Page 96 of Wicked Vile King
"What's bothering you, Willow?" he asks. He raises a finger and points at my bare throat. "I couldn't help but notice you no longer have a collar. Is it about that?"
I nod and wipe my nose with a tissue.
"I don't understand," I tell him, sniffling loudly.
"What don't you understand?" he asks me.
"I don't understand Saint."
He chuckles wryly. "I'm afraid you're going to have to be a bit more specific."
"I don't understand what he does and does not feel. I don't understand what psychopaths feel."
"Ah, yes." Dr. Cross adjusts in his chair. "I'm assuming Saint told you about his diagnosis?"
I nod.
"And he's the reason you're so upset?"
I nod again.
"I see." I swear I see a hint of a smirk across his lips before he wipes it away completely.
"Well, just like all mental illnesses," he explains, "psychopathy exists on a spectrum. Not everyone who is a psychopath is a sadist who takes pleasure from inflicting pain on others. The movies get it wrong there, I'm afraid."
"Do they love?" I interrupt.
He frowns.
"Yes, and no," he says eventually, "not in the way you would, but from what we know and what I've observed, that too is on a spectrum. They may feel thankful to another person or feel pride at being a part of someone's life. They may also treat them like a possession and become angry when their hold on that person is threatened. All of those things for a psychopath may feel a lot like what love feels to you."
He crosses his legs and rests his hands atop his knee. "Are you asking me if Saint loves you, Willow?"
"I don't . . ." I think we both stop breathing. "No, I just want to understand him more."
"I'm afraid to understand Saint, you'd have to ask him, but," he narrows his eyes at me, "I'm guessing that already happened, and it didn't go well." His gaze flicks to my shoulder. "Did he hurt you, Willow?"
"No," I shake my head quickly, "no, that . . . this . . ." I raise my shoulder and regret the movement immediately. "This was another girl."
He relaxes a little at that.
"It's just . . ." I begin, looking down at my hands, twisting my fingers together in my lap. "It's just I found out there were others before me. Other . . ."
"Other what?" Dr. Cross asks, going very still, staring at me.
"Other pets," I say, and it hurts to admit it. The pain of seeing that girl, of having her attack me, and finding out there were two others after her, it all hurts.
I lick my lips and taste my tears. Dr. Cross stands abruptly.
"Let me see," he says, rounding his desk and digging in drawers, shuffling papers everywhere, before he pulls out his medical bag and sits it on the desk. He unearths a massive needle that sends my heart tap dancing. "Ah, yes, here it is. I think I have just the thing to help you, Willow."
He pulls a vial of clear liquid out of the bag a moment later, takes the cap off the needle with his teeth, and then inserts it into the vial and fills the syringe. "This will help you feel better."
"No." I shake my head quickly. "I'm okay. I don't need that, really." I sniffle and wipe away my tears. "I'm fine."
He scoffs, and at this angle, the light from his desk lamp hits just right, running through his thinning hair.
"Don't be silly," he tells me with a frown. "You want to get better, don't you?"
