Addicted (M)

Chapter 4: The Storm Inside

The storm outside rattled the small windows of the psych ward, a relentless symphony of rain and wind that felt almost alive. Inside, the air was thick with tension. Avery Weaver sat across from Jadin Walker, their silhouettes framed by the flickering fluorescent light. The room was unremarkable—just two chairs and a table—but tonight, it felt like a stage set for a battle of wills.

Jadin leaned back in his chair, his arms folded lazily across his chest, but his eyes—sharp and piercing—never left hers. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel exposed, as if he could see every crack in her armor.

"You've been quiet tonight," Avery said, keeping her tone light. "What's on your mind?"

His lips curved into a smirk, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You'd love to know, wouldn't you? Maybe write it down in that little notebook of yours. Psychoanalyze me into something neat and manageable."

She ignored the jab. "What makes you think I'm trying to manage you?"

"Because that's what you people do. You see someone like me, and you can't help yourselves. You think, Here's a monster—let's figure out what broke him."

Avery's grip tightened on her pen, but she kept her voice steady. "I don't think you're a monster, Jadin."

He laughed, a low, bitter sound. "No? Give it time."

The words hung between them, heavy and ominous. Avery took a slow breath, letting the silence stretch just long enough to unsettle him.

"What happened to you, Jadin?" she asked finally, her voice softer now. "Before all of this. Before the headlines and the police reports. What made you this... angry?"

For the first time, something flickered across his face—something raw and unguarded. It was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual mask of defiance, but Avery had seen it.

"You want the story?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Fine. Once upon a time, there was a kid who learned early that the world doesn't give a damn about you. You fight, or you get eaten alive. End of story."

"You're oversimplifying," Avery said gently.

"And you're overcomplicating," he shot back. "Sometimes, shit is just what it is."

She leaned forward slightly, meeting his gaze head-on. "And what is it, Jadin? What's your truth?"

For a long moment, he didn't answer. Then he sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and something in his posture shifted. The playful malice was still there, but beneath it was a coiled tension, a readiness to strike.

"You really want to know?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"Yes," Avery said, her heartbeat quickening.

"My truth is... I don't trust anyone. Not you, not the system, not the people who smile and say they want to help. You all have your angles. Your secrets. And when push comes to shove, you'll do whatever it takes to protect your own ass."

His words hit like a slap, but Avery held her ground. "Is that how you saw her?" she asked quietly.

Jadin froze. His expression didn't change, but she saw it in his eyes—the sudden, sharp tension at the mention of his mother.

"You don't know anything about her," he said, his voice tight.

"That's why I'm asking," Avery replied. "Help me understand."

He stared at her for a long time, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the edge of the table. The storm outside seemed to grow louder, as if nature itself was echoing the storm inside him.

"She was... a force," he said at last, his voice rough. "She controlled everything. What I wore, what I ate, who I talked to. She had this way of making you feel small, like you didn't exist unless she wanted you to."

"And you resented her for that," Avery said.

"Resented?" He laughed again, a bitter, hollow sound. "That's putting it lightly. She didn't just control me—she owned me. And when I finally fought back..." He trailed off, his gaze darkening. "Let's just say she didn't take it well."

The room was silent except for the rain pounding against the windows. Avery's heart was racing, but she forced herself to stay calm.

"Is that why you killed her?" she asked, her voice steady.

Jadin's head snapped up, his eyes blazing. For a moment, she thought he might lash out, but instead, he smiled—a slow, chilling smile that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Maybe," he said softly. "Or maybe she deserved it."

The words were like a knife, cutting through the fragile truce they'd established. Avery's mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of Jadin Walker. He was volatile, yes, but there was something else—something deeper, more complex.

"Do you feel remorse?" she asked carefully.

"Remorse," he repeated, as if tasting the word. "No. I feel... free."

The admission hung in the air, heavy and electric. Avery felt a surge of unease, but also something else—something she didn't want to name. It wasn't fear, exactly, but it was close.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. Their session was almost over, but she wasn't ready to leave. Not yet.

"Freedom comes with a price," she said quietly. "Are you willing to pay it?"

Jadin tilted his head, studying her with that unnerving intensity. "That depends," he said. "Are you?"

Her breath caught, but she didn't look away.

For a moment, they sat in silence, the storm raging outside, their gazes locked. And in that moment, Avery realized something. Jadin wasn't just a patient—he was a storm in human form, unpredictable and dangerous.

But she wasn't afraid.

And that terrified her.