Page 119 of Fractured Future
Everything about this space pisses me off. The false sense of comfort. Richards and his scheming smiles. Warner’s encouragement to open up and be honest. It’s all designed to entrap me.
I don’t want to remember. Feel. Talk. Anything that will break down the internal brick wall I’ve haphazardly rebuilt. If it falls again, I don’t think I’ll be strong enough to build it up once more.
“Tell me why you’ve decided to join Sabre Security.”
“Why?” I groan.
“Humour me, Ember.”
Running a hand over my face, I move to study one of the images up close. “I want to do something useful.”
“Useful, how?”
Nosy fucking prick.
“You’ve read my file.” I flap a hand in his vague direction. “You know about the street fights. I have a skillset that will prove useful here.”
“That’s a very well-rehearsed answer,” Richards remarks.
“Excuse me?”
“Tell me what actually motivates you.”
Rounding on him, I have a million unkind words to offer in retaliation. His presumption to understand what I’m thinking and feeling is downright infuriating.
“Isn’t that good enough?”
“It’s a start.” He arches a brow. “But after years spent taking orders, being controlled and confined… it’s curious that you would opt to undergo a process which will assign you a new master.”
“I’m not here for a master.”
“Then why are you here?” Richards challenges.
Contemplating hurling the canvas at his head, I flex my stiff neck. The fierce pain in my head is back. It hasn’t really abated since the blistering argument with Tom. Nor in his silence since I left without another word.
While I haven’t had another full black out yet, I can feel my body failing me. The chronic pain is constant and blinding. Pretending that everything is fine while fending off the symptoms is becoming challenging.
“I want to capture the men who hurt me. Who hurt all of us.”
“For revenge?”
“No.” I jerkily shake my head. “For justice.”
“One would be forgiven for thinking they’re one and the same thing.”
Reluctantly retaking my seat, I avoid the old doctor’s penetrating stare. Something tells me he can see through my motives without me having to expose them.
“Anger is a dangerous emotion in this line of work.” Richards closes the file resting on his leg. “If you wish to be effective here, you need to find a way to see past it.”
“What are you saying? I’m not cleared?”
“I’m saying you need to sit in that chair every week and work with me to understand what you’ve been through. If you don’t do that, your time at Sabre will be short-lived.”
His honesty is strangely refreshing. It’s different from the grief counsellor that Tom insisted I speak to after Mum’s death. She tiptoed around me until it became insulting. I hated her mind games.
“What happens to what I share with you?”
“These sessions are confidential,” Richards assures me, that damn smile reappearing. “Unless I have cause for concern, our conversations will remain private.”
