Page 24 of Heart of a Killer

“Okay, Brieanna. I see this is something you aren’t ready to talk about right now. Maybe we can discuss that next time.” He writes something in his notebook before asking his next question. “How are you sleeping?”

“My sleep is fine.”

“No more shadows creeping in the corners of your room?”

“Shadows are everywhere, right?”

“Yes, exactly. I’m glad you are learning from our sessions and can put some reasoning behind it. I can see that it is helping.” The ringing interrupts him, and he reaches over to shut off the timer. “I’m glad to see some improvement. We will broach the other topic when you feel more stable and secure to talk about it.”

Standing up to leave, I tuck my hands under my arms again. Dr. Benjamin opens the door for me and there stands Skylar. Her eyes are soft, and I hope she isn’t stupid enough to tell the doctor about last night. That would effectively put everyone involved in a padded room as punishment. I stand up to her, squaring off with my chest pushed out. I walk past her when she doesn’t move out of my way. There is a sharp intake of breath when my shoulder connects with hers. It’s time for the rec room, but I’m not ready to see Leland again, knowing we will have to talk.

* * *

Marching into the rec room,I see Leland in our usual seat. He’s casually leaning back with one arm on the back and the other resting by his side. When I plop down beside him, he bounces on the couch cushions a bit, but he pays me no mind. Crossing my arms across my chest, I throw myself back. That just boils my nerves. It’s as if no one cares about how their actions affect me.

“Your face looks like you’re taking a shit,” he comments, continuing to watch the shitty game show rerun on the T.V.

“Your face looks like what I shit out.”

He chuckles before pulling me closer to him. He thinks I’m not mad at him anymore, but I am. Pushing off his side, I turn my body to face him.

“You need to stop fucking with me. What you did this morning was so not cool.”

“What did I do?”

He places his hand on his chest in mock innocence, but I am not falling for it. He needs to know what the fuck is bothering me, and Skylar needs to feel it. He is fucking my plans all up.

Pointing a finger in his face, I remark, “You told Skylar we were in the shower together. You know she will think that we have something going on when we don’t. You are playing games, Leland. I know you, remember?”

“Brie, you need to tell her why you are upset. Then I wouldn’t have to play these games with you.”

He’s smirking, and I want to wipe it right off his face.

“Fuck you, bro.”

“I’m not your bro.” Then he leans forward to push the fallen strands from in front of my face. He gets close enough to my ear that I feel his warm breath brush against my neck before he whispers, “But I can be your daddy.”

My thighs clench together, and a low throb starts. I grasp my hands to ignite those sparks of pain again, reminding myself that I have a purpose. I can’t let him set me off-course. Pushing his chest, I force him back to look me in the eye.

“Don’t say things like that when you don’t mean them.”

He leans back on the couch with his arms back in their place from before. He’s wearing a cocky smile, and there’s a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

“Oh, Brie. I mean everything I say.”

“Leland,” the orderly in charge yells. “You’re up.”

My stomach sinks because I know this means that Skylar will be coming back. I wish we weren’t here some days, much like today. If we were on the outside, it would be easier to ignore her and not face my problems.

Leland stands, giving me a smirk before saying, “See you later, Brie.”

* * *

The lunch table is silent,and my agitation remains palpable. Skylar follows me like a lost puppy, begging for attention. She doesn’t say a word as she pushes her vegetable soup around. Leland is stuffing his face, ignoring our cat fight. He seriously has no care in the world what he eats, and it amazes me that he is still toned as fuck while in here. Makes me wonder what he does to keep his figure.

When the staff calls for art therapy time, we all stand to discard our bowls and head to our respective classes. At this moment, I hate that Skylar and I share a class together. If we could just be apart for a little bit, I could stop biting the inside of my cheek, trying not to lash out at her.

Grinding my teeth together, I’m annoyed that we are forced to sit next to each other at our kindergarten-sized art table. I pull out my chair, letting the legs scrape the floor, and take my seat.

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