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I won’t have a job waiting for me if he won’t let me out of here. My career would be ruined.
I’m afraid of disappointing everyone because I’m so freaking…complete...here. I’m upset because once we leave here, I’ll have to apologize. Start interviewing again.
A touch of resentment slithers into my blood. Did he stop to think about my future when he kidnapped me? Does he care now?
My lips pinch and curve down. My attempts at smothering my disappointment fail. Colossally.
“You’re struggling,” Marcus surmises the range of my emotions in two words. “And sad. Even more than you let on. This leads me to my next question. Why are you fighting these feelings? Why hide them?”
So that’s what it’s like to be cut open. To be probed. Marcus has landed himself a free pass to excavate my mind, using it against me without a shred of remorse.
“It’s not that black and white.” I’m not allowed to lie. Nor do I want to. “I love it here. I love being with you.”
“M-hmm” is my psychiatrist’s way of saying, very interesting, do go on.
“What happens after this, though?” I gesture to the space around us. “Rylan will hate me for being with you behind her back. My parents will be disappointed when they find out I haven’t started my job. That I’ve lost it. I will, won’t I?”
The subtle nod of his head indicates I’m not wrong.
“I’m with you. I’ve wanted it for so long, and it’s taken me time, but I love it here. I love you. Crazy and all. I love the life I’ve built for myself just as well.” My chest starts aching, and I rub the tight area. “Are you mad? Do you even care?”
Silence. Infuriating one.
“You.” I stab him in the chest. He doesn’t flinch. “Be my man for a second. Tell me if you care. Tell me if my feelings affect you.”
“I care. I’m not mad.” Fleeting warmth flashes on his face. “I’d never expect you to throw everything away for me. You’ll have a life outside of here. We’ll figure it out, you have my word.”
As soon as he’s done talking, his cold expression takes over. An enveloping iciness.
“Back to my question.” The possessiveness in his voice reminds me he’s still my man. My sick, unhinged man. “You’re great at dealing with anger and happiness. Being sad aggravates you. You don’t show it.”
Of course, he knows this. Not from the past few days. From a lifetime of watching me.
My disgruntled huff lands me more of his serious glares.
“I’d like to explore this subject with you.” Marcus rolls his pen between his fingers. “Can you pinpoint a moment in your childhood when sadness was frowned upon?”
He’s analyzing me. I analyze the man in front of me right back. This is his depraved way of learning about me, Leighton, the person. Through therapy. Through his version of helping me.
He could’ve hypnotized me. Could’ve easily plucked out the reasons for why I fight our relationship from my brain. Something is bottled up inside me, but he doesn’t reach in. He’s surgical with my mind. Treading carefully around my memories.
Everything he does, he’s doing for me. With every passing day, I understand his version of love better. Appreciate it, even, despite how it’s different from mine.
This man loves me in the most unconventional way. His methods aren’t ethical. He’s nothing like I ever thought he’d be.
Nevertheless, he’s mine.
Even if there’s a side of me that isn’t sure about us, I love him.
“No, my parents and Rylan are the most accepting people. You know—”
Marcus raises an eyebrow. No, my therapist doesn’t know this.
“I just don’t like crying.” I scoot back on the couch until I’m leaning against the wall. “I’d rather solve a problem or turn it into a joke. Easier this way.”
Yes, my skirt hikes up. Yes, my pussy is in danger of being exposed. No, I don’t care. There’s a sense of comfort when Marcus doesn’t break character. He’s maintaining his façade as I bend my knees and hug them to my chest.
“You’re worried about how your surroundings will react.”
