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“Amelia,” he says, looking up with a frown. “You’re late.”

I sink into the opposite chair and blink innocently. “I got my period and had to drop into medical for some tampons.”

“You’re a good liar,” he says after a moment, “but you’d do well to remember I’m a better one.”

I laugh to cover a twinge of unease. “Can’t hustle a hustler?”

Those icy eyes don’t blink. “Exactly.”

I vow to think of a fate worse than castration. Jameson is in for a world of pain for putting me in this nut farm.

6

RABBIT HOLE

DAY 8

Dr. Chastain consults the notepad resting on his lap. Not for the first time, I wonder what’s written there. Has he reached a diagnosis? Does he have a plan?

I think about the end goal—my mental health—and what that looks like to Chastain. Amelia Sloan, Bleeding Heart Philanthropist? Or is his endgame to have me walk out of here an emotional mess?

This isn’t my first trip down Psychiatry Lane, obviously. And really, all therapists want the same thing: to rip open my scars and make me confront my deepest fears. What none of them have understood is I don’t have any fears.

“I’d like to talk about Donovan Vicks, your first love.”

Memory provides me with the physique of a young man, tan and muscled from his chosen sport of water polo. Chlorine-faded blond hair, almost white, that shines like a halo in the sun. Dimples to either side of his smile. Blue eyes, dark like the ocean he loved.

“He kissed like a Mack truck,” I say, watching dust motes dance near the window. “Put flowers in my locker almost every day.”

“Did you lose your virginity to him?”

My mind races, still thinking about endgames. Can I fake a transformation to Amelia the Tenderhearted? Or will Dr. Chastain keep me here until I finally go insane?

Closing my eyes, I replace the picture of Donovan with the face of my brother. Worried and hopeful. I wonder if he’s sleeping any easier, knowing I’m safe.

Am I safe?

I face Dr. Chastain. “Let’s make a deal.”

Dark brows twitch over calculating, focused eyes. “What kind of deal?”

“You answer my questions honestly, and I’ll do the same.”

He regards me silently for several moments. “Fine, but I can’t promise I’ll answer all your questions. If I deem them inappropriate, I’ll pass.”

“Duly noted.”

Clouds pass outside, blotting the sunlight. A chill rises over my bare arms and circles down my chest, tightening my nipples beneath my blue tank top. I don’t bother crossing my arms, as it will only draw attention to my chest. And right now, that’s the last thing I want.

“My first question is how long am I in for?”

“Thirty days.”

Relief melts through my tense shoulders, dropping them. “That’s it?”

He frowns. “They didn’t tell you during intake?”

“They did, but I didn’t believe them.”