A hot flush creeps into my cheeks, so I look down and start on my soup. It tastes incredible. I feel warm from the inside, and the more I eat, the more I’m aware of how hungry I had been.
He watches me use the last of my bread to collect the final bit of soup from the bottom of the bowl. Then says, ‘When’s the last time you ate?’
‘I can’t remember. I doubt it was that long ago.’
‘I’ll get some more.’
My eyes wander over to his bedroom door. My mind swirls nightmarish images of him and her in there . . . Suddenly, I feel panic scrape at my chest.
I am in a lot of pain. I just wish my heart would slip into a coma.
‘No, really, it’s fine. Thank you,’ I say, not looking at him.
I stand. The chair scrapes against the grain of the wooden floor, scratches inside my ears.
‘Thanks for the soup. I’ve got to go. You know how it is, I’ve got important things I need to be getting on with.’ I twirl my back to him, and feel a little bit like the walls are getting narrower.
‘Wait, Amy. I didn’t say I was done,’ he rasps.
‘What is it, Shepherd? I did what you said — I’ve eaten.’
‘Why did you chuck the information I sent you in the bin?’ The heat of his anger is nauseating, makes my stomach and head throb sickeningly. ‘Be honest. I know when you’re lying. You’ve got a tell.’
He gets up and looms over me. It feels like he’s put a weight on me, and I crumble, sinking deeper and deeper until the light goes out.
‘Amy. Don’t make me ask you twice.’
‘I heard you with that girl . . . ’
‘Amy. Look at me. Listen. I was off my head. I was a fucking arsehole, alright — but nothing happened that night. Didn’t touch a hair on her damn head. She means nothing to me. I kicked her out, didn’t you hear that part?’
My blood feels like glue, nothing flows inside.
‘I should be flattered?’ I want to hurt him, like he hurt me.
‘Don’t you fucking get it?’ he shouts like a tempest. ‘It doesn’t bother you?’
I check the lock on my heart again, check if it’s still safe. Then I pretend with icicle eyes that it doesn’t even exist.
‘No,’ I lie.
‘Fine, Amy. I told you to come here tonight because I’m not seeing any effort on your behalf to kill this circus of an OCD.’
I feel my blood simmer. ‘I don’t do these things for fun. For no good reason. Checking, I mean. It helps me to feel safe. If I didn’t check, how would I know I was safe?’
‘It’s better if you could just check once and be sure you’re safe.’
‘Of course. Don’t you think I wish I didn’t have to?’
‘You know yourself there’s no logical reason why you need to check things more than once. You complete these safety behaviours because of the way you feel, not because something has physically changed to make things unsafe.’
‘I somehow doubt therapy is going to fix that.’
I feel his look like the burning sun. I keep my eyes straight ahead. Over the horizon. Where I dream to be.
‘Worth a try. Isn’t it?’ He rubs the back of his neck and his eyes are hard and blank. ‘I know this is hard for you.’
That does it. I’m angry. I feel agitated, my nerves twanging like an elastic band that has been stretched too thin. I spin to face him.
‘No, Shepherd, you don’t know at all. You have no idea. You think you know everything just because you peer into people’s minds every day. Well, you know nothing at all about what’s going on in mine.’
I spin around to escape. Shepherd has other plans. He grabs my wrist and swirls me back to him.
Puppet Master and his puppet.
‘Where are you going?’
‘My room.’
‘Fine, Amy. You wanna tell Daisy and Max to leave or should I?’
‘What?’
‘I’m not seeing any progress. I’ve been patient, but you’ve given me no other choice. You won’t let me help you. Okay. Go help Daisy pack her bags considering it’s your fault she’ll be out in the cold.’ His voice is venomous, like a snake ready to bite.
‘You’re a bastard,’ I say, and it isn’t the fever that makes me feel shaky. It leaves my mouth dry and my brain empty.
I feel him approach, how his skin crackles with electricity as he closes the space between us.
‘That's already been established. What else you got? Trash baby?’
Trash Baby is the cruel nickname the other children at school gave Shepherd. I always hated it. Now he is using it against me, I hate it even more.
‘You're a psychopath. Or a sociopath. I can't remember the difference. Maybe you're both.’
‘A sociopath you slept with.’
‘No, I’m wrong. You're a monster.’
‘A monster who likes to eat up little girls? A monster coming out of the dark after five years? You're not even grateful that I’ve been trying to help you, are you?’
Of course, he’s angry. But opening up will only open that box of horrors, lurking under my bed. I can’t do it. Because there are monsters waiting on the other side, monsters I’ve forgotten about, waiting to rip me to shreds.
‘I . . . ’
I break off, remembering Elizabeth. I remember her face when her skull was cracked open and she was bleeding to death on the cold, hard ground. I feel a thin line of pain slice up my spine, and all I want is for Shepherd to hold me.
Make the pain go away . . .
‘Which monster do you like best?’ he says. His voice has dropped to a husky
