Page 19 of Exposed (The Wellard Asylum #1)

I move. Step. Breathe. It’s like I’m watching myself, a puppet connected to strings, operated by an invisible force. I’m not sure what to do, who I am, or why I have this need to see my mother’s grave one last time. Maybe it’ll give me the confirmation that this is the right decision for me.

Benji, the only safe person in this world, is gone now.

At least my father is still alive.

Somehow, I get through the cemetery’s rusted black gates. Sparse lights illuminate the brown grass between the headstones. It’s quiet here. A low buzzing sensation ripples through me, a dying light’s last surge of energy. I’m completely numb.

Just keep going, I think. Step. Breathe. It’s okay, because you’re going to end this. You’re doing this for a good reason. The right reason.

I pat the knife and the pill container in my pockets, then I swallow hard, tears burning my eyes.

A week ago, seeing her gravestone would renew hope inside of me. I was close to finally getting myself back. Killing someone would obviously land me in jail, but wouldn’t it be better than being trapped in my own mind? Better than if I didn’t do it?

I stop at her grave. Her headstone rises to my knees, and yet its presence looms like a tower. Freak is written across it in jagged, faded pink letters. Below it, the dark, empty grave beckons me, a cheap coffin propped open at the bottom covered in shadows.

Benji was right. I didn’t dig up my mother’s grave, but someone did.

It was probably Dr. Ambrose.

But why would he go through such great lengths to convince Benji I had dug up my mother? Does Dr. Ambrose want me that much?

I shake my head. I hate that I like that idea.

A small building, not much bigger than a garden shack, catches my attention. It’s probably the groundskeeper’s storage area or the office. Whoever is in there may know something about the empty grave. I doubt anyone works at night, but I’m grasping for answers. I’m crumbling on the inside.

I run toward it.

“Please!” I bang on the door. “Can someone help? My mother’s grave has been dug up! Help! I think someone stole my mother!” I pound my fists into the dull wood. “Someone help me.” As my resolve crumbles, I whisper, “Tell me what to do.”

My knuckles wrap the door until they’re raw.

The door stays closed.

I lean on the building, slide to the ground, and hug my knees close to my chest. Sobs rake through me. It’s like I’m in the ocean, and I’m fucking drowning because I know what I want, but none of it is good for me .

Breathe. Step. Move forward, I tell myself. You can’t give up now, or this will haunt you for the rest of your life. If this is a trap, then you have to go through with it, even if you end up in your own grave.

Eventually, I drag my feet against the patchy grass. I wrinkle my nose at the empty coffin. What did Dr. Ambrose do with her corpse, anyway? Is he the kind of man to fuck the dead?

I shake my head. Dr. Ambrose gets off on causing pain, and a corpse can’t feel anything. He must have done this to manipulate Benji and control me.

Why does that warm my insides?

I sit on the edge of the grave and dangle my feet inside. Maybe there’s comfort in a world where Dr. Ambrose wants me enough to create a situation where I’m forced to stay in his care, where I’m completely his.

No, no, no! He’s all wrong!

I scream and tear my fingers through my hair. For fuck’s sake, I just want to belong to anyone as long as I don’t have a choice. As long as they want me that much, damn it!

Maybe I did this to myself…

Maybe I like that Dr. Ambrose might be my father.

Maybe I like everything he’s done to me.

Maybe I love it.

My stomach churns, knots spiraling deeper into my core, tendrils of logic and self-hatred braiding with disgust and shame. Still, I want more of him, because I don’t know if I’ll ever find a connection like ours again.

We’re both freaks, Dr. Ambrose had said, as if my desires, my desperation, my needs were acceptable. Familiar. A genuine part of who I am. Who we are .

A car engine echoes across the empty streets. Headlights flicker as the vehicle turns onto the road. A brown cargo van with gold-painted ridges comes into view. Bars cage the small windows on the side, and bright red letters decorate the exterior: The Wellard Asylum.

Dr. Ambrose is here to collect me.