Ten Tiny Breaths (Ten Tiny Breaths #1)(73)

I get no answer.

I lean in and squint, trying to get a glimpse through the broken glass. I can’t see … it’s too dark …

Snap. Snap. Snap … Like stage lights, suddenly a rush of light pours down over the area, illuminating the horrific scene within. An older couple sits hunched over in the front seat and I have to look away, the mess of bloody flesh too gruesome to handle.

It’s too late for them. I just know it.

But there’s someone in the back too. I rush over and peer in to see a broken body with raven dark hair cradled in the contorted door.

“Ohmigod.” I gasp, my knees buckling.

It’s Livie.

Why the hell is she in this car?

“Kacey.” Icy cold fingers grip my heart at the sound of my name. I peer further in and find a tall dark form sitting next to her. Trent. He’s hurt. Bad. But he’s awake and he’s looking at me with an intense stare.

“You murdered my parents, Kacey. You’re a murderer.”

The night nurse, Sara, rushes into my room just as I’m coming to, screaming at the top of my lungs. “It’s okay, Kacey. Shh, it’s okay.” She rubs my back in slow circular motions as a cold sweat breaks out over my body. She continues to do so, even as I curl up in the fetal position, hugging my knees to my chest tightly. “That one was unusually bad, Kacey.” She’s been in here a few times already, during my night time episodes. “What was it about?” I notice she doesn’t ask me if I want to talk about it. She assumes I need to, whether I want to or not. That’s the thing about this place. All they want you to do is talk. And all I want to do is stay quiet.

“Hmm, Kacey?”

I swallow the prickly lump in my throat. “Empathy.”

***

“So maybe you’re right.”

Dr. Stayner’s brow curves up in question. “Is this about the dream you had last night?”

My scowl tells him it is.

“Yes, Sara told me. She wanted me to know in case there were any concerns. That’s her job. She didn’t betray you.” He says it like it’s a line he’s said time and time again. “What happened exactly?”

For whatever reason, I tell him the entire nightmare, from beginning to end, shivers running over my body as I relive it.

“And what made it so horrible?”

I c**k my head and glare at the doctor. Clearly he hasn’t been listening to me. “What do you mean? Everyone was dead. Jenny was dead, Trent’s parents were dead. I killed Livie. It was just … so awful!”

“You killed Livie?”

“Well, yes. It’s my fault.”

“Hmm …” he nods, giving nothing away. “How did you feel when you saw Jenny lying there, dead?”

My hands press against my belly button with the thought.

“So you mourned her,” he answered for me.

“Of course I did. She was dead. I’m not a sociopath.”

“But she was driving the car that crashed into Trent’s family. Into Livie. How can you possibly mourn her?”

I’m rambling faster than I’m thinking. “Because it’s Jenny. She’d never want to hurt anyone. She didn’t do it on purpose—” I stop short and glare at him, clueing in. “Sasha is not Jenny. I see what you’re doing.”

“And what is that?”

“You’re trying to make me see Sasha and Trent as people who laugh and cry and have families.”

His know-it-all brows rise.

“It’s not the same! I hate them! I hate Trent! He’s a murderer!”

Dr. Stayner leaps out of his chair and runs over to his book shelf, pulling off the biggest dictionary I’ve ever seen. He storms over and throws it into my lap. “There. Look up the word, murderer, Kacey. Do it! Look it up!” He doesn’t wait for me to, likely feeling his asinine point made. “You’re not a stupid girl, Kacey. You can hide behind that word, or you accept it for what it is. Trent is not a murderer, and you don’t hate him. You know both are true, so stop lying to me and, more importantly, stop lying to yourself.”

“Yes I do hate him,” I spit back, my voice losing some of its strength.

I hate Dr. Stayner right now.

I hate him because in the back of my mind, I know he’s right.

Chapter Nineteen

Dr. Stayner leads me into a small white room with a window overlooking another small white room. “Is this a one-way mirror?” I knock on it.

“Yes, it is, Kacey. Sit down.”

“Okay, Dr. Dictator,” I grumble, flopping into the pro-offered chair.

“Thank you, Patient Pain in the Ass.”

I smirk. Sometimes Dr. Stayner’s unconventional methods make this less painful. Mostly not, but sometimes.

“What punishment do you have in store for me today?” I throw back nonchalantly as the door pushes open. My body goes rigid and I suck in a mouthful of air when I see the face walking through.

It’s Trent.

Cole.

Trent.

Fuck.

It’s been weeks since I saw him last. With that light brown messy hair of his, striding in with those long, lean muscles, he’s as beautiful as ever. That much I have to admit. And I hate admitting it. Except now I see no smile on his face. No dimples. Nothing that resembles the charming guy I fell in love with.