Page 53 of Wicked Vile King
"Anything you want to say, Mr. Soros?" Dr. Cross asks him.
"The new ones always complain about their stupid fucking nightmares," he remarks, examining his nails with an eye-roll. "How utterly unoriginal."
"Fear is normal," Dr. Cross says, placing his notepad in his lap. "Everyone experiences it at some point or another."
Gabe lifts his dead eyes from the floor and says to Dr. Cross but looks at me, "No, that's not true, doc. Not everybody is a weak little bitch."
My jaw—and Dr. Cross's—tics, but to his credit, Dr. Cross just folds his hands in his lap and raises an eyebrow. "Fear is a survival mechanism. It's normal, and anxiety is our brain's way of dealing with deeply instilled fear. Yet, you feel it's weak, Mr. Soros. Please elaborate for the rest of the group."
"Fear is just the inability to deal with the real world and the consequences of one's actions."
Gabe makes a pointed look at me, and Dr. Cross looks between the two of us, his brow pinched.
Great, I'm definitely covering this in therapy at some point.
"I don't think that's always the case," he says a moment later, returning his attention back to Saint's friend. "Sometimes fear happens because we take steps to better our situation, and we're afraid the situation will escalate again, outside of our control."
Hell yeah! Tell him, Dr. Cross!
Gabe huffs.
"No comeback?" Dr. Cross says. "Anything else to add, Mr. Soros?"
"Not today," Gabe responds a millisecond later with a poisonous grin.
The session continues, and thankfully, Dr. Cross moves on from me and turns to other members of the group, making them discuss what they are afraid of, and there's some sarcasm—your face, man—a few lies—chocolateandbabies—and some people who, I think, actually tell the truth—clownsandmy father, which earn a big oleYikes!
It passes quickly with everyone else talking, but by the end of the session, I'm ready to leave. Dr. Cross catches me, though, as I move to exit the room.
"Ms. Cadelle," he says as students escape, "stay for a moment please."
I do, and when the room finally clears, he looks at me.
"What was that?" he asks with a tight-lipped smile. "With you and Mr. Soros? A lover's spat, perhaps?"
He's looking at me so intently, but I'm too mortified to actually speak. Does he think Gabriel and I would actually . . . ?
Ewwwwwww!
"No," I finally manage, more spluttering than an actual word. "He's just . . . He's mad . . . He's . . ."
"Say it, Willow."
"When's Saint getting out?" I blurt.
"Soon, I think, very soon." Dr. Cross raises an eyebrow. "Why? Is he the one who put that collar on you?" He goes very still while gathering his things and looks at me before, finally, he glances down at his notepad and chuckles to himself. "Ah, I see, I've been blind. That's why Mr. Soros was adamant this morning that fear is a natural response to knowing well-deserved payback is coming."
I nod.
"If," he circles a chair and steps forward, "Mr. Laurier gives you any more trouble, Willow, let me know, won't you? Although I imagine the last thing on his mind will be going back to isolation, I will send him there if he bothers you. Do you understand?"
He steps in front of me, and I swallow hard.
"Do you understand?" he repeats with atsk.
I manage a silent nod.
"Good. Now, enjoy the rest of your day, Willow."
