Psychiatrist's Puppet (Loftry University Playthings 3)

A chuckle escapes Grigori’s lips before he can stifle it. Shooting me an apologetic look, he slaps Sergei on the shoulder and shakes his head. “Wrong idiom, but right sentiment. What I believe he’s trying to say is, let her go. If she returns, you know she loves you.”

“I can’t just let her go.” My voice is barely a whisper as I turn back to the wall. I can’t stand here like some impotent fool. Shaking my head, I slam my fist into the wall, letting the agony of the blow seep into my brain. Perhaps that will help me shake off these morose feelings. She made her choice; Grigori was right about that. There’s nothing I can do now.

Pushing past the two, I storm into the dining area and grab an empty cup. Anger and alcohol don’t usually mix, but I need that burn; I need that quieting of the mind. Angela and Jerry stand off to the side, faces blank. I know they’re trying to be strong for me, but only an idiot would miss how close they’ve all grown to one another. Like a family. A family of my making.

With a loud roar, I throw the glass across the room, watching it shatter against the wall - just like my heart as she walked out the door with him. Angela wastes no time in grabbing a small broom and dustpan, and I leave her to it. Normally I try not to inflict extra work on her, but I am not in full control of my emotions. I thought I was. I thought I could remain passive, but each second she’s away undermines that control.

“What do you need from us?” Grigori and Sergei stand at the door, waiting for instructions. I know if I order them to go after her, they would. They wouldn’t like it, but they would. But that’s not what I need. Grigori was right. She chose to leave. Dragging her back will confirm all the wrong aspects of our relationship.

“Just go home.”

“Just drink. I send vodka to help.”

A smile quirks up my lips but then quickly falls. “No. I don’t think I will. If she comes back to me, I want to be sober, collected. She will need to see me back in command of myself. Just go home.”

They both slip out along with Angela and Jerry, leaving me to my thoughts. Her plate is still piled up with food from where she barely touched it. She really doesn’t eat enough. Would William even notice? How much will she have to waste away until he finally forces her to eat? Or would he even do that? She doesn’t need nice. She doesn’t need kind. She needs someone who can take her in hand and make her take care of herself. She needs me.