Page 1 of Worship

Chapter One

Fair Haven City. Hell on Earth. A maggot-infested shell of depravity and a jungle of tall, cutthroat buildings shaded in black. As I breathe in, a phantom stench of fumes lingers beneath my nose, despite being in a room fragrant with flowers. As if the bitterness lacing my tongue and grit clinging to my skin will never erase from the days I lived and breathed the slums of it.

“Fair Haven. A place where no one sleeps. Not even the dead,” I say, more to myself than anyone else.

But I do have a listener, and she moves behind me, emitting a breath loud enough to let me know she disagrees. “What do you mean by that?”

Allowing a few seconds of silence to linger, I finally face her. Sat on a high-backed chair, Dr. Ashley Rogue holds a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. As she watches me, I know she already has me pegged as some spoiled teenage bitch begging for attention. Dr. Rogue is new here—came from Harvard a few months back, believing she can make a difference. Something they all believe at first. That is until they realize that’s not how the world works. It’s not howFair Havenworks. Black eventually seeps in and rots, and Ashley Rogue is already decaying.

“You will understand one day.” It’s a vague reply, and I’m aware she hates it. When I talk in riddles and never give a straight answer. Not anymore. Like clockwork, her forehead creases, and I know I’ve gotten to her.

Moving away from the window, I sit on the stereotypical couch, pulling my knees to my chest. I stare at her, and all she can do is look back.

When her gaze eventually averts back to her notes, my eyes roll. She can never look for long. As if she can’t bear to see the truth screaming in my eyes. I am easier than most girls here are to read, knowing the visible scars on my skin paint a grisly picture of the life I’ve come from. Something that would make her platinum straight hair turn to frizz.

Instead, she writes something new. A lie.Whatever. I no longer care. Leaning my head back against the cushion, I look at a painting on the wall, something I always do whenever I’m here. It’s supposed to be a bright, sunny piece of a young girl in a pretty yellow dress swinging from a tree. But the strokes of acrylic mar into something else. “Are you looking forward to staying with your mother—”

“Gabriella.” I cut in sharply. “It’s Gabriella.”

Her professional mask slips, and I know it’s because she thinks I’m disrespectful for calling my mother by her name. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that she’s taken it personally. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it seems my dearestmotherhas already gotten to Dr. Rogue.

After all, Gabriella’s most extraordinary power is corruption.

“May I ask why you call your mother by her first name?” I don’t reply, and her eye twitches with annoyance. “She’s looking forward to seeing you. She calls every day to check on your progress.”

I bet.

Turning back to the picture, it’s changed, just how it always does. The little girl isn’t alone. Someone lurks behind the tree, another watching from afar. People who shouldn’t be watching little girls…

“Heidi.” Worry, at least I think that’s what she’s going for, furrows her brow. “I have to be honest with you. You aren’t making progress. You refuse to talk about what really happened, and I fear it’s hindering you from getting better. Please talk about it. I promise it will help.”

She says this every week. Talk. Try.Promise.Talking will make itallbetter and magically go away. Yet the moment I tried when I first got here, Gabriella made it her mission to make sure everyone working here knew what a compulsive liar I was. That I enjoyed making terrible things up for attention.

Whatever I say won’t be believed, and so I say nothing. And like always, Dr. Ashley Rogue sighs with disappointment, writes it down in her notes, and prescribes me something new to shove down my throat. Something I hope to fucking choke on.

* * *

“Ashley says you’re not trying,”Gabriella says, tone pissy and impatient. “Why the hell aren’t you?”

Ashley.They’re on a first-name basis now.

I don’t know why Gabriella bothers ever asking, seeing as the public’s sympathy has upped her book sales. While she wants me out of the way, we both know she would prefer if I kept my mouth shut about all the things that pull her away from themother of the yeartitle.I’m not delusional enough to believe she actually wants tobondwith me during these times she comes to pick me up.

One day a week out of Stonehill is nothing but a photoshoot. A ploy motivated by greed. Being photographed taking herpsychodaughter out and about makes her seem like the best mom in the world. When, really, she appeared on TV to promote her shitty books while I was in the hospital having my stomach pumped and a dead fetus scraped from my womb, even though she knew.

She knew…and she still didn’t come.

Instead, her husband was quick to make all the bad things go away. He put me in Stonehill, sectioned under the watchful eyes of doctors and nurses, spouting lie after lie.

We had no idea she would do this.

This was a terrible shock to us all.

Stonehill is a secluded building on the other side of Crowe Park, the city a backdrop from its barred windows. The entire land is surrounded by electrical fences, the entrance heavily guarded with twenty-four-hour security. The building, tan-bricked and charming, boasts an illusion of a safe, nurturing place for young women haunted by their own demons. But it’s nothing more than a glorified prison.

“Are you even listening to me, Heidi?” Gabriella demands, snapping me from my thoughts. “It’s like I’m talking to a brick wall.”

“Sure. I’m listening.” She will only keep going on at me until I say something.

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