Keeper of Crows (Keeper of Crows #1)(7)

I snorted. “I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.”

Doc smiled. “I believe there’s a soul inside all of us, inside of you. We just have to find it again.”

I tensed, ready to be released from this ink blot hellhole. Easier said than done, Doc. Like Mom, my soul was a coward, and it was going to take more than ink blots, psycho-babble, and stilted conversation in a boring office to rehabilitate it. I doubted rehab could handle such a chore.



*

The orderlies here wore white scrubs. Everything was sterile, blank—everything, except for the walls. Those were littered with inspirational quote posters, everything from the cliché, ‘If you believe it, you can achieve it,’ to, ‘Every journey begins with one step.” Last night, a nurse brought in the new miracle medicine and proceeded to tell me about all the warning signs to watch for, and that they would be watching out for: suicidal thoughts, worsening mood, hopeless feeling, and blah, blah, blah. Today, it was time for my two o’clock appointment with Doc for all things touchy-feely.

A male orderly was escorting me through the maze of hallways. I smiled at him and his eyes opened a little wider. When my arm brushed his, his nostrils flared ever so slightly. He knew it was no accident. I wasn’t exactly subtle about it. I wondered just how far he was willing to bend the rules…

“Are the cameras always on in this place?” I asked.

He swallowed, staring at the black orb on the ceiling ahead of us.

“Yes.”

“Do you have any friends in security?”

He paused outside of Doc’s office. “Maybe,” he smirked.

“Maybe…they would turn one off for you for a little while.”

The guy wasn’t smoking hot, but he was good looking enough. I needed a release and he might just be the one to give it to me.

“I can make that happen,” he said, standing straighter.

“Tonight?”

He smiled. “Will you make it worth my while?”

I raked my nails down his obvious erection. “Absolutely, if you bring me what I need…”

The door to Doc’s office swung open suddenly, interrupting us. I rolled my eyes and strolled into the office as Doc stared at my new friend threateningly. When he finally slammed the door, the blinds on the window rattled. Doc walked quickly to the desk chair and it sighed as his considerable weight sank into it. I was still standing. He gave me a smile, trying to hide his irritation and failing miserably at it.

“Have a seat, Carmen. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Not possible.”

He smiled, folding his arms across his middle and leaning back in the chair. “Why is that?”

“I’m not comfortable in this place, and no shrink couch is going to give me the warm fuzzies.”

He exhaled loudly. “How do you feel?”

“Cold.”

Doc tilted his head. “Mentally, how do you feel?”

“Numb.”

“You’re awfully chatty today,” he smarted.

“I’m a bursting ray of sunshine every single day, Doc. What did you expect?” I deadpanned. He chuckled and reached for his pen. He started to tap it, but caught himself and cleared his throat. Smart man.

“Do you feel more or less tired today?”

“The same.”

“Did you have vivid dreams last night?”

I perked up. “I did have a strange dream. I dreamed of burning unicorns.”

He looked up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you aren’t going to take this seriously, I’ll have to report back to your parole officer.”

I was serious. The damn unicorns were burning as they flew through the air, trying to skewer me with their fire-poker horns as I ran away. But apparently, he didn’t want to hear it.

“Fine. I’ll try to do better. If you give me a smoke, I’ll play nice.”

He didn’t take the bait, and the daily inquisition began. “Have you had any thoughts of harming yourself or others?”

Doc was a good guy. He was earning his money. He probably had a happy wife at home. She cooked well, by the looks of it. Maybe his kids were grown and he liked to play with his grandkids on the weekends. He thought he was doing a service by helping druggies like me, and in his perfect, average life, he didn’t give a shit if I had those thoughts or not. I knew that telling him I’d thought about stabbing a female orderly with an ink pen wasn’t in my best interest. She’d been a dick about bringing my food, slopping it all together. I hated it when food touched, let alone got mixed together. Telling him I thought about slitting my own wrists after I stabbed her? Definitely not something I felt like revealing.

“No, I’m not having any of those thoughts,” I lied.

My scalp itched, but it was tender to the touch so I tried not to scratch it. During the wreck, something lacerated my head. The ER had to shave a section of my hair off to evaluate me, and ultimately used nine staples to hold my skin together. When I got home, I shaved the rest. It looked stupid to have long hair and a streak of skin in between. The staples had been out for a few days, but the itch was constant. I would have a nasty scar. Eventually, my hair would grow back out and cover it, but I doubted the itch would ever leave.

His eyes followed the motion of my fingers. “How do you feel about your hair?”