Page 11 of Exposed (The Wellard Asylum #1)

B efore I learned about my mother’s death, I heard rumors about the Wellard Asylum.

People would whisper, saying they drove their cars faster whenever they saw those gates; how they held their breath, as if the faintest sigh could wake the most wretched evils within; how they knew people disappeared inside of its walls.

It wasn’t a fear of the patients; it was the doctors, the staff, and the asylum itself that created this haunting aura.

Sometimes, I would imagine long, dark buildings rising up from the fog, and ghosts, so many ghosts, wandering the grounds, spirits trapped in this existence long before they actually died.

When I saw the asylum in person for the first time, I realized it wasn’t a haunted house.

It was like the rest of the world: a structure controlled by corruption.

The asylum’s mission statement in an old newspaper claimed they want to help others, but the chain-link fences and barred windows tell a different story.

Now, with my arms restrained to an exam table, my spine tingles, and that discomfort spreads roots in the base of my neck, leashing me to this place.

A cage. A collar. A lead. I’m not a pet here; I’m a creature to study, to mold, to manipulate, and it’s only going to get worse, because it’s not the asylum, the staff, or any doctor who is clutching my chains.

It’s Dr. Ambrose himself.

The assistant rests against the edge of the sink, completely engrossed in writing his notes. To him, I’m another part of the building, a piece of decaying furniture to be forgotten.

It’s better like this though. If I don’t exist to him, then he’ll leave me alone.

When I did catch his attention, he restrained me for covering my breasts.

Her entire self will remain exposed, Dr. Ambrose had said. It’s time she accepts who she truly is.

This is not who I am.

I stare at the rotting tile, the stench of disinfectant, sulfur, and my drying arousal ripe in the air.

Did my mother step foot in this exam room?

Was the tile clean back then? What if I become like her?

What if I die here too? What if being here, restrained in an exam room, is the last time I’m able to think for myself?

A desert storm blusters through my head; I swallow a lump in my throat. I don’t know why that thought crossed my mind. Dr. Ambrose is probably trying to brainwash me, but I’m not going to give up my mind because of his stupid games.

I hate him.

My foster parents were neglectful at best. I survived, and they made it clear early on they would never love me, and in a way, it settled my expectations. My ex and Benji made me smile, but they didn’t move me like this.

This is the first time I’ve felt this strongly about anyone, and I can’t let that go. Not yet. Not completely. Not until Dr. Ambrose is dead.

And until then, I will suffer through everything he gives me. For my mother.

It’s about her. Right…

A dull ache rolls in the pit of my stomach.

I twist my wrists against the restraints.

I’m stuck against the exam table, and my palms are clammy.

Sometimes, when I let my brain go into the darkest corners of my mind, I know being here is about more than my mother, her killer, revenge, or justice.

I’m here because I want to endure what she endured: every pain, every pleasure, every messed-up thing leading to her death.

I want a connection to her, or any semblance of one, because then I won’t be an outsider. A reject.

Because I don’t want to be alone anymore.

My ex’s words vibrate inside of me, swishing like bubbles down the drain: Fucking freak.

Knuckles knock on the exam room door. I ball my fists. It’s time to face Dr. Ambrose for the last time. As soon as I have my hands free, I’ll kill him.

The assistant unlocks the exam room door, then opens it.

Benji enters.

My chest deflates, disappointment drooping my shoulders.

Benji is safe. He’s good.

So why do I wish Dr. Ambrose was the one visiting me right now?

The assistant leaves the exam room. The door locks with a loud clang.

Benji glosses over me, taking in my restraints, my bare body, my face. I must be covered in sweat and grime, and my hair is probably a tangled mess.

I smile. He looks away. My heart drops.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“He wants to begin the testing phase,” Benji says quietly.

He holds my hand, but his eyes stay down like he’s avoiding me. Is he hiding something from me?

“How are you?” he asks. “The doctor said you were having issues with listening to instructions?”

I roll my eyes. “That’s how he put it, huh?”

“I told you, Violet,” he whines. “This place is messed up. You have to listen. It’s the only way to survive. You can’t?—”

I huff. “We have our plan.”

Benji drops my hand and shrinks. He shoves his hands in his pockets like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

I used to think the habit was cute, but now, it annoys me.

Doesn’t he know I need this? We’ve been working toward this for years.

If I don’t have him on my side, then I don’t know what I’ll do.

I need to know Benji will be there waiting for me once I kill Dr. Ambrose.

“What if the plan doesn’t work?” he whispers.

“It has to.”

We both glance toward the mirrored wall. He saw it during one of his consultations and told me about it…which means he very likely watched me and Dr. Ambrose together. And that means he saw me cum harder with Dr. Ambrose than I ever did with him.

My stomach churns. “Could you hear us during the exam?”

Benji shakes his head. “I never saw or heard anything during our consultations. Who knows, though? We should be careful. He might have microphones somewhere. We should at least hide our faces in case he can read our lips.

“All right,” I whisper. I turn my back to the mirror. “I’ll be good from now on. I’ll do whatever ‘the doctor’ says.”

“Or we can leave now, Violet. I know you. You have a defiant streak. It’s part of why I love you. You’re the opposite of me, but it’s going to get you in trouble here.”

He bows his head. Frustration carves an empty space in my rib cage. We’re this far, and he wants to stop me?

Tears brim his eyes, ready to drop.

“We don’t have to do this,” he begs. “Your mother didn’t deserve to die, but you don’t deserve this either. Please, Violet.”

As badly as I want to slap some sense into him, he’s right. I don’t deserve to be treated like this. No one does.

But if I give up now, will other people judge me for being compliant? Letting injustice continue without repercussions? And even more importantly, will I be able to live with myself? Will I be able to move on? Will I have control over my thoughts again?

An icy chill rattles my spine. There’s that thought again. Why do I keep thinking about my mind being controlled by other forces?

Maybe Dr. Ambrose has been shaping my life more than I first realized. Through my mother. Through my obsessions. Through my desires.

I clench my jaw. My only desire is to fucking end this.

Benji reaches for my hand again. “Don’t let Dr. Ambrose do this to you.”

I bite my tongue. I don’t want to admit it to Benji—it’s hard enough to admit it to myself—but there’s something about Dr. Ambrose I need to figure out.

Maybe it’s that he’s my mother’s murderer, or the fact that he might be my father.

I may never figure out what the reason is, but I can’t leave. Not until this is over.

In the grimy mirror, deep veins strain in my neck, my pulse visibly throbbing in my temples. Does Dr. Ambrose’s blood run through me? Can he see every tension building inside me?

Tell me you don’t belong here, he said with his thin, grueling lips, as if he always knew I was meant to be here with him, as if his disgust and hunger had always been waiting for me.

“I have to do this,” I say.

“What happens when you finish what you came here for? Closure?” Benji asks in a low voice. “Okay, but what about after that? What happens when you get out of here and you’re still obsessed with your mother?”

The words race out of me before I can stop them: “It’s not just about my mother. It’s about me.”

His tone plummets. “What? What about you?”

I make sure my face is turned away from the mirrored wall and any potential viewer on the other side. I can’t answer him anyway. Instead, I whisper, “The vial is underneath the exam table. Pretend like you’re tying your shoe.”

“Come on, Violet,” Benji says. He angles his back to the mirror too, keeping his chin down as he forces out the words. “Barely anyone gets out of here alive. You don’t deserve to be here.”

I don’t deserve to be here.

My chest aches. Why does that hurt?

Anger boils inside of me. I don’t deserve the lies about my past. I don’t deserve to be abandoned through death or selfish rejection. I don’t deserve an ex who ridiculed me. I don’t deserve a lot of things in my life.

I’ve always wanted to fit in, to belong, and though my ex and Benji gave me that to some degree, I need more. I need to know if I really am like my mother. If my father truly abandoned me.

Beyond that, I need to kill my mother’s murderer so I can accept myself.

“Get the vial,” I demand in a harsh whisper.

This time, Benji grabs the vial as he pretends to tie his shoes. Luckily, even with the mirrored wall, the exam table will hide most of what we’re doing from Dr. Ambrose’s view.

Nerves flutter in my chest. “Keep your back to the mirror and pretend like you’re coughing,” I instruct. “Put the vial in your mouth like you’re eating a mint, then kiss me.”

Benji’s shoulders droop slightly. He fiddles with his shoelaces, then eats the tube. His lips near mine, and for a split second, I glance at the mirrored wall. Dr. Ambrose may see us kiss. Will it upset him? Will it turn him on? Will he think it’s more proof of my illness?

Why do I care?

Benji’s lips smack against mine, and he opens his mouth.

The tiny glass bottle clinks against my teeth.

I stuff it in my cheek. It’s bigger than I remember, but I only need to hide it like this for a little while.

Dr. Ambrose will see my silence as obedience, which will probably excite him, and once I get my hands back, I’ll hide the vial another way.

Our kiss breaks, and vacancy fills me. There’s no imprint of Benji’s touch. I’m completely numb to him .

And yet Dr. Ambrose’s fist and his clit-pinching fingers flicker over my brain; my pussy immediately clenches, soreness riding every muscle in my body.

I strain slightly against the wrist restraints. Benji deserves someone better, someone who is sweet and devoted as he is. I need more though, and the sad part is I don’t know where those needs end.

“Be careful, all right?” Benji whispers.

I don’t say anything, because I shouldn’t be talking with the acid vial in my mouth. It might give the plan away.

I stay silent, because I can’t keep that promise.