Kick (Songs of Perdition #1)(23)

“I’m relieved.”

“Don’t start packing yet. Okay?”

“I don’t have much to pack. A picture, and I guess there were clothes? I mean, who knows with me, right?” I held my hand out for the picture, and like a father intuiting what his toddler wanted, Elliot gave it to me.

“You’re going to have to continue some sort of program once you’re out,” he said. “I know you guys have ways of getting around it, but for your own good, I hope this is the bottom for you.”

I barely heard him. I was looking at myself with my new horse. I’d gotten Snowcone as a surprise from Daddy, and my delight in my new black-and-white dressage gear was all over my face. Snowcone was pulling away from the odd, smiling creature at his feet.

“How old are you in that picture?” Elliot asked, sitting in the chair by the bed.

“I’d just turned fifteen. Mom didn’t want me to have him. She thought I was too irresponsible. I swore I was going to prove her wrong.”

“Did you?”

“I did, until recently. When Amanda died, I kind of left him to the stable. Fuck. He was mine; I trained him. He was so good. Perfect temperament, moving off my legs easily, finding the bit like a champ. And I just abandoned him as if he didn’t even matter. And I want people to care about me? Fuck, I am worthless.”

Elliot handed me a box of tissues, and I had to laugh through my tears.

“Fucking therapists,” I said.

“What?”

“Like the most important thing in the world is giving me a place to put my snot.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “The most important thing is that, by doing that, I show you you’re not worthless.”

I blew my nose. I felt so bad, as if a rotting, twisting ball of blackness curled inside me was getting bigger by the minute. I knew how to push it back. I knew how to manage it, and watching Elliot’s fingers woven together between his knees, I started wondering how to get him into bed. When his hand touched my forearm, a blazing heat fell between us.

“You were out for the morning session. So our last one’s in an hour.”

He needed to stop touching me. He needed to back the f*ck off. I had to swallow my reaction to him like a horse pill.

“Okay,” I said, not looking at him.

I knew his eyes would be warm and inviting, and his lips curved like a promise. He smelled of musk and desire. His fingers slid a quarter inch over my skin when he removed his hand. When he walked out, he took the air with him.

Oh God.

I was swelled.

I needed it.

If I went into Elliot’s office like this, I would do something stupid. I would lose control. Touch him. Get close to him. Show him my body. And that would be it. I’d be stuck in Westonwood, because despite the heat I felt in his touch, he was a professional. A therapeutic f*ck wasn’t on the table. My brain might have been high on f*ckjuice, but that didn’t make me stupid.

An hour. I had an hour to get unswelled. I was in a mixed-gender ward with sixty minutes to find willing, slightly sane cock. How hard could it be?

In two days, I’d gotten the hang of the schedule, more or less. I went into the rec room. It was off hours, meaning most of the residents had therapy or visits. Jack wasn’t in front of the TV cataloging flowers. Karen was outside, scribbling in her journal as if homework was due.

“Looking for something?”

I spun around. Frances stood behind me with her hands behind her.

“I was. Uh, Jack’s usually hanging around here?”

“You might check his room.”

“Yeah, thanks.” I stepped back.

“Miss Drazen,” Frances said.

“Yeah?”

“The doors stay open.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I scuttled off toward the hall that led to the rooms. After I made the first turn, I doubled back to the garden. The rain had disappeared for a full day, and rainy-ass Los Angeles was sunny-ass Los Angeles again. I looked for someone, anyone. I drifted over to the creek, thinking maybe Jack was picking up nettles or something. He wasn’t, but Warren Chilton was. His eyes cut through me from the other side of the fence.

“Hi,” I said. “Whatcha doing?”

“What’s it look like?”

“Jerking around.” I poked my head through the hole in the gate. “Want help?”

I came out on the other side just as Warren tossed a rock into the creek. It got lost in the rushing swells without even a splash.

“They kill you with boredom in this shithole,” he said.

“Got a cure for that,” I said, taking his hand.

I put it on my breast, which was usually a non-event, considering their size. But Warren, without missing a beat, grabbed the nipple and pinched.

“These were pierced,” he said.

“They took everything. You know that.”

He twisted. God, it felt good. I didn’t like the guy, but I liked how he was making me feel.

“I’m going to f*ck you so hard you’re going to have to stay here another ten years.”

“Get to it, preppy.”

He searched my face for a second, as if discerning whether or not I was looking to trap or double-cross him. I moved my hand to his cock, which was at least half hard. God, I hoped his meds didn’t make him unable to do it, because I had no time to work him. He grabbed me by the neck and pushed me against the fence.