Page 16 of Monsters Like Us
My throat tightens. My tongue forms the first syllable of “Ted” before I clamp it down. If I say his name, it’ll all be over. Vale will dig and dig until he finds the blood under my fingernails. He’ll realize I’m a monster, too.
I let the silence drag. The room narrows to the desk,the ticking clock on the wall, the tiny space between his question and my answer. If I say the right thing—if I give him small, emotional, manageable stories—he’ll file them away as trauma to be processed. If I say the wrong thing—if I tell the truth—he will tilt his head and find the fracture.
So I tell him about the empty mornings.
“I remember morning light through the kitchen window, cereal bowls on the table, and the bus passing without me because Mom couldn’t wake up. I remember promises that weren’t kept.” I keep my voice even, my answers not picking at the giant scab covering my black soul.
His pen scratches over the paper, making my skin crawl. It’s as though he’s already written a conclusion.
Does he see more than I’m saying? Or is he testing me, waiting for me to crack?
His questions feel rehearsed, like bait on hooks. I wonder if he already knows something and is trying to trick me into saying it out loud.
“Addiction is a rough thing to live through. My mom needed help, but never got it.”
He nods again, but there’s impatience flickering at the edges of his composure. He wants a crack—anything to prod and see how I jiggle.
“People who hurt others sometimes hurt first. Do you feel anger toward those who failed you?”
The words burrow under my skin, and for a heartbeat, the truth surges up, hot and sharp:I wanted to kill him.
My mouth opens—then I bite down hard, my teeth clacking, the words dying before they escape. My nails dig into my palms. A reckless part of me wants to let it out—release the rage that could explain everything and destroy me in one breath.
But I remember Micah’s whisper and his knuckles against my cheek. I really believe he’s looking out for me.
“I felt angry,” I say, carefully. “But mostly sad. I learned to look after myself to survive.”
Three minutes bleeds down to two.
Vale’s shoulders tighten. He studies me like a man trying to coax a song from a closed throat. “If there was one thing you could change about your past, Katana, what would it be?”
I breathe and let the safe thing out. “I’d make sure Mom had help. I’d make sure someone got her to the doctor. So I wouldn’t feel so alone.”
He writes that down—neat, clinical. He looks at his watch, and the corner of his mouth lifts with professional regret. “We’ll pick this up next time. Good progress today.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He has an expression of someone who believes time is on his side.
Maybe he thinks I’ll slip eventually. Maybe that’s what he’s waiting for.
He stands, already reaching for the door. Relief and dread twist together in my chest.
I rise, steadier than I feel, relieved the session is over. He didn’t probe deeper. He didn’t ask the question that would have made me say the words I keep buried.
As I step into the corridor, the fluorescent lights feel harsher, as if the whole building knows I lied just enough to survive. My hands still tremble, but I kept my secret.
For now.
CHAPTER 14
Micah
She exitsVale’s office like a ghost—her arms wrapped around herself, eyes darting down the hallway, her shoulders tight. She doesn’t know I’m there. Doesn’t know I’m watching from the dark slit of the custodial closet, the keys I lifted from the janitor warm in my pocket.
Her gaze flicks down the corridor as if searching for something, orsomeone. She rubs her arms like the cold is under her skin instead of outside it. The corner of my mouth curves.
She feels me. Even when she can’t see me.
Vale follows her a minute later, his jaw tight, his eyes stormy with irritation. I see it plain as day through the crack in the door—he’s pissed.Good.That means she listened to me. She gave him crumbs instead of confessions.
Vale wants blood, and she left him hungry.
