cleared her throat. “All these thoughts and ticks which made every decent foster family send me packing, maybe it would all be okay. I got so into it. Stupidly. He did this exorcism thing, burning sage and other stuff. I remember screaming and howling until I thought the roof would cave in.”
Lennox and Dash were watching her, eyes hooded, but with rapt attention. “Sage?” Lennox’s voice was soft, not mocking, but very curious.
Dorian’s head nodded up and down. “I remember feeling dizzy and loopy after. He told me I was cured. And you know the funny thing was, I felt great. What I didn’t consider was maybe my meds were doing their job, and then I stopped taking them. Next thing I knew, I had an episode. They locked me in psych for six months.”
The men exchanged pained looks, and Dash reached over to touch her leg, but Dorian flinched away. He dropped his hand and let out a sigh. “Look, we’re not here to tell you we have a simple solution. It’s not easy going through what you go through.”
“How the hell would you know, anyway?” Her voice was raw and bitter, and her throat tight with unshed tears.
Lennox looked at the floor as he answered. “Because we know people who’ve been there. People like you. Some of them worse. We don’t always have the answers, and we don’t have an easy fix.”
Dorian’s eyebrows shot up. “So what the hell am I doing here?”
“You have potential. There’s… it’s…” Lennox floundered, running his hand back through his hair in frustration. “We’ve got a way to prove it. If you’ll let us.”
Her eyes were narrow and she crossed her arms. “Oh yeah? Some crazed sex ritual or something?”
Dash barked a laugh, but Lennox didn’t find it funny. “We can draw the demon out, make it so you can remember every time it visits you. It’s a ritual, yes, but it’s just symbols.”
Dorian felt panic well in her stomach and she took in a breath. “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Down the hall, first door on the right,” Dash said with a wave of his hand. As she got up and started down the hall, she heard him call after her. “There’s no window in there, love. So if you’re thinking about trying to run…”
She slammed the door, cutting off his words. He was right, there was no window. Just a tiny, closet-sized room with a standing shower, toilet, and sink. Dorian was barely reigning in her panic attack as she stood with her face pointed down at the small, half-rusted faucet. She realized after a moment, there were no mirrors there.
But no. There was no way these guys were going to be right about her. No damn way. She was not possessed. She hadn’t come this far in her therapy to regress back to her emo teenage years where she wanted her issues to be anything but her own brain.
Splashing water on her face, she patted herself dry with a slightly sour towel, then leaned against the door. She could run, sure. Easily. But they’d catch her. They were already prepared for her escape. She could also agree to the ritual, provided it didn’t involve either of them forcing themselves on her or drinking anything strange. Maybe if she complied, they’d let her go.
Still, she wasn’t sure they weren’t going to murder her and turn her into a lampshade.
A small voice in the back of her head told her not to agree to anything. To run. To fight. To claw their faces off and escape, because they would hurt her. What they wanted to do was dangerous. Dangerous to her and to others.
It was a bizarre thought, and she shook her head, trying to regain control. She had to keep her head about her right now. She couldn’t give in to her condition, to the voices and the paranoia. Her next steps were critical.
Pressing her ear to the door frame, Dorian cracked the door and closed her eyes. Concentrating, she could just make out what Lennox and Dash were
Lennox and Dash were watching her, eyes hooded, but with rapt attention. “Sage?” Lennox’s voice was soft, not mocking, but very curious.
Dorian’s head nodded up and down. “I remember feeling dizzy and loopy after. He told me I was cured. And you know the funny thing was, I felt great. What I didn’t consider was maybe my meds were doing their job, and then I stopped taking them. Next thing I knew, I had an episode. They locked me in psych for six months.”
The men exchanged pained looks, and Dash reached over to touch her leg, but Dorian flinched away. He dropped his hand and let out a sigh. “Look, we’re not here to tell you we have a simple solution. It’s not easy going through what you go through.”
“How the hell would you know, anyway?” Her voice was raw and bitter, and her throat tight with unshed tears.
Lennox looked at the floor as he answered. “Because we know people who’ve been there. People like you. Some of them worse. We don’t always have the answers, and we don’t have an easy fix.”
Dorian’s eyebrows shot up. “So what the hell am I doing here?”
“You have potential. There’s… it’s…” Lennox floundered, running his hand back through his hair in frustration. “We’ve got a way to prove it. If you’ll let us.”
Her eyes were narrow and she crossed her arms. “Oh yeah? Some crazed sex ritual or something?”
Dash barked a laugh, but Lennox didn’t find it funny. “We can draw the demon out, make it so you can remember every time it visits you. It’s a ritual, yes, but it’s just symbols.”
Dorian felt panic well in her stomach and she took in a breath. “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Down the hall, first door on the right,” Dash said with a wave of his hand. As she got up and started down the hall, she heard him call after her. “There’s no window in there, love. So if you’re thinking about trying to run…”
She slammed the door, cutting off his words. He was right, there was no window. Just a tiny, closet-sized room with a standing shower, toilet, and sink. Dorian was barely reigning in her panic attack as she stood with her face pointed down at the small, half-rusted faucet. She realized after a moment, there were no mirrors there.
But no. There was no way these guys were going to be right about her. No damn way. She was not possessed. She hadn’t come this far in her therapy to regress back to her emo teenage years where she wanted her issues to be anything but her own brain.
Splashing water on her face, she patted herself dry with a slightly sour towel, then leaned against the door. She could run, sure. Easily. But they’d catch her. They were already prepared for her escape. She could also agree to the ritual, provided it didn’t involve either of them forcing themselves on her or drinking anything strange. Maybe if she complied, they’d let her go.
Still, she wasn’t sure they weren’t going to murder her and turn her into a lampshade.
A small voice in the back of her head told her not to agree to anything. To run. To fight. To claw their faces off and escape, because they would hurt her. What they wanted to do was dangerous. Dangerous to her and to others.
It was a bizarre thought, and she shook her head, trying to regain control. She had to keep her head about her right now. She couldn’t give in to her condition, to the voices and the paranoia. Her next steps were critical.
Pressing her ear to the door frame, Dorian cracked the door and closed her eyes. Concentrating, she could just make out what Lennox and Dash were
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