Page 115 of Let the Game Begin (Kiss Me Like You Love Me #1)

“It isn’t normal, what we do. Mommy will be mad,” I whispered, rubbing my knees nervously. I still didn’t really understand sex. Perhaps because I had never done it voluntarily. But I knew enough to realize our relationship was wrong. Still, I had to go along with her and keep my mouth shut.

“And whose fault is that? You’re the one who’s wrong, don’t you see?

You want a woman so much older than you,” she accused, like she always did.

Kim said that if I told anyone about what was happening, people would think that I was sick in the head.

Naively, I believed her and had started avoiding people’s eyes so I could hide my sickness and keep from getting locked up in some mental hospital.

“That’s not true! It’s disgusting when you touch me!” I screamed and Kim slapped me, enraged. Then her face softened, and she kneeled before me to touch my injured cheek. She always alternated moments of kindness with those moments in which she became the worst sort of monster.

“I don’t want to hurt you. Stop making me angry,” she murmured so softly. She pushed a strand of hair away from my left eye and smiled at me.

“You always hurt me,” I answered miserably.

“You enjoy it. Your body reacts when I touch you.” Her hands brushed against my chest, and I leaped up, getting away from her as fast as I could.

I looked down at her and shook my head. I felt weak and muddled.

I looked around, memorizing every detail of the room.

There was a weird smell in the air. The sheets were crumpled up.

My clothes were scattered all over the floor.

My desk lamp was on and next to it sat my little red model car, my sketchbook, a pen holder, and a piggy bank shaped like a basketball. Then I looked at my babysitter in her usual uniform, her long blond hair, grayish eyes, a small mole dotting her right cheek…

I realized that everyone had a breaking point. My suffering was ready to explode. I wanted to scream out what I had been enduring now for months so everyone could hear, but I was too afraid of not being understood or, even worse, not being accepted.

The misery and trauma had grown so huge that I had started to dissociate while I was being abused. I abandoned my body and sought refuge deep in my mind because it was the only way I’d survive the experience.

“Someday, women are going to love you just like I love you,” she continued as I rushed to a corner of the room, curling up with my knees drawn tightly to my chest. I didn’t even know what love was supposed to be, but thanks to Kim, I understood that it felt awful.

My life was unavoidably changing now: I had begun to die at the exact moment Kim first “loved” me.

Returning to the present moment, I watched the woman who had just been sitting across from me leaving with a boy who had probably just finished a session with Dr. Keller.

Meanwhile, Chloe was still shut up in my former psychiatrist’s office.

I realized I’d gotten lost in my internal reverie again, losing sight of the prey I’d identified. She had surely noticed my distraction.

I sighed and looked down at the glass table in front of me, littered with numerous magazines as well as a notebook and pencil.

That was weird.

I picked up the notebook and paged through it, seeing that every page was fresh and blank.

I frowned and looked around to see if there was anyone who might have lost it, but there was no one except me and the bulldog at the reception desk.

So I decided to pick up the pencil as well and do what I always did to relax: draw.

“I’m pleased with your progress.” Dr. Lively’s voice cut through the quiet of the waiting room, overpowering the ever-present classical Muzak that I tried not to listen to.

The doctor was walking toward me with his hand on Chloe’s shoulder, and I quickly shut the notebook before tossing it back on the table. His eyes focused on me warily before shifting to the notebook. He gave me a small smile as he leaned over to pick it up.

What the fuck was he smiling about?

I considered his demeanor for a few moments and then I understood.

Dr. Lively had known me since I was a kid.

He knew my likes and dislikes, and he knew that my drawings had always revealed my secrets.

They were the medium I used to communicate.

He had left that notebook in the waiting room on purpose, hoping that I wouldn’t be able to resist drawing in it and giving him something of me to analyze.

“Chloe, could you wait here for a minute?” I stood up and touched my sister’s cheek and she nodded, albeit looking somewhat confused. Then I shot a look at my former shrink, and without waiting for him to follow, walked swiftly into his office.

“What’s the fucking meaning of this?” I blurted out as soon as I heard the office door close behind me. Dr. Lively stood there, the notebook open in his hands, and stared down at my drawing.

“I needed to get you into my office somehow. And I understand the human psyche, yours in particular,” he said wryly as he headed for his desk.

“That’s playing dirty,” I said accusingly because I hated being fucked with like that.

“What is this?” He opened the notebook to the page with my sketch and then looked up at me. His eyes searched my face for answers, but I had none to give him.

“Look, I don’t have time to waste on this. I was done with all that therapy shit, and I’m not about to start again now,” I said baldly as Dr. Lively leaned on the desk in front of me, his arms folded.

“I have other problems to deal with,” I added, thinking of Player 2511, though the doctor knew nothing about that issue.

“For example?” He furrowed his brow, giving me an inquisitive frown.

I wasn’t sure whether or not I should tell him everything. After all, that whole thing had nothing to do with my mental issues or my prior trauma, even if I did feel the weight of it inside me, crushing me a little bit more each day.

“There’s a psychopath after me,” I confessed bluntly.

“He sends these riddles to our house, and he’s launched my family into this game where anyone who gets close to me is a target,” I explained as the psychiatrist remained calm, focusing on my words.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.

” I scrubbed a hand over my face and started pacing before him, suddenly anxious.

The smell of lilies emanating from the flowers on his desk was nauseating, and it took me back to a time when I had to go to this office three times a week.

“Who solves these riddles?”

His question made me halt in my tracks, and I turned to look at him.

What the fuck was he asking me that for? I frowned and took a deep breath before answering. “Me and my brother, and Selene helps.”

Upon hearing that last name, Dr. Lively made a questioning face, so I preempted his curiosity. “Matt Anderson’s daughter, but that’s another story…” I waved a dismissive hand and he pushed himself off the desk and went around it to take a seat in his chair.

“Who solves them?” he asked again, opening his notebook in which he wrote down everything and grabbing a pen from the glass container on his right.

“My brother and I,” I answered quickly, not mentioning Selene’s name again so as not to draw his attention to her.

“I solved the last one, and it was the most complex, I think.” I looked cautiously at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking, but Dr. Lively was busy writing down everything I’d just said in his notebook.

For a moment, it was like a flashback in a movie and I was seeing the same scene, only years before.

He sighed and adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, darting a glance at me.

“When you were in high school, you claimed that there were men lurking outside in a pickup truck,” he said, bringing up an admission I’d made as a teenager.

I took a step back just as he calmly interlaced his fingers and rested his wrists on the wooden surface of the desk, still looking at me all the while.

“You said that those men were kidnapping children, locking them in their truck, and raping them.” He sighed and lowered his gaze to the notebook still open in front of me. He reached out and dragged it under his own nose to get a better look at my drawing.

“But there was no pickup truck and no dangerous men,” he concluded, fixing me with a skeptical stare.

“What are you trying to say?” I asked in an incredulous whisper. He couldn’t possibly think I was lying. He couldn’t possibly think that I…

“My brother’s life was in danger, Dr. Lively. He nearly died!” I raised my voice and felt the uncontrollable tremors start in my muscles. I advanced on him in a blind rage. But he did not give up.

“Where were you when these riddles were delivered to your home?” He took his pen, turning it over in his fingers as he leaned back in his chair. I couldn’t believe he would actually ask me that question. I looked at him in shock and waves of disappointment and anger hit me right in the chest.

“Stop it! Stop insinuating this bullshit!” I grabbed the glass pen holder and hurled it violently against the wall.

I needed to vent some of this feeling. I was no longer in control of my impulses and my reason, as usual, had fled, abandoning me to my demons.

My tachycardia intensified, and I began to sweat. My temples pulsed painfully, my clothes were suffocating, my hands shook. Anger was an involuntary energy that surged through my body and pushed inside my head, searching for an escape route.