I don’t look up—because I already know who it is.
Valerio slides into the chair across from me. He doesn’t even fucking say hello. He’s wearing those black gloves again.
I keep my eyes on my paper. “You’re violating about six different boundaries.”
“Your life is boring,” Valerio shrugs unabashedly.
“It’s called being a normal person. You should try it sometime.”
He’s right, though. My life is boring, and it always has been. That’s why I love my unconventional job so much—I get to live the excitement and darkness through these people from the comfort of my routine.
“I tried it. It didn’t take.”
He reaches out, his thumb brushing the edge of my coffee cup. “You’re wearing the same lipstick.” He stares at the imprints on the cup like it’s a specimen. “I thought you’d change it to red after you saw what’s inside a man’s skull.”
“Go away, Valerio.”
“No.” His fingers wrap around the handle of my coffee cup, and I watch with furrowed brows as he places his lips right on the imprints and takes a sip.
Is this the samepeople disgust me with their sweat and filthValerio? Or is saliva not included on that list?
“I enjoy taunting you,” he drawls.
Careful not to touch him, I snatch the cup from his hands and place it back beside me. I’m very possessive of my things, even if they’re as small as a cup of coffee.
“Don’t you have better things to do with your time?”
He leans toward me, so close our noses almost touch. Remembering his aversion to touch, I pull back. I don’t fancy dying a horrible death on a random Sunday.
“You didn’t run, Charlotte. Why didn’t you run after the first shot?”
“Maybe I’m just as broken as you are. Is that what you want to hear?”
“I want to know why you cut them loose. Why save them if you didn’t care they were dying?”
“Because I’m the doctor, and you’re the patient. Everything I did was out of commitment to my job. It’s not that I ‘didn’t care’ about them dying—it’s that I chose my priority then, and it was my job. When it was no longer on the line, I saved what I could.”
He clenches and unclenches his fists. He’s frustrated.
Good.
“You think a title protects you?” He stands abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor.
“Don’t follow me home,” I command, changing the subject.
“I don’t have to,” he laughs. “I know I’m already there. Every time you close your eyes, I’m the thing you see in the corner of the room.”
Despite his words being true, I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it. I lift my right shoulder defiantly. “If you think you occupy even a second of my thoughts outside our sessions, you’re even more troubled than I initially thought.”
His eyebrows rise, and a vein pulses at his temple. With a slam of his fist on the table, he leaves.
He’s right. But I’ll never allow him to realize it.
I reach into my bag, looking for my keys, but my fingers hit something else. I try to feel out what it could be, then pull it out when I can’t identify it.
It’s a spent shell casing, still smelling of cordite. I rush to stuff it back into my bag.
He was in my bag. He was in my space. And I didn’t even notice.
