Echoes (Dance with My Demons #2)

4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Avery

"Avery, it's so good to see you," Dr. Smith says happily as I'm shoved through his office door.

He seems absolutely unbothered by the fact I was just yeeted into his office like a ragdoll.

I shoot a glance at the guard, who slams the door closed in my face. Grumbling, I turn back to look at Dr. Smith, perched behind his desk, hands neatly folded together.

"Yeah, hi," I reply tonelessly.

"Take a seat," he directs warmly, motioning to the chairs.

I do so, but only because my legs are threatening to collapse underneath me. A huge sigh of relief slips out of me when my ass touches the seat, and I'm annoyed to find Dr. Smith already making notes.

"What are you writing now?" I grumble.

He looks up, pausing. "Just making some initial assessments and observations."

I fold my arms. "And what happens if I fail this wonderful psych assessment?"

"Do you think you'll fail?"

"Who knows with this place? You might botch the results."

Dr. Smith puts his pen down, a concerned frown on his face. "Why would I do that, Avery?"

I scoff. "You already proved that your ethics are fucked. I wouldn't put it past anyone in this place to do something for their own benefit."

He smiles gently. "I'm just going to ask you some standard questions. You don't have to answer if you don't want to but it would help."

I stay quiet, looking away, gaze stuck on the damn filing cabinet that started this mess.

Clearing his throat, Dr. Smith picks his pen back up. "Do you have any current mental health symptoms or concerns?"

"I'm concerned about my privacy and protection," I snap back.

"Have you had any thoughts of self-harm or suicidal ideation?"

"No," I say gingerly.

He nods. "Any thoughts about harming others?"

I scoff. "When have I ever been a threat to others?"

Dr. Smith glances up coolly. "It's just a standard question, Avery."

"I believe I answered it, Dr. Smith ."

"Very well. As you recall you have borderline personality disorder. Often, events can trigger episodes. How are you feeling?"

I casually gaze back at him. "What the hell is an episode?"

"You may experience intense emotions that feel out of control. It can lead to outbursts of anger, harmful thoughts, becoming withdrawn or feeling paranoid."

My eyebrows furrow. "Given everything that has happened to me, wouldn't it be warranted if I was angry, paranoid or feeling withdrawn? I'm not exactly jumping for joy at being here. First, my personal information was stolen and leaked. Then I was framed for murder. This feels like a trap. No matter how I respond, there's no right answer."

"Of course your feelings are warranted. You have every right to be upset. These feelings would be beyond that—beyond a reasonable level of reaction to your circumstances."

"I'm not about to kill everyone, if that's what you mean."

Dr. Smith's lips twitch into a smile. "How do you feel about yourself?"

"I already answered that—" I start to argue, but he cuts me off.

"Not in respect to self-harm, but how do you feel about yourself? Let me put this in simple terms. Do you like yourself?"

I still. "I've never liked myself. Everyone I've ever crossed paths with made sure to remind me of how little I mean."

He makes some notes and I scold myself for being so honest. I should have stopped myself from rambling, but the words of self-hatred often just escape on their own.

"Have there been any situations in recent times where you felt differently?"

I stay quiet. I already have one foot in the grave and I'm not willing to bury myself alive at this point. Dr. Smith looks up, noticing my silence.

"There's no right or wrong answers here, Avery."

"The fuck there isn't."

He smiles again, leaning back in his chair. "You're not going to fail the psych assessment. But please try to find the courage to answer."

My eyes narrow suspiciously. I don't trust him—or anyone. He could just be saying all the right words to fool me. But he refuses to move on, waiting patiently until I finally relent.

"I started to feel better about myself when some people made me feel like I was worth it," I sigh. "But that's gone now."

Dr. Smith nods, pleased with my response. "One thing to understand about your condition is that self-worth is hugely affected. One of the key things to work on is finding a way to recognize that value without the need of external validation. But that being said, we're human. It's okay to feel good because of someone. That can often help us gain insight into rational things."

"Rational things?" I question wearily.

"Our brains can trick us into believing something that isn't real. Sometimes we need that support network to remind us and help us see the good."

Blinking slowly, I shake my head. "There is no good. It was a temporary, fleeting moment. That chance is gone."

"I disagree but I think you should try to consider other perspectives."

"Are we finished yet?" I snap back.

I hate how vulnerable I become in this room. I hate that there's a risk someone will see this information again. I don't feel safe, and I'm not sure I can handle that situation happening again.

Dr. Smith kicks his feet up on the desk casually, cupping his hands in his lap. His professional demeanor fades, like we're two old friends having a chit chat. "I'll pass on my assessment conclusion to Mr. Whittingham, but he won't be made aware of anything we have discussed today. However, I would just briefly like to discuss one more thing before we finish."

I sag in my seat. "What?"

He nods toward my hands. "Are you in pain?"

Looking down, I open my palms from their tightly squeezed balls, examining the red skin. "It's fine."

"I'm going to have the guard take you down to Dr. Markel to check for chemical burns. Bleach, I assume from the smell?"

I scoff. "Obviously."

Dr. Smith stands up, crossing his office to open his door. I hear him mumble a few words to the guard before he stands back, smiling at me again. "I'd like to see you again tomorrow, Avery. But if you need to chat beforehand, just let a member of staff know."

"I'll be fine," I mumble, stalking out of his office.

The guard barely looks at me as he escorts me further down the hallway until we arrive at Dr. Markel's room. He pushes the door open after a sharp knock, Dr. Markel's surprised wrinkled face glancing up from his table.

"I'll just be one moment," he says, tending to another patient.

I linger next to the guard, hugging my body until someone pushes past me. It jolts me out of my thoughts, eyes landing on Vivian.

Her eyes are red and puffy, cheeks still stained with fallen tears. Despite the pain across her face, she still manages to glare venomously at me.

White bandages catch my sight, and I frown at her injured wrist. It doesn't take a genius to put two-and-two together, her eyes even more pained and angry when she notices me watching.

"Get out of my way," she hisses, deliberately slamming her shoulder into me.

Another guard appears out of nowhere, quickly following after her, but before I can think too much about it, Dr. Markel calls out my name.

"Come in, Ms. White. I'm just quickly sanitizing the table but you can take a seat in a moment."

I hover awkwardly, eyes shifting between him and the guard, until I'm finally able to sit down on the examination table.

"What can I do for you?" he asks, humming to himself afterward.

I shrug. "Dr. Smith wanted you to give me a quick check over."

The mention of his colleague makes his eyes light up. He nods, pulling on some fresh gloves. "Could you direct me to where?"

I open my hands, palms facing up. He leans over, eyes scanning over the redness. "Slight chemical burn. Did you use water?"

"I was cleaning," I quickly interject before he can categorize me in the same way as Vivian. "And no, I haven't washed them yet."

Dr. Markel looks up, surprised. "Go to the tap in the corner and give them a wash with some lukewarm water. I'll grab some ointment."

The feel of the water on my hands has me longing for a shower, but at least I'm able to wash off my hands and knees at his basin. When I sit back on the table, Dr. Markel applies some ointment to my palms and legs, the cream taking away the burning sensation.

"I know we discussed some pain relief previously, so I'll give you a dose now."

"I don't want it," I say, but he ignores me to my surprise. I watch as his figure disappears through another door in the room, the sound of a cabinet opening and the rustling of plastic before he comes back. He holds a little white pill in front of my face, staring at my mouth.

"Say ' ahh '," he mutters, like I'm a fucking child.

I just open my lips silently, begrudgingly letting him pop the pill in my mouth. He hands me a small bottle of water, and I quickly swallow, taking large gulps to hydrate my parched throat.

Making some notes on a file, he motions to my hands. "Come back this afternoon for another application. If the pain medication doesn't help, let me know."

"Right," I sigh. "Am I free to go now?"

"Yes, yes," he says, waving me off. "Wear gloves next time."

I stare at him bewildered for a second, wondering if he's having a senior moment. Has he forgotten where we are? Does he think I willingly have access to bleach and just randomly decided to wake up at the crack of dawn and start cleaning for the fucking thrill of it?

The guard grabs my elbow again as I step into the hallway, and this time, I jolt from his bruising touch.

"Can you stop that?" I hiss. "It hurts and I'm obviously not going to run. Even if I wanted to, I won't get anywhere."

He tightens his grip on me, coldly smirking like he's proud of himself. "Protocol. Suck it up."

I growl under my breath, knowing very well it's not protocol, but I don't bother to fight back.

As we approach the end of the hallway, I'm horrified to find Damon standing there alone. He looks as if he's waiting for me—arms folded, sneer on his face.

I wait for the guard to direct us toward the rooms or hall, but he stops in front of Damon, jerking me forward.

"This the one?" he asks.

Damon nods, not breaking eye contact with me. "She sure is."

My eyes widen in alarm. "What's going on?" I grill the guard. He ignores me again, turning and walking away. I'm left with the Devil, heart racing as panic starts to overwhelm me.

"This way," Damon orders, motioning toward the hall. He doesn't touch me, but there's a threat to his tone, warning me not to disobey or run.

Slowly, I follow in defeat. He leads us to the library doors, opening one side. His cold stare is telling me to enter, and against my better judgment screaming no, I do.

There's no winning here. If I refuse and stay outside, I'm at risk of being seen. If I enter inside, I'm alone with a predator—one who wants me dead.

But that's the thing about predators… They know how to hunt and chase.

My feet carry me to the tables at the back of the library, my eyes darting around. I know I'm looking for him , but as I suspected, he's not here.

"So, Avery. You've returned to grace us with your presence," Damon says coolly.

I spin around to face him, trying to keep my distance. "I guess so."

"Hm." He paces along the floor, casually weaving around tables. "You seem surprised."

"I am surprised," I answer quietly. "Especially since…" I trail off, quickly shutting down the words.

"Since, what?" he asks in a deadly, curious tone.

I shake my head. Damon pauses, resting his hand on a nearby table.

"I asked you a question, Avery."

Biting my tongue, I shake my head again. I won't let him bully me into finishing my unspoken sentence. The last thing I need is to cause more trouble for myself.

He laughs quietly, the sound sending a chill through my bones.

"Since what, Avery? Since I framed you for murder?"