining mine.

I nod and turn to face him again.

Saving me from an explanation, he motions for me to follow him through the bedroom and into the immaculate all-cream kitchen. He pours two cups of coffee, topping one with whipped cream and caramel drizzle.

“You’ll stay here alone for the first few days of this experiment,” he says, handing me the sweeter cup. “After that, I’ll move in and live on the other side of the cabin when the therapy sessions have to increase. Any questions?”

“A few.”

“I’m listening.”

“You said I could write letters, but does that mean I still have to receive the hate mail?” I ask. “Does it have to come here during my stay?”

“Yes and no.” He eyes me as I bring the cup to my lips. “I can have my staff filter your letters, if you’d like.”

“I would.” I take one sip of the whipped cream and caramel, and I can’t help slurping it all.

“Would you like some more?” Dr. Weiss asks.

“Yes, please.”

He retrieves the bottles from the fridge and tops off my coffee again.

Then again…

He repeats this re-topping routine with me six more times, my slurping noises becoming louder and his gaze becoming more heated with each refill.

“Okay, enough,” he says after the seventh, taking the cup and filling it with a fresh hot layer. “Just drink the coffee, Miss Pretty. You have a lot to read over the next few days anyway. Any other questions?”

“Two,” I say. “Do you no longer offer rain gear to your patients? I didn’t get anything.”

“I noticed.” He clenches his jaw and walks back to my room.

I follow him again and watch as he opens the small closet. Inside, two pairs of red rain boots and matching puffer jackets and ponchos hang on plastic hooks.

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