Page 31 of Never Die for a Sinner
I think back to the thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment I destroyed three months ago when everything came to a head.
They said it was some kind of mental break.
I think it was more along the lines of a mental rewiring.
Breaking that shit felt good, and even if I have therapy or prison looming over my head, I’d do it again if given the chance.
“I don’t feel guilty for anything.”
Lie.
Proctor eyes me over his glasses like the guy with a beard inHarry Potter.“Now, Levi . . . Are you being truthful with yourself?”
Does it matter?
Like a saving grace, the buzzer chimes, and I can breathe a sigh of relief.
Fucking finally.
Instantly, I’m rising to my feet.
“I want you to do some homework,” Proctor announces from behind me when I stride toward the door.
“I’m not a kid.”
“No, but think of this as an experiment. If you can pass, I’ll sign you off to go back to work.”
I grit my teeth. “And if I don’t?”
“Then we will continue our sessions until you are ready to return to work.”
Fucker is backing me into a corner.
“It’s either this, or we can call the DEA and tell them you aren’t capable of recovery.”
“That’s a dick move.”
He doesn’t argue.
“Fine, what do you want?”
“I want you to write down five things you want for yourself in the next year. I don’t care what it is, but I don’t want any of those things to be monetary in nature. You have money.”
“So, what the fuck do I put down, then?”
Proctor smirks, and it’s the first time I’ve seen any ounce of emotion on his face since I’ve been coming to see him.
“When you allow yourself to stop focusing on what you’ve lost, you’ll figure it out.”
AVA
It’s nights like tonight where I find myself lost in my thoughts. My head is foggy, like I never really woke up this morning, and I can’t shake the unmistakable feeling of dread.
Of course, that could be because I just left Pleasant Oaks. I stayed with Gran as long as I could before I knew I had to leave. The sun had set already by the time I made it out to my old, beat-up car—Judith—and I practically ran to get in and lock the door like the literal devil was hot on my tail.
Not that it’s in any way valid. No one’s watching me. As far as boring goes, a wet paper bag is probably more interesting.
The night is chilly, and a shiver ghosts through me. The heater’s barely existent, but what can you expect when you buy a five-hundred-dollar car from a man named Chester?
