Chapter Twenty-Four
T hey’ve succeeded in reprogramming me.
I hate the idea that Alabaster Pen has effectively housebroken me in any kind of way. But right now, feeling so epically anxious while doing what I’m doing—something as simple as walking —I feel very little like my old self.
Existing here lately has felt like one long test with no conclusion in sight.
I’ve always known The Ivory likes to play games— he’s certainly had his fun toying with me over the years.
But I have to say, right now, I could not possibly feel more like a mouse in a maze, being observed while hunting down a piece of cheese that might not even be there.
Some words from the past come into focus…
“Just remember that who you are in the shadows is also who you are in the light.”
Shivers run through me at the memory of that day with The Ivory, in his office. But I don’t think it’s because I’m ashamed of what happened anymore. This is more like a morbid sense of elation. Because I think he was right.
Despite him being the most evil master of manipulation ever invented, I have to give Manuel Blanco credit where it’s due. He’s pretty damn wise, and extremely good at reading people. It’s what he chooses to do with what he reads that worries me.
Like right now, for example… Allowing me to walk down to The East to meet Trevel after his session with Dr. Love.
I still don’t understand how or why Trevel and I have been allowed to wander around alone on occasion—and sneak off into rooms for spectacular, if alarming, secret fuck sessions.
And being the inherently skeptical, control-freakish lone wolf that I am, an inability to decipher someone’s intentions makes me itch.
I don’t know what to think about it all… Moreover, I don’t know what to think about the man whose sudden, overwhelming presence in my life has brought all of these questions to light.
Trevel Fenwick. My new shadow accomplice , apparently.
Maybe it’s just because we spend almost every waking minute together, but lately, I’m struggling to stick to our agreed-upon label of friendly fuckbuddies with a shared disdain for Felix Darcey.
Something about him has gotten way under my skin. It’s unsettling, to say the least. But Trevel Fenwick makes breaking the rules feel so damn good .
Once in the East Wing, it occurs to me that I don’t actually know where Dr. Love’s office is. I’ve never been there before, and fortunately for me, I haven’t spent all that much time in the East. So I find myself wandering the halls slowly, like a child in a department store who’s lost his parents.
Coming up to a door, I peer through the small window at the top. On the other side is a row, sort of like the ones up in Gen-pop, though I’m sure these cells are of the padded variety. I press on the door, but it won’t open.
Peering up at the camera, I find it aimed right at me. No surprise there.
I try the door again, and it still won’t budge. Okay…
Whoever is watching me doesn’t want me going in there… Which naturally has me kitten curious.
Guards or no guards, cuffed or not… On this island, freedom is a farce.
“What the hell??” a deep voice booms behind me, and I jump.
Velle is stomping in from another door, glaring at me, with Rook by his side.
“Oh, shit,” I breathe out of relief for a second, until I register how pissed he looks. “Hey…”
“ Hey? ” He cocks a dark, studded eyebrow. “Really? That’s all you have to say??”
“What are you doing down here by yourself?” Rook asks, as usual, far less hot-tempered than his menacing counterpart.
“I’m, uh… Going to Dr. Love’s office,” I tell them, choosing not to mention Trevel, since he has a tendency to set people off.
It’s bizarre, this wave of comfort at being in their presence again.
I never thought seeing Velle’s surly resting bitch face would bring me any type of reassurance for anything.
But I can’t help it. I associate them with simpler times.
And after being stuck with the Warden’s new army of robot zombies for weeks, the lesser of two evils is a sight for sore eyes.
Although, the way they’re oozing hostility in my direction right now, I don’t think the feeling is mutual.
“Is that right…?” Velle stares suspiciously. “Just strolling down to the East for some therapy?”
I shrug, because I don’t know what he wants me to say. He seems… tense. Looks more exhausted than I’ve seen him before, severity practically oozing from his pores.
I can’t say I don’t get it. The few times I have seen them since the new guards showed up, it’s been nerve-racking as fuck. A nonstop pissing party between the OG rabid animals and the quiet, arrogant newcomers.
I’d be fucking fuming too.
Velle scoffs, deep blue eyes boring into mine. “I thought loyalty was important to you…”
My brows knit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Velle…” Rook places a hand on his back.
But Velle shakes it off, stepping in closer to serve me more of his piping hot glower. “You know damn well what it means. This place is in shambles and you’re strutting around here without a care in the world.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I grumble, resisting the urge to recoil under his glare.
“So they let me walk down here myself, big fucking deal. What do you want from me?? I’ve been locked up for three years , being dragged around in chains by you motherfuckers.
If you think I’m gonna turn down any opportunity to get away from the bullshit, even for a few minutes, then you’re dumber than you look. ”
His agitation must be contagious.
Why is he acting like I’m the enemy?? I didn’t do anything.
Whatever is happening here isn’t my fault.
“Little piece of advice, 62…” Velle growls, practically vibrating his words into me. “Selling your soul doesn’t work. Because the devil never pays up.”
My mouth opens to keep arguing, but he storms away before I can even attempt it. Motherfucker has to have the last word.
Looking to Rook, I find his mossy irises alight with sympathy, but I can’t tell if it’s because he feels bad that Velle just chewed me out, or because he thinks he should be doing it, too.
“Why the fuck am I always the scapegoat?” I rub my eyes. “I’m not allowed a win? Like, ever?? ”
“Kang, seriously… You’ve got it easy right now.” Rook sighs quietly, nodding toward the door separating us from the row of padded cells. “I mean, look at your—”
“Heads-up,” Joy’s voice chirps over his walkie, cutting off his words.
She says nothing more, but apparently, it’s all Rook needs to kick back into action.
He hustles after Velle, shouting at me on his way out, “Don’t forget what’s right, 62!”
As soon as he’s through the opposite doorway, I release a long breath. I don’t know what the hell that was about, but it has my gut all twisted.
What’s right …? What the hell would they know about what’s fucking right??
This isn’t my fight. I’m just another prisoner here… Freely scampering around the place. But still, it’s not like I did anything to earn it.
I’m not The Ivory’s rat…
I just happen to be screwing someone who is.
Giving the door before me one last shove, I curse when it still won’t budge. Up the hall, I try a different door, which opens with one touch.
This is the way they want me to go. See? I’m still being herded. Nothing fucking matters…
I follow another long corridor, and just as I’m about to go for the door at the end, it opens, almost nailing me in the face. I jump back, half expecting to see Trevel, since he was supposed to meet me down here for our evening walk , as he so ridiculously put it.
But it’s not him. It’s his doctor.
Dr. Love gives me a puzzled look, glancing behind me. In a half-second, he’s assessing the situation, wondering if I’m a maniac prisoner on the loose, if he should call someone…
But that’s not what he does. Instead, he cocks his head. “Byron Kang, right?” He speaks my name curtly. My brows jump. “We met in the rec room a few weeks back. Well, not officially…” He stops after that, withholding said official introduction, as if he doesn’t find it necessary.
I would say I agree.
He clearly knows who I am… And I definitely know who he is.
Expanding on that, I murmur, “Dr. Love… I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Ditto.” His slightly narrowed gaze is stuck to mine like glue.
I get the impression that he wants me to speak first, to explain what I’m doing here while he gets to just stand there and study me. But I’m stubborn, so I stay quiet.
“Where are you headed?” he asks, peeking up at the camera in the corner.
“Actually, I was on my way to your office,” I tell him, pleased by the way his face shifts the slightest bit in surprise. “I’m meeting Trevel.”
That gets even more of a reaction. His eyes go a bit squinted as he says, “I’m looking for him myself. He was due in my office an hour ago.”
Huh?
Confusion and worry have my lashes fluttering.
Where’s Trevel? Is he alright?? Why didn’t he show up for his session?
“That’s strange.” I shift on my feet.
I could not possibly feel more out of place than I do right now. Standing here, an unchained prisoner, while this intimidating doctor grills me, fumbling over fact that I know so little about Trevel Fenwick, I don’t even know where he is.
Dr. Love’s expression darkens with some sort of realization, and he shoots another glance at the camera. “I think I know where to find him.”
He’s already striding past me, in the direction I just came, before I can process or question anything.
“Wait up…” I scamper after him.
His amber eyes slide to mine while we walk. “So, you and Trevel have become close…” He asks—a question that’s not a question, because he obviously already knows the answer.
“We’re friends…” I reply, slipping on my best mask of indifference.
I’m not a therapy guy. I’ve never been involved in any variation of it, because clearly, I’m doing extremely well bottling everything up inside. In case you couldn’t tell, that was emphatic sarcasm.