Page 2 of Thorns of Silence
“We’ve been over this, Doc. I don’t know what else you expect me to say. Considering I can’t remember, it should be a short conversation,” I drawled lazily.
She inhaled a breath, frustration marring her perfectly proportionate face, and dove right in, going for the jugular. “You remembersomething.”
“Not much.”
She was right, I did remember some things, but I could never be sure if they were real or imagined, and the uncertainty made me feel weak. Things came through the fog and receded before I could grab hold of them, leaving me agitated and ready to rain fury on those around me.
Burning. Cutting. Scratching.My skin itched, but I refused to scratch it, lest she scribble the observation in her little notebook like I was an animal to be studied. Instead, I tapped my fingers on the armrest while Dr. Freud watched the motion. She was always watching.
That same determination entered her posture and she straightened her shoulders. “Take me through what youdoremember.”
I chuckled and said, “Maybe it’s not appropriate for your ears,” purposely making it sound suggestive. Not that I was attracted to the woman. Yeah, she was beautiful, but nothing about her worked for me.
She tugged at the charm on her necklace, an unusual symbol I couldn’t quite distinguish, and raised a brow. “Try me.” Hesitation flickered across her expression, a blush staining her cheeks, but then she went for it. “And no bullshit, Dante.”
That was all she’d get from me. It wasn’t as if I could tell her that my kidnapping likely had something to do with my father’s mafia-related activities. Angelo Leone was a cruel bastard, and he did business with even worse men than himself.
I ran a thumb across my bottom lip. “Since you insist, Doctor.” She waited with bated breath for my next words. “Sometimes I dream about them.”
“Who?”
“The men and women who were there,” I answered, looking at the clock.
She accepted my answer but continued her probing. “Why do you think these men and women appear in your memories? Or rather, why do you think they appear in your recollections of that time?”
“Because monsters come in all shapes and sizes.” Impatience burrowed beneath my skin, itching like my scarred torso. I hadn’t tortured or killed in over a week and the need to lash out pulsed so strongly in me that I could almost taste it. If I didn’t see some action soon, I was afraid I’d be swallowed up by my own demons.
Two things triggered my blackouts that terrorized everyone around me. Alcohol—beer excluded—and excess energy.
I dreamed of revenge. I planned how I’d dish it out, but the only problem was that my monsters were invisible. Faceless men and women. My dreams and hazy memories mocked me, whispering things I couldn’t understand.
So I focused on the one thing I could control: revenge against my father. He’d refused to pay the ransom, leaving me at my kidnappers’ mercy. The end result was a broken mind and a scarred body, and that simply wouldn’t do.
“Do you know what they did to you?” she asked, averting her gaze and focusing on my virtually empty file. I knew what she was hinting at—sexual, mental, or physical abuse. The joke was on her though, because my mental and physical abuse began with my own father when I was a mere child.
“No,” I lied. Well, not technically. I knew they’d tortured me, because I’d woken up in the hospital with a medical file so thick that doctors had to be called in from around the country to assist with my treatment. The reprieve was in not remembering, and I honestly preferred it that way.
“Your memories might come back,” she hedged.
I shrugged, not pressed about it. I felt lighter when I discovered my memories had been wiped. In the weeks following my hospital stint, they slowly started trickling in, hazy and distorted. I remembered my childhood, shit my father put us through, my bond with my brother. It was the memories surrounding the kidnapping—the months before, during, and after it—that had yet to return. I came to terms with it when it sunk in that there would be no surefire way to reverse it. One thing I could control was who knew of this…weakness. I didn’t want anyone aside from my immediate family knowing about it. I didn’t need pity; I didn’t need to worry about my position in the Omertà being compromised. I was ready to put it all behind me.
“I’m fine if they don’t.”
Her eyes flickered with a range of emotions. Her interest in me was born out of curiosity. Dr. Freud’s PhD thesis on criminal minds won her several awards and earned her her doctorate. She didn’t know my profession, but I knew she suspected it.
She fumbled with her pen as she jotted something down. “I believe you’re blocking your mind’s progress at this point.” I rolled my eyes, though I had to admit she had a point. “How is your dating life going?”
I laughed. “Are you asking me out, Doctor?”
She looked up, flustered. “That would be highly unprofessional.”
I grinned. “I won’t tell.”
She flushed a deeper shade of red. “But I’ll know.” Dr. Freud had an undeniable sense of integrity, although I believed she was hiding something herself. Not that I cared enough to look into it. “Has your dating life changed since your kidnapping?”
Yes. No. I don’t know.
Images of dandelions and smiles on a face that hid in the dark flashed in my mind, but they were gone before I could hit pause.As always.
