I wonder what she thinks she knows. Does it tell her some truth in that folder? Gavin reassured me that we had new identities. A new start.
Whatever she knows won’t be the real thing. None of it is.
It will all be the carefully fabricated lies we’ve created to cover up the sick truth.
“Noah recently drew a picture that I’m a little concerned about, and that’s why I asked you to come in to speak with me today.”
My heart hammers, and I feel the familiar feeling of my body closing down as I battle with the need to protect myself.
My breathing comes in shorter, sharper gasps, and she tilts her head to assess me, her eyes taking in every detail, no doubt, and I hate it.
“Please don’t be alarmed, Miss Steel.” She reaches over the small table between us, but just as quickly withdraws. Was she going to try to comfort me?
“Cassidy,” I clip back. “You can call me Cassidy. I don’t like Miss Steel.”
She swallows slowly. “Okay, Cassidy.” She nods. “Thank you. Can I show you the drawing Noah created during art class?”
I already know what she’s going to show me, but that doesn’t deter me from trying to remain strong, and I find myself nodding.
She lifts the paper out of the folder and places it on the table. I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to banish the sight, but I see it behind my eyes despite not even looking at the paper; it’s engrained in my head. Every tortured stroke of his crayon.
A strangled sound leaves me, and I take a moment in the silence to concentrate on the touch of each finger against my thumb.
I’m not there.
Breathe.
Noah is okay.
Breathe.
We’re both safe.
Breathe.
I can do this.
We’re safe.
When I open my eyes, it’s with renewed vigor, so I sit taller in my seat and pull my shoulders back, and stare down at the familiar drawing, a replica of the last, a carbon copy of the next.
A black box is scribbled in wax crayon, and in the center of the box is a figure.
Noah.
I try not to take in the scene, try my hardest to disassociate the drawing from reality, but the truth is, this drawing haunts me just like it haunts him.
“Do you know what it is?” Doctor Carter whispers.
My gaze slices to hers, and I answer truthfully. “Of course I do. It’s our hell.”
KILLA
She left the door open. I knew it; my little demon wants this as much as me.
Sometimes, I think she wants this more than me. Is that even possible?
She craves me, the enemy, even though she knows she shouldn’t.
