Chapter 23 Thesis With Tits
THESIS WITH TITS
Bubblegum Bitch - Marina the thing inside me gives nothing back. Not a flutter. Not a warning.
Doctor Callaway winces at the noise, but says nothing. Maybe she thinks I’m calming down.
She’s wrong.
I talk over the grind and shred of splintered wood. “You ever think about it?”
“Think about what?”
“This. What it would do to a body.”
Doctor Callaway doesn’t answer straight away. That’s smart. Silence is safer than whatever she’s thinking.
I smile, teeth and all. “Not saying I would. Just…curiosity. What gets stuck first. Where the blood sprays. If bones scream.”
“That’s enough for today.”
I feed another stick through and watch it vanish. “You said I wasn’t a prisoner.”
“You’re not.”
“So if I wanted to put something else in here – hypothetically – you couldn’t stop me.”
“That’s not how ‘hypothetically’ works, Kayla.”
I smirk. “Works fine in my head.”
She crosses her arms. “I’m ending the session.”
I cut the power with a dramatic flick of the switch, the silence that follows heavier than the noise. Then I turn to her, wiping my hands on my trousers like I’ve just finished a masterpiece.
“Doctor Callaway,” I say, voice syrupy and calm.
“Yes?”
“I’m going to need more sticks tomorrow.”
She hesitates. “Fine.”
“And maybe a mannequin.”
She narrows her eyes. “Why?”
“For art.”
She says fine, then turns to leave, probably off to write some smug little footnote in my file. Kayla responded positively to supervised tactile engagement. Mild fixation on hypothetical violence. Redirect with caution. Blah, blah, blah.
But I don’t let her leave.
“Doctor Callaway.”
She pauses. Doesn’t look back. That’s always a sign she knows I’ve got her.
“I’ve been thinking,” I say, folding my arms, tapping one foot against the now-silent chipper like we’re old friends.
“That’s never reassuring,” she murmurs.
I grin. “You say I’m not a prisoner. Say I’m here voluntarily. All very above board. But you and I both know that’s bollocks.”
She half-turns. “You’re here because you’re a risk to yourself and others but because the asylum was worse. You agreed to this placement as an alternative to—”
“Seytan,” I finish for her. “Right. But let’s be honest, shall we?” I step closer, slow and deliberate, watching the way her shoulders tense. “You need me here.”
Her brow furrows. “No one needs—”
“You do,” I cut in, eyes locked on hers. “Because I’m the most interesting fucking thing to walk through your doors in years. You’re not here to rehabilitate me. You’re here to study me.”
She doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t have to. I can see it in the twitch of her jaw.
I tilt my head. “You’re not afraid of me, Doctor. Not really. You’re fascinated. You want to know how I tick. What makes the monster dance.”
“I think of you as a person, Kayla,” she says carefully. “Not a monster.”
“Bullshit,” I say lightly. “I’m your thesis with tits. An award in years to come.”
Her nostrils flare.
“And the thing is…” I take another step, now within touching distance. “You’re just as bored as I am. You pretend you’re above it – clinical detachment, professional distance, blah blah – but I see it. You like our little chats. You like when I push you.”
“That’s enough—”
“You get a thrill when I talk about killing. When I talk about blood. Don’t you?”
She opens her mouth but nothing comes out.
So I lean in close, just enough for her to smell the sharpness of my breath, and for me to scent the hint of sweat and soap and static electricity that always sparks when someone’s almost scared from her.
“You want me to keep talking,” I whisper. “You want to hear the details. How the body feels when it gives out. The sound it makes when it splits. You love it.”
She jerks back like I’ve slapped her. Good.
“I think you’re projecting,” she says stiffly.
“Perhaps.” I shrug. “Or maybe I’m the only honest one here.”
She’s rattled now. Tries to hide it, but I can feel the crack forming. I smile sweetly, all innocence and malice.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I chirp. “We can talk about needles. Or nightmares. Or maybe the dream I had last night about a bleeding tree with a human face.” I wink. “Whichever you like.”
Doctor Callaway doesn’t reply. Just walks away with her spine straight and her silence screaming.
And me? I sit back down by the chipper and laugh quietly to myself.
Because I’m winning.
And she knows it.