Page 62 of Brainwashed

“I didn’t say you’veneverbeen in love,” he interrupts me. “I’m sure you were in love at least once… And that’s the love you’re chasing. The one who got away.”

I freeze. Like, solid. I think my heart even stops beating.

Cameron…

I swallow thickly. There’s no way he knows about Cam… I’ve never talked about him to anyone, at least not any cops or doctors.So what was that… a lucky guess??

Or is he really just that good of a psychologist?

Dr. Love does that cocky head slant again, as if he can read all over my face that he’s right. And it pleases him immensely.

“Oh, trust me, Felix. We’ll have more than enough time to continue talking about this,” he rumbles triumphantly. “But for now, let’s get back on track. You were telling me what you did with Emmanuel after you killed him. Leave out no details.”

“Please…” I mumble under my breath, and he squints at me. I roll my eyes. “Yeah, so I laid with him for a while. Until he got cold. When his warmth went away, I got nervous. I knew he wouldn’t feel likehimfor much longer. So I put him in the bath. Which was really difficult, by the way, because he was heavy as shit.”

Dr. Love blinks at me, probably looking expressionless to everyone else. But I can read him. Somehow I’m able to tell how invested he is in my story, and it’s confusing because I’ve only known him a few days, but already I seem to be picking up on his little mannerisms. The changes to his expressions that allude to him being eager, or even, dare I say, enchanted.

I could be way off, but I don’t think I am. I’ve always been good at reading people. Especially people who don’t want to be read.

“I gave him a bath to keep him warm and clean up the blood,” I continue. “Then I dressed him and brought him to my bed. And we slept together well into the next day.”

“How long did you keep him in your apartment?” Dr. Love asks.

A flush of heat rises in my cheeks, and I’m not sure why. I’m not embarrassed. That’s not what I’m feeling. I think the uneasiness is coming from talking to him about my relationship with Emmanuel. The same feelings came up yesterday when he was asking me about the sex. It’s like I want toimpresshim or… I want to make him jealous.

It’s beyond strange, but I can’t help how my body is reacting. When I speak to Dr. Love, it’s like all my Daddy issues tunnel their way up to the surface.

Shifting in my seat, I say, “Three days. Until the smell became overwhelming. It was summer after all…”

“And in all that time, was there any sexual gratification?” he asks, pinning me down with those eyes.

I gulp and wiggle some more, chewing incessantly on my lip.

“Felix…” His tone is deep, reprimanding.Even more like my father…“Be honest with me. You know you can.”

I nod slowly, licking my lips.

“What did you do to relieve your sexual urges?” He keeps nudging, leaning in closer, resting his elbows on his knees.

My lips part, but it takes me a moment to get the words out. “I just… I would touch him. Rub myself on him… I would pretend he was asleep, and I was trying to get off without waking him.”

Dr. Love’s eyes are wide, interest fully piqued. His broad chest seems to be moving up and down faster than usual with visible breaths.

“Did you have sex with him?” he asks quietly. “While he was asleep?”

The air in the room feels thick and hazy. I don’t know what’s going on here, but it feels strange. I’m not supposed to share these details with anyone. They’re supposed to be only mine, kept locked away in my mind. Putting them out into the world feels like something so very bad. Awful, horrendous, abhorrent.

We know I like it. But not only that, my doctor likes it, too. He wants me to tell him the terrible things I’ve done. He’s… impressed.

My head shakes a little. “I didn’t need to. Just touching and kissing him, feeling his skin on mine… It was enough to get me off. And honestly…” My voice cuts out, and Dr. Love lifts his brows expectantly.Eagerly. “It was better than any of the sex we had together when he was… awake.”

A small rumbling noise comes from the doctor as he shifts, sitting back in his seat. He slowly reaches over, picking up the notepad again and scribbling out some words while I release a shaky breath.

His tongue slides over his lower lip, the sight flipping my stomach as a tightness spreads throughout my gut, up to my chest. It’s mesmerizing,intoxicating, the feeling of talking to him about this.

And seeing how much he appreciates it.

“Do you have other patients who have killed people?” I ask him, itchingly interested.