Page 164 of Brainwashed

Years spent hurting people can only lead to one thing. The life I’ve led had only one discourse.

But Lem has thrown a wrench into all that. He sprung up in my world like a flower into the drab and devoid existence I’d been living, wrapped in a straitjacket and talking to the wall. He burst in like a breath of fresh air. As if someone opened a window in winter and let the icy breeze in.

He gave me something to focus on.Him.

And now I don’t really know what to think. I’m still here, still sentenced to eternity on this island. But because of Dr. Love, I get to walk in the sand. I get to smell the ocean air, and I get to make out against trees with a man who’s so overpoweringly sexy it’s impossible to keep myself from dropping to my knees to worship him in any way he wants.

The craving I have for him is stronger than any other I’ve ever experienced in my twenty-three years of life. And thecraziestpart of all is that I don’t actively want to kill him.

I’m terrified that he might leave me, sure. It keeps me up at night sometimes, after I wake up from one of my illustrious dreams about running through the forest, dewy grass and leaves brushing me as I scamper, chasing my prey while another predator chases me. When I turn over in Lem’s bed to watch him, and listen to him mumbling in his sleep, about whatever pictures he’s seeing in that complex mind of his, the fear that grips the inside of my throat is so thick, it’s like I swallowed a mouthful of tar. It coats my innards, making me so sick, so intensely scared, I can’t help the tears that slip from my eyes.

Quite literallytearsforfears.

If I lose him, I don’t know what I’ll do. I think I might rip someone apart from limb to limb. It might even be me.

But even knowing that I feel this way, experiencing such suffocating emotions surrounding this man who I know almost nothing about, I don’t want to kill him. I don’t want to end his life to stop him from leaving me, because if I do… I won’t get to find out if he’ll stay.

It’s like a coin-flip. A toss-up. The ultimate wager.

Do I leave him alive and give him the chance to love me, or do I make a preemptive strike?

I’m sitting on his bed right now, watching TV.I know, right?? I’m a fucking serial killer! And I’m watching fucking Netflix.

It’s actually fitting. Lem put on season one ofMindhunter. He says it’s his favorite show, based on a book that he considers his Bible—one of the few details about himself I’ve been able to gain. You bet your ass I’m holding it as close to my chest as humanly possible.

But he’s not with me right now. He’s out in the hall on the phone.

We pretty much just got back to the mansion for the night and put the show on, getting ready for some Netflix and chill, when his phone rang. Lem grumbled out of annoyance, but he got up to answer it, anyway. And now I’m just jittering in place, hoping it’s nothing bad…

I’m going to be totally honest here… When he gave me his cell phone the other day, I may have glanced at his text messages. Okay,fine, I burrowed through that shit like a pig on the hunt for truffles. Because I’m a murderer. I’m pretty sure snooping through someone’s phone is the nicest thing I’m expected to do.

There wasn’t much to find. A few messages from someone named Emily about work stuff. One text from his father asking where he is and if he’s alright, which I thought was kind of sweet. A message from some doctor colleague.

But then I stumbled upon the booty call.

Some girl namedCynthiahad texted him, asking if he wanted to get together again. Her message was very flirtatious and insinuated that they’vegotten togetherbefore. It sent some pretty strong jealous rage rushing through my veins, and the killer with a lack of self-control in me almost replied telling her if she ever contacted this number again, I’d gut her like a fish and mail pieces of her to her entire family.

But I composed myself, because I’m agentleman. And continued to dig.

That was when I found an entire thread between him and someone namedGabrielle. Another ex, I suppose, though this one it looked like he’d been involved with for a while.

It felt like someone was stabbing me in the chest with a fork, over and over again. Dull, throbbing aches behind my ribcage that made me want to throw up.

I’ve experienced jealousy before. Of course I have. But it was usually for someone I didn’tknow. Someone I was watching from afar, imagining what it would be like if they were mine, and I could tell the person hitting on them tofuck off my man.

With Lem, I consider him mine, but I’m not sure if he really is. On occasion, he acts like he is… Sometimes the way he looks at me, the way he holds my face in his big hands and kisses my mouth softly, like he’s still so unsure of whether this is something he wants, but he just can’t stop himself… It’s like that time when he kissed me in my cell. There’sabsolutely no wayhe feels nothing for me.

But he still acts mostly like my doctor. My doctor, who’s become surprisingly obsessed with putting his cock in me.It’s horribly frustrating.

I don’t know what to expect from him. I feel like I shouldn’t expect much, but I can’t help myself. It’s what I do, after all.

I’ve fallen in love with Love.Literallythis time.

His footsteps approach the door, and I stow all my excess feelings, knowing damn well there’s no way I can tell him any of this. He’s already skittish as it is, being that he’s only ever been with women, and now he’s venturing into bisexual territory that scares the shit out of him. Not to mention he’s a robot, and even though I know there’s something in there similar to affection for me, based on the texts between him and his previous partners, he’s a love novice.

Lem stalks into the room, closing the door behind him and making his way back to the bed. He sets his phone down on the nightstand with a sigh, then kicks off his shoes, settling in next to me.

I’m dying to know who it was—if it was Cynthia begging for another ride on his perfect giant of a dick, or Gabrielle asking if they could get back together—but I know better than to ask. He won’t tell me, anyway. He never answers any of my questions about himself.