Page 71 of Brainwashed

Shaking it off, I stagger into my office, going for my desk drawer. I trust Callahan for the most part. And I can’t worry about Trevel right now.

I need to see Felix.

Picking up the walkie talkie I got from the begrudging control room operators, I switch it on and click to the guards’ main channel.

“This is Dr. Love. Someone please bring Felix Darcey to my office for an hour session.”

Pulling up my recorder app on my work phone, I get settled in my leather chair, and only ten minutes of thrumming in place later, there’s a knock at my door.

It swings open and in shuffles my shackled patient. No straitjacket this time. Peters removes everything and I feel Felix exhaling a long, breathy sigh as he rubs his wrists, stepping farther into the room.

Officer Peters mumbles, “One hour.” Then leaves, closing the door behind him.

My eyes are glued to Felix, his tall frame draped in drab colors and stiff fabrics. But then I see a red line at the waist of his pants and I remember the boxers I got for him. Of course, I didn’tphysicallypick them out or anything. I asked Kent to get the nicest boxer briefs he could find. And then yesterday in the shower, I see Felix wearing a yellow pair of Calvin Klein’s.

Really, Kent? Yellow??

It’s not something I ever would have chosen myself, since I’m not known for my overly flashy wardrobe. But I have to admit, they looked good on Felix. Though I think I prefer the dark red ones he has on now. They better suit his creamy complexion.

Shaking myself out of my wayward thoughts, I press record on my phone screen. “Felix.” He jumps at the sound of my voice, which is interesting, giving me this sort of doe-eyed expression, to which I lift my brows. “Come sit.”

His head wobbles subtly. “Oh right. Sorry…” He wanders over, having a seat on the couch across from me.

I can’t help the way I’m scrutinizing his every expression, considering how he feels about what Templeton did to him. And it makes no sense, but I find myself attached to the idea that he hated the experience, when in reality,Icould be the one overthinking it.

Maybe he enjoyed himself… He got off, after all. Though that seemed to me like more of an inevitable physical reaction.

Stowing that for later, I decide to get him warmed up a little. “So… how are you feeling?”

His dark eyelashes flutter behind his glasses. “I’m okay.”

“Felix.” My face slants. “You should know by now that there’s no point in telling me what you think I want to hear. The pressure from society to always answergoodwhen someone asks how you’re doing doesn’t interest me. I want to know exactly and precisely howyouare feeling.”

His lips part, but nothing comes out while he gapes at me. He certainly seems a bit off, and I don’t think this isn’t me projecting after what I just watched. Even theFelix Darceypart of him—the more insecure, timid part—is usually more forthcoming. At least he was getting there with me.

And the idea that those doctors and their errant experiments may have ruined the work I’ve been putting in with Felix since I got here makes me so angry I have to momentarily squeeze my hand into a fist to overcome it.

“Okay. Fine.” Felix settles into his seat. “I’m tired. I didn’t sleep well last night. And I’m hungry, since I haven’t eaten anything in like twelve hours, and I’m pissed off because…” His voice trails and I witness his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

It reminds me of the video. The way he slowly swallowed, eyelids drooping, head leaning back as he succumbed to the sensations Templeton was forcing on him.

I shift in my seat. “Tell me.” My voice comes out quietly insistent.

“I don’t like the experiments,” he whispers, then tugs his lower lip between his teeth. “They’re confusing… And I don’t like being confused. I don’t like being forced to give up control. I hate it, actually. If I’m giving it up by choice, I guess that would be one thing, but having a bunch of assholes disrupt my evening and treat me like an object…”

I scoot forward in my seat, but say nothing. I don’t know if I should speak right now. The things I’m thinking won’t be helpful to him. Or me.

Still, our eyes remain locked while he tells me, “I know it’s hypocritical. I’m not a fool. I know this is what Ideserve. But still, I can’t help feeling like they’re trying to modify me in some way, and that’s irritating. That’s why I like talking to you…”

His words surprise me, and my brows slope on their own. “Do you…”

He nods enthusiastically. “Yea. I mean, at least you understand that this is who I am. I was born this way.” He pauses and gives me an almost pleading look. “You do believe that, right, Doc?”

I consider his question for a moment. I want to give him the best possible answer.

“Do I believe there are aspects of your life, your past, your upbringing that have shaped you? Of course. We can’t deny the nurture to our nature, but that’s just it. They’re both valid parts of what makes usus. That said, I also happen to believe that your chemistry developed around those factors in a way that’s specific to you. Other people could have experienced the same things as you, but would have dealt with it differently.”

The room is quiet for a moment before his lips twist. “You’re so extra. You could have just saidyes.”