Page 9 of Asylum (The Wellard Asylum #9)

I ’m so fucking confused.

I’ve come to depend on him for comfort and support, yet he’s left me alone in this fucking hole, like I’m nothing.

“Stupid fucking girl.” The voice in my head screams as I realize I’ve once again put my trust in someone who doesn’t deserve it.

He toyed with me and got what he wanted.

At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he does the same thing with all the other female patients.

I have a migraine from all the back and forth in my head.

I make excuses for him, then I tell myself I’m nothing more than a plaything, a warm hole to stick his dick in.

Why do I keep doing this to myself? What happened with my family should’ve taught me a hard lesson, but for some reason, I refuse to learn.

You can’t trust anyone but yourself.

“You seem agitated today.” His voice breaks through my thoughts.

He had Nurse Carter bring me into his office fifteen minutes ago. He didn’t bother looking up from his paperwork, only pointing to the couch for me to sit.

Bastard.

“You’re keeping me in the isolation ward. At least in gen pop I could talk to people.”

“You make it sound like you’re in prison.”

My jaw clenches. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this was a play date.”

“Olivia, you know I don’t care for sarcasm.”

“Respectfully Dr. Stone, fuck you.” Damn. I’m on a roll today.

His dark eyes meet my gaze, his jaw clenching so tightly, I’m surprised his teeth don’t shatter. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

I know I should take it back, smooth things over, but I’m not in the mood today. Uncrossing my legs, I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, enunciating each word slowly, adding volume to my voice. “I. Said. Fuck. You.”

He opens the top drawer of his desk, removing something I can’t see. Rising from his chair, he makes his way towards me, a sadistic grin on his smug face.

My eyes dart to his right hand, a syringe dangling from his fingers. “Atlas, no!” I scream, jumping from the couch.

His devious grin widens, his perfect, white teeth gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the window. My stomach churns, bile teasing the back of my throat.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

With every step he takes, I retreat quickly, a twisted dance of survival, a predator circling his prey. “Atlas, stop! You can’t sedate me. I won’t fucking let you!”

That was the wrong thing to say.

He growls, accepting my determination as a challenge. “Little doll, when will you learn? I can do whatever the fuck I want to you.”

My heart lurches in my chest. The man I’ve come to admire, the one I’ve developed feelings for is just as sadistic as my stepbrother.

The realization freezes the breath in my lungs, my body going rigid.

My vision dims in the corners, and my head spins, my mind on shuffle, looking for what I need to protect myself.

“Kill him.” The voice snarls, and whether it’s another consciousness or the devil on my shoulder, I’m in agreement with the bitch.

The doctor who’s supposed to help me, give me another chance at life, is a fucking lunatic. He knows I can’t handle sedatives. He’s witnessed what happens. He doesn’t care.

The slow simmer of rage barrels toward the surface, and there’s no stopping it now. Whether he sedates me or not, he has a fucking fight on his hands.

Bracing my feet apart, he stops in his tracks, tilting his head to the side. “There she is. My vengeful, little doll. You make me so fucking hard when you lose control.”

“Come play with me then, fucker.” I grin, moving behind his desk.

He chuckles darkly, moving to stand on the other side, directly in front of me.

Wrong move.

Before he realizes it, I’ve jerked the keyboard from the computer, slamming it into the side of his head.

He curses, stumbling back as I jump on top of the oak desk, lunging for him.

He hits the ground hard with me on top of him, and I laugh manically in his face.

“You like getting your ass kicked by a little doll, fuckface?” Rearing back, I don’t give him the chance to respond before punching him square in the fucking throat.

He chokes, his coughing and gagging making me laugh harder.

I don’t want his pretty face to feel left out, so I throw my fist into his nose, blood instantly gushing from his nostrils.

I continue pummeling him over and over, my knuckles splitting open, our blood mingling together, creating a beautiful shade of crimson.

Glancing beside me, a stapler lies out of place on the floor, and the voice is a caress inside my mind.

“Staple his lips together so he can’t tell his pretty, little lies.”

As I reach for it, I feel a pinch in my thigh, and I scream bloody fucking murder.

The burn is immediate as he fills my veins with the knockout poison.

My head slowly turns, and I glare down at Atlas.

His white teeth are a stark contrast to the blood covering his face, trickling from his mouth, down his chin.

“Checkmate, little doll.” His words are the last thing I hear before everything goes black.