Page 4 of The Carnage We Keep

“Talking about sex makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?”

“Cock. Pussy. Queef. Creampie. Bukakke,” I say, a smile on my face. “Hmm…no, I feel fine?”

She smiles and shakes her head. “My mistake.”

“You're forgiven.”

I turn as if to make my way to the door whose lock I picked thirty minutes ago. Then I frown in the deep shadows of the darkened kitchen and turn back to her.

“I know this is beating a dead horse by now, but I have to ask again.” My brows knit. “Honestly. Do you think I’m a bad person?”

Dr. Fallon glances down meaningly at the duct tape binding her wrists to the arms of her kitchen chair.

“In general, or should I factor in tonight?”

I smirk. “I mean generally.”

“Then no.”

I frown. “That was suspiciously fast.”

“Britney, it’s one seventeen in the morning.”

Shit. I’m running late for my date with a pedo and that vat of acid.

“You saying you’d give me a more thoughtful answer during business hours?”

“I’m saying most of my patients make appointments.”

“You did say you were expecting me. I mean, the Cheetos? This is some super mixed messaging, doc. It might make me spiral into god-only-knows what kind of mischief and mayhem and⁠—”

“I don’t think you’re a bad person, Britney. But you might be an inconveniencing one if you left without freeing me. I have an actual appointment early in the morning.”

“Oh, shit.” My brows furrow. “Sorry.”

I cross the kitchen of the Manhattan apartment and open a cutlery drawer. Dr. Fallon does an admirable job of hiding the slightly freaked-out look on her face when I turn to her with a serrated steak knife in my hand. But all I do is slice one of her arms free and then hand her the knife.

“Great chat as always, doc,” I say, flashing her a smile.

She dips her chin, smiling back. “The pleasure is mutual, Britney. But…look, this isn’t a complaint, but if you ever wanted to make an actual appointment⁠—”

“Nah, I’m good.”

She chuckles to herself as she begins to cut her other wrist free. “Well, the offer is permanently on the table. My calendar always has a slot for you.”

“Appreciate you.”

“Britney.”

I pause at the apartment door and turn to glance back at her.

“Be careful tonight.” Her mouth twists. “With your…ideations.”

“Well, Bob, let’s see what our lucky contestant has won!” I announce brightly, extending an arm toward Carl Bigsby.

The front of his khaki pants darkens as the urine vacating his body slowly spreads across the fabric.

“First up, this stylish bondage ensemble featuring matching wrist and ankle restraints. Both functional and flattering!” I crow into the invisible microphone clutched in my fist held up to my face.