Page 31

The next morning, I had a group therapy with Diya, and I was the first one to arrive. I settled into a chair in the empty room, my fingers tapping restlessly against my knee.

I wanted to see her, to look her in the eyes and know. I wanted to make sure of her guilt.

Millie arrived next, accompanied by Becca.

“Asher, how are you today?” Becca asked me, motioning Millie toward the chair next to me, her eyes following Millie until she settled into her chair.

“I’m good.” I smiled.

“Keep an eye on her, will you?” Becca said, looking at Millie with a sad smile before she walked away.

I turned toward Millie to see she was, once again, busy drawing something.

“What are you drawing, Millie?” I asked, staring at her sketchbook—she carried it everywhere with her.

She shyly pulled the book closer to her chest, shaking her head.

“It’s fine, Millie. You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to,” I said.

Millie’s paintings were always filled with shadows and thorns, tears and twisting snakes, masked monsters, and cruel, unkind eyes. Things of nightmares.

She looked at me for a few seconds before tearing a page and handing it to me.

“You can keep it,” she whispered.

It was a picture of a shattered grave. Jagged pieces of stone lay scattered in the dirt filled with tiny spiders. Hands came out of the crumbling debris, as though they desperately wanted to break out.

The background was a suffocating void, and ghosts floated around, their forms vague, their faces blurred.

The longer I stared, the more I saw her suffering, her need to escape whatever it was that chased her.

“Thank you, Millie. This is—” I stopped when I felt eyes on me. She was here. I didn’t have to look up to know she was here. I could feel her on my skin, I could smell her in the air, that sweet scent that made me want to lick her all over.

I took my time to look up.

Her honey-brown eyes were almost soft as she watched me. Her black hair, streaked with blue, was in a high ponytail, and her pink silk blouse showed curves that made my mouth dry.

“Go on. Don’t stop on my account,” she said, her voice sincere.

“It’s fine,” I said as she strolled in on her pink high heels, her back straight, her eyes only on me.

Despite the kindness in her eyes, I had seen the cruelty. I had seen the madness, and I was sure that she was a killer.

A beautifully lethal killer. The worst kind. Danger cloaked in innocence.

She took her chair and smiled at me. “You’re doing good.”

I was surprised by that compliment. There was no sarcasm or derision. It was real, the smile and the words.

“Don’t let this fool you,” I whispered under my breath, and her smile was a quick punch to my lungs.

“Never,” she said, tapping her pen against her palm before turning to the others. “How are you feeling today? Me? I’m feeling excited and nervous.”

“Why?” Jimmy asked.

“I’m going on a date with a handsome man and…” she trailed off, smiling as she did. Everyone turned to look at her with a smile, and my mood soured. Fucking Vincent.

“Who is it?” Sarah asked, twirling the end of her sleeves.