Read The Beckoning of Broken Things (The Beckoning Series) for Free Online Page B

him. “I’m sorry. Lost in thought. I’m here to escort you to your appointment.”
    “Ugh. I was going to skip it if you don’t mind.”
    His face falls for a second, but then that cheery smile returns. “Oh, that’s not a good idea, Ms. Engles. You don’t participate, you don’t get to leave. Or you go somewhere far, far less desirable. It’s that simple.”
    My shoulders rise and fall to the tune of a sigh. “Understood. Well, then. Let’s go.” I follow him out the door.
    When we arrive at Dr. Bellows office, two locked floors away, he pauses before knocking on the door. “You be careful,” he whispers. “Be strong.”
    “What?”
    He ignores me and knocks.
    “Enter,” a voice calls.
    All Smiles opens the doors and steps aside for me to enter. “Evening, Dr. Bellows. I’ll be back to get her in 50 minutes.”
    “Fine, fine,” Dr. Bellows answers.
    I wander in and look around. It’s a huge office with rows and rows of certificates, accomplishments, and education winking from the walls like beacons to this man’s self-importance. I’m not impressed. You can be educated and still be an asshole.
    “Come in, come in,” Dr. Bellows says. “Enter. Sit.” He points to a brown couch next to a stuffed chair.
    I start to sit on the chair, but he stops me.
    “That’s my seat. Make yourself comfortable on the sofa.” He makes his way over to the stuffed chair and settles into it, as if it’s his throne.
    “Can I just stand?”
    “No. Sit. Please.” He waits.
    I eye the sofa suspiciously before perching at the edge.
    “Settle back.”
    “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
    “You know fine is not a feeling.”
    I smile.
    He glares. “Let’s proceed then, shall we?” He steeples his fingers beneath his chin.
    It’s the same gesture Dr. Beasley made on “orientation night.” They must train them to make that gesture in college. I look at the walls, the photos, the books…everywhere but at him.
    “Let’s explore your childhood, shall we?” he begins.
    “Why?” I ask, still not meeting his gaze.
    “Why not? It’s a good place to begin. Were you accepted as a child?”
    I frown. “My mom and dad adored me, if that’s what you mean.”
    “So, they accepted you?”
    “What do you mean by accept? I was loved. Isn’t that the same as acceptance?”
    “Marissa, look at me.”
    My gaze meets his, defiantly.
    “You’ve clearly got some issues with anger , and we want to get to the heart of it. Only through accepting and acknowledging what we are feeling will we release our wounds.”
    “The only wound I have right now is the betrayal at being put in this place to begin with. I don’t belong here. And, if your little theory were true, you wouldn’t have tried to placate me when I ‘expressed’ myself in the group today.” I make air quotes around the word “expressed.”
    “You were clearly out of control,” he says, as if that answers everything. “You were putting yourself and the others in harm.”
    I roll my eyes, sit back , and drape my arms over the back of the couch. This new drug combo makes me feel aroused, dizzy, lethargic, and very, very heavy. It’s a strange sensation.
    “You’re a feisty one, I’ll give you that.”
    I ignore him.
    “Let’s try something, shall we?”
    I shrug.
    “Close your eyes.”
    “No.”
    “Please, dear, this is a therapeutic exercise I want to try with you.”
    “Nope.”
    He huffs. “Remember what I said about opportunities. They can be revoked by me.”
    “Asshole,” I say under my breath.
    “I’ll let that outburst slide. This once. Now close your eyes.”
    I let them fall shut. It would be so easy to just lay my head down on the arm of this couch and fall into dreams or the bleak, bleary sleep-scapes of the sedated. I have to work to keep my head from falling back against the wall.
    “That’s it. That’s good,” Dr. Bellows coos. He sounds like he wants to rock me to sleep. “Now see yourself facing a doorway. It leads down