Read Online Retribution (Sebastian Trilogy Book 3) by Janey Rosen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Janey Rosen
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That’s the way Scarlett viewed it. It’s always about your happiness, your needs. She’s obsessed with you.”
“I’ve heard enough, ” he barks, rising from the bed. “Go to Dorset. Take some pills and come back when you’re rational. I do not want to go through this again, listening to the ranting of a lunatic. I’ve had enough! ” He slams the bedroom door as I crumble into Ruth’s arms.
“I’m not crazy, Ruth. It is her. I know it is. How do I prove it? ” I sob.
“Shh, love, ” she soothes. “If Scarlett is poisoning you, and I’m not saying I agree with you—it’s very farfetched—but if she is, then when you leave here, you will get well. That will prove it. Also, a doctor will be able to tell if you’re being poisoned.”
“Okay, but take me away today. Please. I’m so scared.”
Ruth strokes my back, her voice calm but her underlying concern toward me is palpable. “We can’t leave today, love. Sebastian’s shrink is coming this afternoon. I think we should let him decide if what you’re experiencing is grief-related.”
Sighing dejectedly, I move away from her, pulling the duvet up to my chin, the sting from her words hurting as severely as any pain inflicted upon me in the chamber. She thinks I’m crazy too. For the first time in our friendship, my best friend doubts me. “I’m not making this up, Ruth, and it’s not grief. Maybe when I’m poisoned to death, you will all believe me.”
“I’m not doubting you, love. ” Ruth closes the distance between us and tucks a stray curl behind my ear tenderly. I flinch at her touch; she pulls her hand back. “What I’m saying is, no one suffers a loss as profound as yours without some fallout. Grief festers, Beth, and it can’t do any harm in talking to the shrink so we can at least eradicate grief. That will leave two possible causes for your hallucinations. One: you have a virus or some hideous brain tumour. Two: you’re being poisoned. Simple.”
“Brain tumour? ” I gasp, wide-eyed. “Shit. Now you’re giving me more to worry about. Thanks for nothing.”
“It’s a process of elimination is all I mean, silly. ” Ruth rolls her eyes in exasperation. A psychiatrist. I have to talk to a damned shrink.
Chapter 7
I have never had the pleasure of being psycho-analysed before today. My personal view of psychiatrists is that they are all overpaid, dusty old men who are themselves as insane as those whom they treat. This preconception is shattered, at least in part, when I open the door to Sebastian’s study. Resting languidly against the oak bookcase to my right, arms folded, is a tall sandy-haired man about my age. He wears a crisp linen suit with white open necked shirt and pleasant smile which somewhat depletes my anxiety. He proffers a neatly manicured hand, his smile widening to show perfectly white teeth.
“Psychiatrists don’t look like you. ” I gush, my cheeks reddening as his almond eyes crinkle appreciatively at my compliment.
“Apparently they do, ” he responds as I shake his hand. “Doctor Leo Fairfax. You must be Elizabeth.”
I reluctantly retrieve my hand from his firm grasp. “Yes. Elizabeth Dove. Good to meet you, Doctor Fairfax.”
“Please, call me Leo. Take a seat. ” He sweeps his hand toward the chair onto which I compliantly perch while nervously biting my nails. Doctor Fairfax wheels Sebastian’s leather chair around his desk until it faces mine and sits, his knees inches from mine. Surprised at his nearness, I shuffle back to widen the distance between us, worrying that he may be interpreting my every move as part of his evaluation of me. The doctor evidently notices my nerves and rests back against his chair to mirror my action. “Elizabeth, I want to thank you for agreeing to see me today.”
“I didn’t have a choice, ” I mumble. “It was arranged without discussion, so here I am.”
“I see, ” he replies, unperturbed by my
“I’ve heard enough, ” he barks, rising from the bed. “Go to Dorset. Take some pills and come back when you’re rational. I do not want to go through this again, listening to the ranting of a lunatic. I’ve had enough! ” He slams the bedroom door as I crumble into Ruth’s arms.
“I’m not crazy, Ruth. It is her. I know it is. How do I prove it? ” I sob.
“Shh, love, ” she soothes. “If Scarlett is poisoning you, and I’m not saying I agree with you—it’s very farfetched—but if she is, then when you leave here, you will get well. That will prove it. Also, a doctor will be able to tell if you’re being poisoned.”
“Okay, but take me away today. Please. I’m so scared.”
Ruth strokes my back, her voice calm but her underlying concern toward me is palpable. “We can’t leave today, love. Sebastian’s shrink is coming this afternoon. I think we should let him decide if what you’re experiencing is grief-related.”
Sighing dejectedly, I move away from her, pulling the duvet up to my chin, the sting from her words hurting as severely as any pain inflicted upon me in the chamber. She thinks I’m crazy too. For the first time in our friendship, my best friend doubts me. “I’m not making this up, Ruth, and it’s not grief. Maybe when I’m poisoned to death, you will all believe me.”
“I’m not doubting you, love. ” Ruth closes the distance between us and tucks a stray curl behind my ear tenderly. I flinch at her touch; she pulls her hand back. “What I’m saying is, no one suffers a loss as profound as yours without some fallout. Grief festers, Beth, and it can’t do any harm in talking to the shrink so we can at least eradicate grief. That will leave two possible causes for your hallucinations. One: you have a virus or some hideous brain tumour. Two: you’re being poisoned. Simple.”
“Brain tumour? ” I gasp, wide-eyed. “Shit. Now you’re giving me more to worry about. Thanks for nothing.”
“It’s a process of elimination is all I mean, silly. ” Ruth rolls her eyes in exasperation. A psychiatrist. I have to talk to a damned shrink.
Chapter 7
I have never had the pleasure of being psycho-analysed before today. My personal view of psychiatrists is that they are all overpaid, dusty old men who are themselves as insane as those whom they treat. This preconception is shattered, at least in part, when I open the door to Sebastian’s study. Resting languidly against the oak bookcase to my right, arms folded, is a tall sandy-haired man about my age. He wears a crisp linen suit with white open necked shirt and pleasant smile which somewhat depletes my anxiety. He proffers a neatly manicured hand, his smile widening to show perfectly white teeth.
“Psychiatrists don’t look like you. ” I gush, my cheeks reddening as his almond eyes crinkle appreciatively at my compliment.
“Apparently they do, ” he responds as I shake his hand. “Doctor Leo Fairfax. You must be Elizabeth.”
I reluctantly retrieve my hand from his firm grasp. “Yes. Elizabeth Dove. Good to meet you, Doctor Fairfax.”
“Please, call me Leo. Take a seat. ” He sweeps his hand toward the chair onto which I compliantly perch while nervously biting my nails. Doctor Fairfax wheels Sebastian’s leather chair around his desk until it faces mine and sits, his knees inches from mine. Surprised at his nearness, I shuffle back to widen the distance between us, worrying that he may be interpreting my every move as part of his evaluation of me. The doctor evidently notices my nerves and rests back against his chair to mirror my action. “Elizabeth, I want to thank you for agreeing to see me today.”
“I didn’t have a choice, ” I mumble. “It was arranged without discussion, so here I am.”
“I see, ” he replies, unperturbed by my
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