The Sweetest Kill: A Young Adult Paranormal Read Online Free PDF Page B

in a rush and leave through the back exit. My shift ended twenty minutes ago, so what the hell does it matter now?
    When I get home, I don’t take off my things like I usually do. Instead, I simply lock my deadbolt and slide down the cheap wood of my door until I’m sitting on the carpet. I let my forehead fall onto my knees as I curl into a ball and begin to let it all out. Heartbreaking and soul crushing sobs escape my body. As I cry, my mind replays every single thing, second by second, of what Lawrence just forced on me.
    Laying my head back against the door, I stare up at my ceiling through blurry eyes. It’s as if I needed another reason to hate this world or myself more than I already do. Closing my eyes, I listen to the sound of my phone ringing and just ignore it. I’m not in the mood to talk to my mom right now.
    In fact, I’m not in the mood for much more than just sitting here and wishing I wasn’t here at all.
     
     
     

Chapter Three
    Allocution
     
     
    “How are you feeling?”
    I grimace at the question but answer, “Fine.”
    Dr. Reynolds lifts one bushy eyebrow, “Care to elaborate?”
    “Not really.” I answer quietly.
    He’s obviously unimpressed by my response and begins scribbling on his notepad, while I take the opportunity to study him. Dr. Reynolds is a man in his late fifties with a rather impressive white colored comb over, probing blue eyes, and a cleft chin. He wears thin gold wire glasses but consistently peers over them when he talks to me. I think they might be reading glasses but one can never really be sure.
    The office is fairly nice. There’s an expansive desk against a bay window, showing a view of the parking lot below and some of the chiropractic business across the street. Dr. Reynolds sits in front of me in his fairly large brown leather office chair, his back to his desk as I face him. I drop my gaze to a loose thread on the tweed chair I’m sitting on, and start to pick at it, waiting for his scolding. Sometimes, I think he’s worse than my mother with all the lectures.
    He eventually lowers his pen and looks at me dispassionately, “Shoshanna, I can only help you if you talk to me. We’ve been over this.”
    “I’m aware.”
    “Then, you’re also aware that your cooperation in these sessions is also a stipulation of your outpatient status with the hospital.”
    I shift in my chair a little, “Yes.”
     
    “Then why don’t you tell me where you got those bruises on your face.”
    I wipe my already sweating palms on my baggy jean legs and stare at the entwined fingers in my lap. It’s only been one night since the incident with Lawrence, and I’m still the worse for wear. I feel disgusting no matter how many baths or showers I take, or how hard I scrub my skin. I swear I could still feel his hands on me in my sleep. As a result, I kept waking up covered in sweat, shaking and crying all throughout the night.
    He’s never taken it that far before, and now that he has, I’m not sure if I can face the possibility that he might do it again. That being said, I don’t know what else I can do. Calling the police seems like a waste of time. He hasn’t done anything other than touch and force a sloppy unwanted kiss on me. I shudder at the memory and try to shut off the building emotion as I glance at Dr. Reynolds, who continues to watch me. He doesn’t need to know about the incident.
    No one does.
    “I fell.”
    “You fell?” He repeats doubtfully.
    I hum a response and nod my head, “Yes. I s-s-slipped on some ice and fell.”
    “The how do you explain the fact that they are the size of finger tips?”
    My finger knots nervously on my lap, “I landed at an odd angle, I think.”
    He sighs heavily and removes his glasses so he can look me directly in the eyes, “Shoshanna, we won’t get any father in your treatment if you continue to be evasive.”
    “I’m not.”
    “You are, and I won’t insult your intelligence by pretending that I don’t know