And this violation is a wakeup call. I’ve let myself romanticise Damien’s antisocial nature and get drawn into his cat-and-mouse game. Once the fallout from Monday’s confrontation settles, I’ll steer clear of him.
If it isn’t already too late.
Damien waitson a chair outside the counsellor’s office when I arrive on Monday morning. My body is a tight fist of fury and trepidation, and I drop stiffly into the next seat along, engulfedin yet another of his expensive colognes. This scent is like an old forest, moss entangled with pine.
“Pleased to see you got my message.”
It’s the same teasing tone he always uses, and today it scrapes my nerves raw. “From when you broke into my house and stole my personal possessions? Yeah, I got it.”
I fold my arms, trying to hold onto my anger so I won’t be left with the anxiety crawling underneath.
The fear he’ll tell someone and I’ll be forced onto more medication. The slow drudge of it in my veins, weighing down my thoughts. Increasing the vividness of my nightmares.
“House breaking? Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He bends his fingers in a ‘hand it over’ gesture, then frisks me and grabs out my phone when I don’t respond, holding it to my face so it unlocks.
Clicking his tongue, he stops the recording. “You’re growing predictable, Snowflake. I’m a little disappointed.”
He clicks into a few apps, probably deleting the cloud version, then pockets my device, and I clasp my hands together, so I won’t lunge for it. I’d just lose.
“What’re we doing here?” I wave at the counsellor’s door.
“Let’s just say, I’m concerned what you might be planning.”
He jiggles his inside pocket, and my pills rattle in their bottle.
My stomach drops, joining the aching cramps pulsing in my abdomen. “If you say anything, I’ll just claim they’re not mine. You’re the one with meds you shouldn’t have in your jacket.”
“A good plan if the school overlooks your old prescription label.” He sounds so amused, I want to smack him. “I even printed out the AI summary in case the guy’s a boomer. Says here,” I hear the rustle as he unfolds a printed page, “they’re Citalo—”
I snatch the page, scrunching it into a tight ball. “It’s just…”
My words falter. No idea of what lie will get me out of this one.
“Yes…?”
“They make me sick, so I…” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. “So, I don’t take them.”
“Mm. That’s what I first thought, but then, why save them? Why not just rinse them straight down the sink?”
I don’t have an answer except for the truth. I keep quiet.
“My second thought was dealing. Selling them to needy teens. Practically a public service if you think about it, except they’re awfully sticky. Not sure even a desperate teen would go for that.”
“And what are you going to tell the counsellor then? That you stole them from a locked drawer while trespassing in my house?”
“I’ll tell him nothing if you agree to my kind offer.” He pulls at the collar of my blouse, straightening it, then smoothing the edges so they lie flat. “Plus, a little extra for my trouble, something in line with your plan. Call it a new kink.”
“What extra?”
He doesn’t have time to answer before the door behind us opens, and the counsellor steps out, frowning at the two of us. “Damien?”
“Mr Aleffo.”
Damien stands and shakes the man’s hand while my mouth slackens. I thought the seating arrangement was a threat, not that he’d actually booked an appointment.
“And this is my girlfriend, Ophelia. I hope you don’t mind giving us a couples session. Sorry about the short notice.”
