10 – Sadie
SADIE
Day Seven
M y palms are slick, and my fingers won’t stop trembling in anticipation of today’s milestone.
It’s been three full nights and that means it’s finally time for these heavy cuffs to come off, and I’m counting down the minutes. I’m dying for a long, hot shower without the feel of cold steel hugging my wrists.
I want to sleep on my side with ease again. I want to scrub my skin without bruising my wrists. I want to feel like a person .
At exactly eight o’clock, Dr. Weiss strolls into the cabin, heading straight for my bedroom.
He has a clipboard in one hand and a plate of scrambled eggs and strawberries in the other.
His shirt’s half unbuttoned again — this time revealing inked skin and a rock-hard chest. The sunlight pouring in through my window glints off his neck, giving me new material for my next shower fantasy session.
“Good morning, Miss Pretty,” he says, setting down my food.
“Good morning, Dr. Weiss.”
“Let’s get started with today’s questions.” He clicks his pen. “When is your birthday?”
“October thirty-first.”
“Halloween?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting. Where are you originally from?”
“Nashville, Tennessee.”
“Is that where you went to college?”
I smile at these simple questions; they’re already in my file, easy trivia for anyone who’s ever Googled me, and they almost feel flirtatious.
Then again, maybe this is a test. A psychological warm-up…
“Before you went to prison,” he says, pausing, “what did you want to do with your life?”
My smile drops instantly.
That phrase— before you went to prison —always cuts deep. No matter how many times I hear it, it slices right through the version of me who never had the chance to bloom.
“Miss Pretty?” He leans forward. “I said—what did you want to be?”
“An actress,” I say flatly.
“I’ve seen some clips of your work.” He nods. “You were convincing in every role. It’s like you were born to lie.”
I don’t appreciate that last line, so I don’t respond.
“If you got out… would you still pursue that dream? Better yet—” he says, softening his tone, “would you tell the parole board that’s your plan?”
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll aim to be the first convicted A-list murderess.”
“Just so you know, the parole board doesn’t take too kindly to inmates with smart mouths.”
“Maybe if you actually did your job,” I snap, “and held a real session that lasted more than fifteen damn minutes, I’d be able to take my parole hearing seriously. Hell, I might even start taking you and the cabin seriously if you actually followed what’s in the brochure.”
“Good to know.” He smirks. “I’ll keep that in mind for our afternoon session.”
He stands and walks to the chessboard in the corner. Tap. Tap. He touches a piece and makes a move I can’t counter. I’ll lose a rook during his next turn, no matter what move I make next.
“Enjoy your breakfast, Miss Pretty,” he says. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”
He turns for the door, and something inside me twists.
“Wait, Dr. Weiss.” I call after him. “Wait.”
He stops walking and looks over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“I don’t believe so.” He glances at his clipboard. “Did I leave a pen?”
“No…” I rise from the table, slowly lifting my bound wrists. “You forgot to remove my cuffs. I’ve been here three nights.”
“Like I said,” he replies coolly, “I didn’t forget anything.”
“You promised.”
“I never promised you anything, Miss Pretty.”
“You said that you typically take them off your patients after three full days.” I recite his words verbatim. “You said that.”
“I said they’d come off if I felt comfortable. If. ” His gaze slides over me, slow and deliberate. “And I don’t.”
“Because I made a sarcastic comment?”
“No.” He glances toward a wall camera, then walks back to me—his shoes brushing mine. “I told you on day one: everything here happens at my discretion. And after doing some digging, I found a disciplinary write-up that makes me question whether you’ve earned any extra comfort while you’re here.”
What? My heart sinks.
“I don’t have any disciplinary notes in my file.”
“Funny,” he says, voice flat. “Because a guard by the name of David Mountbatten claims you propositioned him during a cleaning shift eighteen months ago.”
I blink. “What?”
“He said you offered to suck his dick in exchange for an ice cream sandwich.”
“He’s lying. It was vice versa, and I told him no.”
“Well…” Dr. Weiss tilts his head. “Given how you and I first met—and how you looked like you were definitely willing to fuck me for ice cream, I’m not sure what to believe.”
“You can believe the truth,” I say. “I would never turn on my morals like that.”
“Oh, I see,” he says, stepping back. “So you’re only capable of murder… not anything worse.”
“You know what?” I clench my fists, feeling rage flaring hot in my chest. “If you’re going to treat me like shit, just send me back to prison. I’d rather deal with people who’ve mastered real cruelty than play games with an amateur.”
“Are you threatening me, Miss Pretty?”
“No, Dr. Weiss.” I can’t keep the venom out of my voice. “I’m asking you to stop fucking with me…”
Silence.
He stares at me long and hard, keeping me pinned to my spot with his heated gaze. Without another word, he walks away and leaves the cabin.
The second the door slams shut behind him, I march over to our chessboard and flip it over, sending the pieces clattering to the floor like his broken promise.