“I wasn’t,” I insisted, pulling my hand away from my pocket.
“Yes, you were,” he said. I glared at him.
“Give me the keys,” I said. I wasn’t beneath pleading. “I can climb out the window and leave right now.” I didn't want to leave early, but not killing them was more important than touching them for a few more hours. Orson's eyes flipped between my mismatched ones as I waited for a response.
“No. Now come back out to the couch so I can make sure you don’t wander off in the woods and get yourself killed.”
“Fuck,” I hissed. “Don’t tell the others what we talked about.”
“Why would I? I still haven’t made up my mind.” I stared at the ceiling, working up the energy to get out of bed. Hands gripped my shoulders—Orson was helping me up.
First the watch, now this? I let him help me to my feet. Of course, he chose today as his unusually nice to Baz day. But I needed the cold, distant Orson right now. What would even make him angry? Stabbing him? No, he was probably into that.
“Did that count as a therapy session?” I asked once on my feet.
“It definitely didn’t count as sex.” He stepped away, and on a whim, I pretended I couldn’t keep myself standing. With preternatural speed, Orson grabbed hold of my collapsing body, and lifted me back up. His arm slid around my waist as he helped me walk to the door. I dropped my head on his shoulder.
“I’m so weak,” I whispered very weakly. Orson's eyes slid to me in doubt, and I groaned theatrically. If I was stuck with nice Orson, then I was going to abuse it. Might as well, I was desperate for every touch I could squeeze out before the bitter end.
Orson guided me down the hallway without complaint. Dark wood walls and shag carpet enclosed us. He’d listened to me ramble for years when no one else was interested. Sat in the room with me without flinching away in fear. Even though hehad obviously disliked me for most of that, he always gave me his attention. And now he’d progressed from openly hating me to whatever this was—giving me his watch when I was anxious and practically carrying me from room to room.
I'd often wondered what Orson thought of me, but I’d never sat down and asked what I thought of him. Well, not beyond the vague concerns of him locking me in a cage to force-feed me sadistic therapy and violence. But he'd been in my life as long as he’d been in Bree’s. He was our lying, manipulative, serial killing therapist. Awkwardly, I think I liked him. Can't believe the asshole tried to abandon me like a dad going out for milk.
“Why won’t you help me leave?” I whispered. Orson stopped walking in the middle of the dim hall.
“Well, since you asked,” he started. Immediately, I regretted asking. “You’re scared and withdrawing. It’s your go-to—a weakness. It’s why you locked yourself in the asylum. It’s why you hid from your living family members. It’s why when Nemo touched you all those years ago and got hurt, you refused to be his friend anymore.”
“You know me well, don’t you?”Ouch, Jesus.
“You need to stop withdrawing and you need to consider that your fears are being influenced by traumatic events in your childhood. That they’re unreasonable.”
“Are you calling me delusional?” I asked.
“Always.” He smiled.
“You’ve forgotten something.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m what gave the monsters in the asylum nightmares,” I whispered.
“Baz,” he sighed.
“I can feel my venom changing,” I told him. “It’s like my bones are melting. If my own body is screaming, what do you think that’ll do to you? To Bree?” He gave me a sharp look. “Youdon’t want to help me? Fine. But stay out of my way when I leave.”
11
BRAT PACK
NEMO
Baz stomped into the living room, sank on the couch, and crossed his arms. The gap between his glove and jacket revealed the face of Orson’s watch. I eyed Orson as he trailed into the room. The overwhelming urge to claim Baz crawled out my mouth as a growl. And by claim, I meant bend him in half over the couch and finally fuck him … while Orson watched.
“Feeling better?” I asked, dropping next to him. Baz broke out in laughter.
“Yeah, sure. Feelingsomuch better,” he spat sarcastically.
“Let's talk,” I said. He groaned, dropping his head on the back of the couch.
