Chapter Fourteen
Kytten
“It’s been a few days; how does that cut feel?” Dr. Dunaway asked.
I looked down at the black leather vest I wore. I almost never took it off. Even in bed, Cash liked when I wore my cut and nothing else.
“That smile says a lot.”
I looked up, feeling the heat rise up my neck. “Yea. I don’t know when I’ve ever been this happy.”
It was true. As kids, Thorne and Mom and I were always moving around. We had only ever had each other. But I was happy. At that point in my life, I didn’t know anything different.
It wasn’t until the man took Mom away that I started to feel different things. Things I didn’t understand. Things I couldn’t explain or process.
“I’m glad to hear it. Can you tell me what it was like when you and Mimic were living on the street?”
I took a deep breath. I didn’t like talking about this. This was the start. This was when everything fell apart. His leaving to get food was the catalyst that led my life to where I was now. If only he’d taken me with him. None of it would have happened.
I didn’t blame Thorne. No, I blamed myself. I should have stayed where I was. If I hadn’t wandered around, the man wouldn’t have tried to take me, and Val wouldn’t have had to rescue me. And the reason I was sitting here today wouldn’t be torturing me.
You also wouldn’t have Cash.
“What were you feeling then?” he asked.
“Scared, but not. I don’t know if I can explain it. Overwhelmed might be a better word,” I said, looking over the wheel Dr. Dunaway had given me.
It was three circles inside a larger one. The middle circle was sliced into seven pieces, and each piece was labeled with an emotion.
Happy, sad, fear, angry, bad, surprised, and disgusted.
From there, they were split into more emotions.
Feelings that fit into each category but were different, more expressive.
For instance, under happy in the second circle were words like peace, proud, content.
And then the largest circle on the outside split even more into words like creative, success, and joy.
It had been helpful to me while I navigated learning what I was feeling as we talked about my past. Things I couldn’t put into words.
“Why overwhelmed?”
I turned to the right, letting my eyes travel over the photographs that hung on the wall until I could focus on a picture of Cash. I hadn’t noticed them the first day. But now whenever things got to be too much, there he was, smiling back at me, reminding me he was there.
“There were a lot of noises and smells I wasn’t used to. And people. There were always a lot of people. We didn’t talk to many people before Mom was taken.”
“How did it make you feel, experiencing all these new things?”
My eyes scanned the wheel to the largest ring on the outside. Looking over the words connected to fear, I chose one that fit.
“Insignificant.”
“Can you explain?”
This is what he did. He no longer let me just name the feeling. He wanted me to tell him why I chose that one. It wasn’t always easy. It made me think. It made me feel them all over again.
“At home with Mom, when it was just the three of us, the world was small. I didn’t know what I was missing outside. I didn’t know how big the world was because, for me, the world didn’t go beyond the backyard.”
“Tell me what you felt the first night Mimic didn’t come back.”
“Sad,” I answered quickly.
“Kytten,” he chided.
That was one thing I didn’t like about Dr. Dunaway.
He made the seven words in the inside ring off-limits.
I wasn’t allowed to use them. He said they were basic emotions that everyone understood, and if we were going to dig deep and find the monsters, find out what they craved and what fed them, then I had to be accurate.
Only I knew what fed the monsters. Blood. It was always about the blood.
My sacrifice.
My penance.
My submission.
“Lonely.”
“And the second night?”
“Abandoned.” That one was easy to name. I understood that feeling all too well, now.
“Those are both feelings of sadness. You weren’t scared?”
“I was. But I’d been scared since the day the man took Mom. I was used to that feeling. I lived with it every day. It was comfortable. Like a warm blanket. When Thorne left, it was different. I still would have been scared if he came back.”
Dr. Dunaway nodded, a sad smile on his face, and I knew he understood.
He liked my answer, but it made him sad.
I had that effect on people. It was why I didn’t like to talk about my feelings.
I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me.
I wanted them to see the happy little pixie that made them happy. My feelings weren’t that important.
“And what did you feel when you met Valhalla?”
“All of them.”
“Let’s narrow it down. Start in the middle.”
My eyes snapped up to his. “You said I couldn’t use those.”
“I know. Because I didn’t want you to limit yourself. These are a starting point. So, let’s start. What did you feel when you first heard her voice?”
I pulled the wheel closer. I studied the seven emotions as I thought back to that day. “Surprised.”
“Why?”
“She was a girl. But she was so bold. I didn’t hear any fear in her voice when she yelled at the guy trying to pull me out.”
“Then what?” he asked, pointing to the inside ring, indicating I should start there again.
“Fearful.”
“Why?”
“She was a girl. I was worried the man would hurt her.”
“Then what?”
I looked at him. He watched me, his head tilting to the side. “Can I move to the next ring?” When he nodded, I said, “Confused.”
“What confused you?”
“I heard noises, but I couldn’t see what was happening. I could see their feet moving around, but didn’t know who was winning. Until he hit the ground.”
“You saw him?” I nodded, my eyes on the table.
“She killed him,” I whispered, then covered my mouth. “Are you gonna report her?”
“No,” Dr. Dunaway said. “It’s in the past. Anything you tell me that has already happened is between you and me.
” Then he winked and said, “I would have done the same thing.” I smiled, and we moved on as if his confession of willingness to kill a man for me, or maybe any child, was passing conversation.
“What did you feel when you saw him? Knowing what Valhalla had done?”
“Loved,” I admitted. “I know it’s wrong.”
“There are no wrong answers when it comes to feelings. You feel what you feel. No one gets to tell you what you should feel or that what you feel is wrong.”
I stared at Dr. Dunaway. That wasn’t true. She told me I should feel grateful. She told me I should feel special. She told me I should feel honored.
“Kytten?” When I looked up, he asked, “Where did you just go?”
I shook my head. “Nowhere. I was just thinking about what you said.”
I couldn’t look at him. He knew I was lying.
But I couldn’t tell him about her. I was willing to tell him everything else.
About Amber, and how scared I was of losing Val.
How jealous I was of a four-year-old who had everything I ever wanted, including my brother.
But not about her. That was my secret. And if anyone knew, if Cash knew.
He wouldn’t want me. My fingers brushed over the soft leather I wore.
No, he could never know.
“Can we take a break?” I asked, refusing to look up.
“For a few minutes? An hour? Or the day?”
“For the day?” I asked, my eyes on the door.
“Sure. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
I stood up quickly and rushed out. I needed a breather.
I needed the monsters. When I got to the main room, it was almost empty.
Tank and Charlie were asleep on the couch.
Maureen had gone home and taken her dog, thank goodness.
There was a prospect behind the bar wiping glasses with a rag, and two brothers playing pool.
I wasn’t sure where Cash was, so I headed down the hall. As I passed the kitchen, I listened at the door. There were no sounds on the other side, so I slowly pushed it open. I searched for Hash. He was always in here.
Except for today.
When my search of the pantry and large walk-in freezer yielded the same results, I quickly moved to the utensil drawers. Pulling them all open as quietly as I could, I searched for what I was looking for. When I finally found the small paring knife, I almost sobbed in relief.
It had been weeks.
I needed to hear them scream.
I stuck the knife in my boot and slipped out the door. They could hear me calling. They were waking up. Looking up and down the hall, I walked toward the back door. I had to get outside. Had to find a spot in the woods where I could hide. Where no one would see me.
I had to be careful. If my steps were too hurried, someone would know what I was doing. I put my hands in my back pocket and took a deep breath, trying to control my breathing and the rapid beat of my heart.
I was losing on both accounts.
There weren’t many trees in Nebraska. Just small groves of evergreens here and there.
Otherwise, the fields were wide open, so you could see for miles on a clear day.
During one of my walks, I had noticed a small outbuilding situated within a group of trees.
I hadn’t gone near it, not wanting to bring attention to myself. But now I needed somewhere to hide.
I made my way out back, further along the property line until the clubhouse was small on the horizon. Then I hitched a right and walked until I was on the other side of the building, the clubhouse hidden from view.
I didn’t need to know what the building was. Had no desire to go inside. Instead, I sat on the ground, my back against the metal siding, and pulled the small blade from my boot.
Thankfully, my jeans were torn, so I wouldn’t have to remove them. I traced my fingers along the vine tattoo. Tears welled in my eyes but wouldn’t tip over. The monsters were screaming, and they were screaming loud.
I placed the blade against my skin, only I hesitated. My eyes closed tight against the memory of when Cash learned of my shame. I couldn’t think about that right now. I had to feed the monsters. I needed them to take my feelings.
Go to him!
I shook my head at the voice in my head. It was new. It was louder than the monsters, but it wasn’t loud enough.
Tell him the truth!
I shook my head again and pressed the blade against my skin, no hesitation this time. It sliced through the layers until a crimson line appeared, and the monsters’ screams drowned out the voice that tried to stop me.
The tears fell then. They rolled down my cheeks as the blood rolled down my leg. My head banged against the building. The monsters were supposed to stop the tears. They were supposed to scream, so I didn’t have to.
It wasn’t enough. I cut again, and another crimson line appeared stark against the pale skin of my leg. It wasn’t enough. A third time, and the screams still weren’t loud enough.
The hand holding the knife dropped to my side. There was only one thing left to try. I screamed with them, hoping I was far enough away that no one heard me. I screamed until my voice was hoarse. Until I had no tears left.