Page 40 of Tempting Venom
That, of course, included calling his favorite pal, Regis Callahan—Jude’s dad—who dedicated his pharmaceutical empire to “make me better.” And that’s where Julian came in—you know, the power-hungry dude who’s now taking over for Regis and overseeing Operation How Many Drugs Can We Pump into Preston Before He Shrivels and Dies?
Anyway, Dr. Vivienne Duret strolled into the picture around that time. She’s not my main psychotherapist—that’s Dr. Fenwick with his eccentric methods, drug-testing habits, and Dad’s stamp of approval.
Dr. Duret is mytalktherapist. The one I yap to about all the shit I want, and she’s paid to listen.
The first day we met, she asked me if there was anything I wanted, so I said, “I want to kill you,” then I lunged at her. It was a blur I barely remember, but nurses and other doctors rushed in and pulled me away as I kicked and screamed, “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you all!”
Not my brightest moment. But then again, I was only eleven, so I forgive myself.
Just kidding. I murdered that me from back then.
I’ve murdered a lot of mes in my lifetime.
Anyway, after said episode, any other doctor would’ve been like “Hell no. I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” then quit. Not Dr. Duret. Dad must be paying her a shit ton of money if she’s stayed for over a decade.
Dr. Duret is eccentric in her own way. Otherwise, why else would she put up with a nutjob like me?
Though she doesn’t look the part. Of an eccentric, I mean. But then again, have youseenme? I blend too well with my surroundings.
Maybe she’s the same.
Dr. Duret doesn’t seem like someone who belongs in Graystone Ridge or Vencor—yup, she’s a member, judging by her serpent necklace.
She’s too calm for this place, too soft around the edges. Her short brown hair is always smooth, and her eyes are that strange pale-green you see in old paintings, somewhere between glass and seafoam.
She’s slim, graceful in a rehearsed way. Every movement she makes is quiet and measured.
Today, she’s dressed in a cream blouse with a black bow, a neat dark skirt, and a navy-blue cardigan that looks freshlypressed. She smells faintly of jasmine and clean soap that tickles my senses.
There’s also a jasmine diffuser in the corner of the room, releasing the scent all around me until it’s a cocoon.
Sometimes, when I sit across from her, it feels like being inside a bubble. Everything outside the room fades—the static, the noise, the world.
If only she weren’t Dad’s watchdog, we would get along perfectly.
Well, at least she lets me visit her in the suburbs, where she lives on her own with a fuck ton of houseplants. I first started showing up here when I was around fifteen, just to antagonize her.
I wanted to relay the message that I could find out where she lives and kill her, but then she said that if I felt more comfortable coming to her house instead of the Callahans’ clinic, I was welcome to.
That was a no-brainer. No need to ask me twice.
Her house is perched on a hill at the very edge of Graystone Ridge. Not Ravenswood Hill–level fancy, but through the giant French doors, you can see part of the town and the river that heroically protects us from the absolute dumpster fire that is Stantonville.
And just like that, my mood takes a nosedive straight into last week’s bullshit.
“Is there anything else you’d like to talk about aside from the online game you played?” Her words land gently, her voice soft but unwavering.
I rest my hands behind my head as I lie on the sofa. “No, why would you think that?”
“To my knowledge, you lost a game against the Wolves, and that affected the Vipers’ winning streak.” She pauses,both physically and with her pen. “How do you feel about that, Preston?”
“Grand, thanks for asking.” I stare at the few stars on the ceiling. What is this, kindergarten?
“Is that all?”
“I don’t feel guilty about it, if that’s what you want to know. Don’t have those feelings, remember?”
“Yes. I was just wondering if you’d like to share anything further.”
