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"You'll be in here all day," he tells me with an artificial smile. "Except for your appointment with Dr. Smith. Unfortunately, that neat stack of paperwork got knocked over."
I resist the urge to twitch, but keep my mouth shut, getting started again on the scattered papers.
A few hours later, I'm escorted to Dr. Smith's office, and I'm surprised to find the chessboard set up exactly how we last left it.
"Do you remember the rules?" he asks, summoning me to the ground.
"Not really," I admit with a sigh, crossing my legs underneath me. "Other than some bullshit about the queen having all the power."
Dr. Smith laughs, pointing out the different pieces and relaying some basic rules. He doesn't ask any questions about my feelings or about anything else outside of this room. I'm onedge, but try to stay focused on the game, enjoying a moment away from getting more papercuts, which have returned on my fingertips with a sting. But in comparison to the still aching mark on my thigh, hidden by my shorts, it's nothing. Still, if I had to choose my pain, I'd opt for Grey every time.
Somewhere midway through the session, the door flies open with a loud bang, startling me. I whip my head around, eyes widening at Damon's figure lingering in the doorframe.
He's never interrupted my sessions before, but the way he's staring at Dr. Smith, I don't think his beef is with me. Besides, last night changed things for us. Well, I like to think so.
Even though I was woken up early and dragged from my bed, I'm still buzzing with a feeling I haven't felt in ages. And it's still baffling that it's somewhat because of Demon Boy.
"Games, really? Is that what they are paying you for?" he says. "Avery, come with me."
I rise to my feet, heading over to him. I'm not about to rock the boat when he just did me the favor of a lifetime. Besides, what loyalty do I have to the staff here? All they have done is punish me, allow my information to be stolen, treated me like I'm a criminal…even if I am.
At least Grey and Theo see me for who I am. And I guess in a weird turn of events, so does Damon.
I hear Damon shoot back a curse at Dr. Smith before gesturing for me to follow him down the hallway. I walk beside him, checking around for the guards which have mysteriously vanished.
"I'm due back in Whittingham's office after my session," I say.
Damon doesn't look at me, but I notice his eyebrow raises at my words. "And what does he have you doing today?"
"Alphabetizing paperwork… again."
"Pathetic," he mumbles. "That's Teddy's job. No doubt she's too busy blowing him under the desk to handle her actual job."
A shutter of disgust rolls over me, making Damon laugh.
"Do they really?" I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.
He hums, confirming it before leading us into the giant hall. It's empty at this time of day, except for a few lingering staff members getting the food trays ready for lunch.
I look around, noticing how no one pays any attention to us. It's almost as if we are ghosts, just haunting and passing by peacefully.
"What are we doing here?" I ask as Damon leads us through a set of double doors to the kitchen.
Staff in white coats are bustling around, the smell of food lingering in the air. A few curious eyes look over as we enter, but no one says anything.
"Getting some food for you," he answers casually, walking up to an older man with fading brown hair and green eyes. "Tony, organize some food for her."
Tony pauses, knife in hand at a chopping board. He briskly looks at me with disinterest, nodding at Damon. "Alright. What does she want?"
Damon rolls his eyes, throwing his hand toward me. "Ask her yourself. She's obviously right here."
My eyes widen slightly as Tony slams the knife down, turning his body to face me. "What do ya want? I can spare about ten minutes to cook something up before we need to get lunch well and truly underway."
"Uh," I mumble stupidly. I wasn't prepared for this. I'm so hungry that I'd probably settle for the dry, plain pasta at this point. "Honestly, I'm happy with anything easy."
Tony groans, snapping his eyes to Damon. "I don't have time for this, Damon. I can't be fucking around on the clock. Whittingham will have my balls if lunch is late."
"Just make her a sandwich or something," Damon scoffs. "Whatever you have on hand."
