But even half dead and more than half in agonizing pain, I could beat the fuck out of him, and he knows it.
So rather than gamble with his life, he shuts his big fucking mouth.
I hide it, but the truth is that I'm afraid of me, too.
I don't understand who I am right now. Violent thoughts swirl through my mind, constantly tracking every person who walks in and out of my room and how easy it would be to take them by surprise and escape.
It's taking immense effort not to rip these little straps off my arms and fight my way out of here. I don't have any of my strength back. There's no telling how far I'd get beforesomebodymanages to subdue me, bringing me right back here with even more security and possibly narcotics to keep me pliant.
A temporary reprieve wouldn't be worth the risk of being drugged into complicity.
But my good behavior doesn't change the constant ritual of plotting my escape.
I don't remember ever being like this.
Of course, a lot can happen in five years. I would imagine that none of it is good if the person it turned me into is a psychopath that laughs in an armed asshole’s face and tries to taunt him into pulling the trigger.
The officer doesn't take his eyes or aim off of me as the doctor continues his prodding at my sore muscles and barely healed collarbone.
A knock at my door draws all of our attention, and a mousy little man in an oversized suit lets himself in.
He clears his throat, looking around the room. "Mr. Fomori, I'm Clyde Hainswell, your court appointed attorney."
"No, the fuck you're not," I raise both my brows. "I have a lawyer."
Clyde takes in a deep breath, puffing up his chest as if steeling himself for the monster he's been warned of. "The state has appointed me to your case. You don't have to take my services but denying them won't do you any favors. Unless you have the name and phonenumber of your lawyer on hand, once I walk out that door, you're without representation."
Of course, I don't have a fucking phone number.
"Lacey Donoville," I tell him. "Her number is in my contacts at my office."
"We reached out to Mrs. Billings, formerly known as Miss Donoville, and were alerted that she resigned several years ago." He explains, not seeming happy about the prospect of dealing with me either.
"Why did she quit?" I ask no one in particular. No one in this room would know the answer. But the last I knew, Lacey was happy to work for me. I paid her well and fucked her even better.
Clyde shrugs.
"Can you just... can you get me a phone call with her?" I plead.
"She's no longer practicing," he explains. "So, no, Mr. Fomori, I cannot. I'm afraid you're stuck with me."
I don't even know what crimes I'm being tried for, and yet I know for fucking certain that I'm going to be found guilty with a lawyer this disheveled.
"If you'll please excuse us, I need to speak privately with my client," Clyde motions jerkily for the officer and the doctor to leave the room.
The doctor does so without argument or delay, but I can feel the officer's hesitance floating through the air. He doesn't want to leave me alone with this little man. Could I really be so much of a threat that he doesn't trust me with someone whose only job is to help me?
With a loaded sigh, the cop finally moves to exit, but not before dazzling me with his dramatic flair, tightening the straps tying my arms to my chest and the bed beneath me.
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I let myself stare him down instead, refusing to back down from his pathetic attempt at intimidation. If he were the threat he believes himself to be, he wouldn't need me tied down and defenseless to feel safe.
I watch the beads of sweat drip down his flushed skin, the evidence of his terror peeking through his tough-guy act.
Even through layers of deodorant and nauseating cologne, he reeks of fear. Sharp and potent, seeping through his pores.
As he walks through the door, his eyes land on mine one last time, a silent warning in them to behave.
I can only imagine that my replying smile is all teeth and no kindness.
