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“We’re straying from the topic at hand, Britney.”
I exhale loudly. “Only because someone refuses to give me a straight answer.”
She draws in a slow breath. “Is it important to you to be a good person?”
“Not…particularly?”
“What about being perceived as one?”
“Literally could not give less of a shit,” I shrug.
She smiles, her brows raising. “So, why is getting an answer to that question so important to you? And for what it’s worth, good is entirely subjective.”
“Oh my God, you are such a fucking therapist,” I groan as I stuff another Cheeto into my mouth. “Okay, skip the good-or-not-good question. I’m like…definitely pretty psycho, right?”
“Do you want my normal person opinion on that, or my professional one?”
“Professional,” I grump. “Please.”
She nods thoughtfully. “I think you exhibit several traits associated with antisocial personality disorder, if that’s what you're asking.”
No shit.
Deceitfulness? Check. I mean, not all the time. But a girl’s gotta have secrets.
Impulsivity or failure to plan?
I think the fact that it’s one in the morning and I’m sitting in my therapist’s kitchen without an appointment answers that question.
Reckless disregard for safety, irresponsibility, and lack of remorse?
Check, check, aaaaaand double check.
“Unless you think I’m off-base there?”
I snort loudly. “If nothing else, I think that regularly kills people puts me pretty squarely in that box, don’t you?”
“Actually, Britney, homicide isn’t diagnostic of antisocial personality disorder.”
“Huh. Seems like an oversight.”
Her mouth twitches. “Is that still something you…think about doing?”
Dr. Fallon doesn’t have many rules about what we talk about. But one thing she never does is talk about my kills as if they actually happened. In her mind, these are just very vivid and extremely detailed homicidal fantasies.
“I, uh…thought about it last week?” I smile as my tone lifts at the end of the sentence. “Oh, and right after this, I have plans to, uhhh, think about dropping this real piece of shit into a vat of acid.”
The effort it takes to downplay how fucking jazzed I am for that particular event on tonight’s agenda is monumental. But come on. I can’t look like a complete psycho in front of her.
Dr. Fallon’s throat bobs as she smiles weakly. “Ah. I…see.”
“Doc,” I sigh, shaking my head. “You know my…ideations involve only the worst pieces of shit on the planet, right?”
She frowns. “Do you feel justified in taking their lives based on their actions—”
“If we’re going to sit here debating the worth of human life as it pertains to child molesters, rapists, and human traffickers, I might need to find myself a new shrink.”
Which, honestly, she might actually appreciate…
