Page 145 of Brainwashed

“Oh yea? And what makes you the expert?”

He gives me a look. “I think I know a little more about chemistry than you.”

I snort a laugh and shake my head. “Right.”

“I’m serious. You went on and on about how I’d never felt real sexual gratification, and I think you were right. But I’m willing to bet money you’ve never felt true chemistry with anyone you’ve dated.”

I stare blankly at him, swallowing over my dry throat. He rips the gown off, using it to wipe the cum off of himself. He’s sitting there on this table, naked and… beautiful. I don’t understand how a man can look so fucking gorgeous to me, but it’s making my head hurt and my stomach flip.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” He hops off the table and wanders over to get his clothes.

I watch him move, his tall frame, long limbs, graceful in their swinging. The curves and sinews of taut muscle that make him up. Pale complexion, decorated in the occasional bruise from this fucking place. But they look good.

I think I’d like to make some bruises on him myself. Just light ones, like from my mouth or my teeth, or my fingers.

My breathing is suddenly shallow, but my heart is racing.

“You’re not the one examining me,” I grunt at him while he dresses, peeking at me over his shoulder. “I’m the doctor, and you’re the patient. And you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He finishes and glides over to me, running his fingers inside my dress shirt that’s hanging open. I grab his wrist and he gasps, biting his lip. “Keep telling yourself that…Doc.”

There are so many urges flowing through my veins, I don’t even know what to do with myself. All I know is that being near him fucks with my system. He’s like a virus, and the only way I’ll get rid of him is to get some distance and some perspective.

Unfortunately for me, even if I wanted to do that, which I don’t, it’s not an option.

Though after Manuel Blanco sees this footage, it might be the last straw. He might just fire me.

Or kill me.

I can’t even think anymore. I’m so distracted, so confused and exhausted and tormented by my state of affairs, I end up just dragging Felix up the hall and tossing him inside his cell. When I slam the door shut, I see him watching me through that tiny window. Locked away in a cage like the rabid animal he is.

He can’t be right, can he?

Is there a chemistry so strong it doesn’t care who you are or what you’re used to, and it’ll force feelings on you for the most unlikely of recipients? And if so, how would I combat something like that?

Moreover, does Felix Darcey really care forme, or is this whole thing just a symptom of his endless need for affection and his blatant daddy issues?

Or worse…is it just because he’s trapped?

Back at the mansion, I get into the shower and stand beneath the water spray for an hour, just thinking. Considering the brainwashing I may have embarked on with my patient, the killer…

And howbeneficialit is… Or isn’t.

The wind whistles through the trees.

Dusk has settled, and the forest is quiet.

The only sounds are those occasional rustles and snaps. Animals moving about.

Monsters stalking their prey.

I’m walking, but I don’t feel it. I’m gliding, my legs moving on their own, weaving around snapped trees and broken branches.

And that’s when I see him.

The fox. The one I found when I was a child.

I’m not sure how I know it’s the same fox, but I can just tell. I feel it inside. It’smyfox.