Page 66 of Bitter Truths

Stunned, I nod.

“What can you do to take back your control?”

“I don’t know,” I mutter mulishly.

“Yes, you do.”

“What?”

“What have they taken from you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. What did they take?”

Staring at him blankly, I frown before whispering, “My choice? My um, body?”

“How do you get it back?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” he says sternly. “How?”

“I don’t know,” I cry, clenching the arms of my chair, my pulse pounding erratically. Dr. Marks has never been so harsh with me before, and I’m struggling to reconcile the soft man with the kind blue eyes against this version, railing me so sternly.

“Yes, tell me!”

“I don’t . . . What do you want from me?” I sob, searching his gaze.

His stern gaze melts, and he smiles gently. “I want you to take it back, Halsey.”

“How?”

“What did they take?”

“My choice, my body,” I say tentatively.

“How do you get it back?”

Mulling over his question, I search my soul and raise my gaze to his. “With my body?”

“Good. How?”

Thinking back over our previous conversations and his insistence that intimacy is key to my progress, I whisper, “Um, sex?”

“Good. How do you feel about it?” he says gently, his mouth curling into an approving smile.

My heart jumps at that approval, a desperate need to find my peace sailing through me. I want to find my life. I want to take back control, and maybe this is the key. I don’t know, but I won’t know until I try it.

“Well, it depends.”

“On what?”

“Who.”

“Okay. Tell me, what gets you off?” he asks, steepling his fingers before his mouth.

“What?” I sink in my seat. I’m unsure how to feel in the face of his candid questions, but something feels off. Is this normal? It simultaneously makes me uncomfortable and something else. Powerful, maybe?

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