Sneak Attack (Tapped Out 2)

Normal people didn’t crave pain. They didn’t want to wrap up their hands and beat the hell out of things only to get whaled on in return. They didn’t beg for their boyfriend to hold their wrists so tight while they fucked them that the bruises lasted for weeks. Did they?

I didn’t know, because I’d never been anywhere close to typical in any way.

“Mmm-hmm.” Dr. Phelps consulted her pad. “And what about the bothersome phone calls? Are you still getting them?”

“Occasionally.” I picked at my nails. “Hardly ever.” If hardly ever counted as twice a day without fail.

“Have you considered that Tray is worried you may have become some sort of target? That perhaps that is why he decided to move in now?”

“Target of what?”

“You tell me.”

“I can’t, because I don’t know what you’re insinuating.” As usual.

One thing I did know was that Tray couldn’t think I was a target of anything because he didn’t know about the phone calls. Between school, his two jobs and the stress with his parents, he didn’t need for me to unload my crap on him too. Besides, this wasn’t important. A little pointless harassment wasn’t worth dredging up the past we’d tried so hard to put behind us.

Perhaps there wasn’t even a link. Random crackpots still existed, right? The fact that I’d attracted two in the last decade was just happenstance. Or maybe my unusualness acted as a kind of bug light to all the crazies.

“Your case received a good amount of attention. Are there any significant anniversaries coming up?” She consulted her file. “It’s been around seven years, correct?”

I could give her months, days, weeks. I’d probably figure out the minutes tonight if insomnia continued to kick my ass. I had nothing better to do with the empty hours than count and listen to Tray breathe.

And wonder how many times I could screw up and he would still love me.

“My case, as you called it, has nothing to do with this. A few crank calls don’t mean squat.”

“How can you be certain?”

“I just am.”

She sighed. “You’re positive no important dates related to the case are coming up? There are those who thrive off of resuscitating pain, especially if it might bring them notoriety.”

Didn’t I know that. I’d known it the first time I started receiving the phone calls, more than three years ago. They’d led me to leave my aunt’s home in upstate New York and disappear into New York City. I’d legally changed my name to Mia, which I’d hoped would discourage any news gawkers while preserving my family connection through my last name. My parents were gone, but I wasn’t ready to let go of that link to the Andersons.

For a while all had been quiet. Now the calls had started again.

In three weeks, it would be eight years since I’d been taken. Three months after that, it would be eight years since I’d saved my own life by slitting my captor’s throat.

No, there weren’t any anniversaries of my hell to mark. Except the ones that existed with every beat of my heart.

“No.” I reached up to touch my earrings. Tray had given them to me, and I’d never taken them off. Never would. “The dates are off.” Not by much, but I refused to acknowledge the possibility that the sludge of my past might try to suck me back down again.

“Perhaps someone took note of you when you began fighting. A fan, perhaps. Have you considered—”

“I’m not considering anything. Sometimes a hang-up call is just a hang-up call. Not everything that smells like shit is an asshole.”

Dr. Phelps folded her hands over her pad. “Mia, if your safety is at risk, burying your head in the sand isn’t an intelligent move. You’re a smart girl, despite what you insist on telling yourself in your self-talk.”

Self-talk, my ass.

“Is the hour up yet?” I pretended not to hear the plai

ntive note in my question. I wasn’t desperate to leave that sterile cream box surrounded by degrees and leather furniture and thriving plants. No way. I just needed to…grocery shop.

We were out of milk since Tray kept draining every carton I bought. That was a legitimate need. No one would think I was crazy because I had a yen to buy milk. That was much more reasonable than my yen to get beat up all to shit.

Fucking A.