Page 13 of Tricked By Jack
“That sucks, Shel,” I emphasize.
The good thing about her distracting me is I don’t have time to second-guess my outfit for tonight. Once I’m done, I pause in front of my bedroom mirror, and run my hand over the hem of the cropped orange sweater I haven’t worn before.
The color perfectly matches my hair, and it’s soft and thin enough for late September, snug enough to hint at my shape without clinging. It ends just a couple of inches above the waistband of my black latex pants, leaving a deliberate strip of skin exposed.
I smirk at my reflection, wondering what any of the people from my old life would think if they saw me now—and secretly hoping they would, just so they’d choke on the proof that their good little doctor was never so good.
With the come-fuck-me outfit, heavy eyeliner and multiple coats of mascara, I’m a far cry from the professionally cold therapist they used to know. Hell, I’m a far cry from the person I thought I was at the core.
I’ve read enough psych books to know that the new life I’ve embraced is fueled by my daddy issues, which are plenty.
My dad wanted a progeny, so he made me one. Instead of fairy tale bedtime stories, he read me text books. In our house, you didn’t get a cake or presents on your birthday. You got tests to prove you were worth celebrating.
Charles Mortis might have been a renowned psychiatrist and a successful professor. But to me, he’ll never be remembered as more than an all-around shitty human. Just like to him, I was a subject and not a daughter.
Since my mom died of an aneurysm when I was four, he got to raise me alone, with no one to contradict his cruel methods. And the sharp edges of his methods are exactly what shaped me into something twisted enough to crave nights like this.
But ask me if I care that what I’m doing would most likely be diagnosed as belated teenage rebellion. Just for the record, I don’t care one bit. I never got to do it when I was a teenager, so why should I rein myself in now?
“… Eve? Helloooo… are you still there?”
Shit, I forgot about Shelby. “Umm, yes, I’m here,” I confirm, shaking the unpleasant memories of my dad away. “Sorry, Shel. I’ve got to go.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she sighs dramatically. “Okay, so before I forget why I called you, did you ever fill out the online questionnaire I sent you last month?”
“What for?”
“The Sanctuary,” she sing-songs. “They need some extra details for the Bride applicants.”
I frown as I step into my ankle boots. “I think I did…” I stop talking, trying to remember if I did or not. “Can’t you check for me if your firm has access to all their paperwork?”
“Sure,” she confirms. “I probably should have done that before calling.” There’s something in her tone that sounds almost forced.
“Are you okay, Shel?” I ask, wondering if the late nights and workload is finally catching up with her.
“Peachy,” she replies absentmindedly.
While she taps away on her laptop, I dig out my small crossbody bag from the closet. “Shel,” I ask, regretting I didn’t ask this before filling the damn thing out. “The form’s legit, right? I mean, they’re not going to do anything weird with my details?”
Shel’s answering laugh is downright maniacal. “Bitch, I’m the one who created it. I promise you’re not signing away your immortal soul or whatever.” There’s a beat of silence. “Oh, here it is. Yep, you filled it out and checked all the right boxes.”
“Great,” I say, knowing I need to get off the phone. “Soooo, if there’s nothing else…”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going, going, gone. Happy dicking or whatever.” With that, she hangs up, and I slip my phone and wallet into the bag.
I just about manage two steps when the intercom buzzes, letting me know Caleb’s here. Double-checking I have everything I need, I blow my dad’s grinning skull a kiss.
“God, I wish you could actually see me now, you bastard,” I laugh, slightly crazily. “You’d hate it so much.”
Still laughing, I adjust the plaque with the words‘why so serious?’that’s hanging above the remains of my dad, perched on the living room mantle. Then I leave and head to the elevator. Just as it arrives, I’m joined by my neighbor, Ned.
“Hi,” I greet as we both step into the waiting elevator.
“Looking good tonight,” he grins, waggling his eyebrows playfully. “Going somewhere special?”
Instead of giving him the truth, I just shake my head and laugh softly. “Isn’t everywhere special?”
He rolls his eyes. “Fuck. I forgot you’re a therapist and answer everything with a damn question.”
