Supernormal

Ch 2

The walls of the doc's office were blue. Mostly. Light, and mostly blue, but with enough hints of gray and green to make pinning the exact color down an exercise in futility. Last time, Ashley figured robin's egg. Knew it was robin's egg. And now—she wasn't so sure. It drove her crazy, not being able to pin it down. Like a splinter just under her skin where she couldn't dig it out. She should've known by now. She'd been making an intensive goddamn study of those walls three times a week, ninety minutes at a stretch, for the past eleven months.

She glanced over to the calendar, without meaning to, without wanting it. Twelve months soon. Almost twelve months. And then they'd decide.

Ashley squeezed her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose. Forced her way back to the paint. Maybe she was just picking up stuff that wasn't supposed to be there. Maybe the paint was just supposed to be blue. Maybe, as Dr. MacNamara remarked, she was obsessing over the paint because she didn't want to deal with being in another goddamn doctor's office and the days running past like water in a sieve.

She hated this. Hated doctors, hated having to sit here while another one peered at her and tried to pull her apart. That's all a shrink was, just another doctor. There to wrench open her head and make nice, neat little notes to put in her file. Ashley wondered if the doc even knew what that file meant, down the line. If she even cared, or if it was just another job to her. Good one, too, cause when you were this messed up, the paychecks kept rolling in. But to Ashley, that file was her life—it was the difference between being able to sit here and chat and then go back to Brody's on her own, and being strapped to a gurney with needles in her arm.

It would have to be poison. Have to be. Bullets hadn't worked last time.

Ashley heard Brody's voice in her head, telling her to play fair. Okay, Dr. MacNamara probably did know some. Brody would've told her—not all, but enough. Brody was fond of the "need to know" line, but he did actually mean it; he told you what you needed to know. And the doc—Ashley swallowed hard—she didn't seem completely heartless.

"Ashley."

Dr. MacNamara's mild voice brought her back, enough for Ashley to realize she was gripping the arm of the couch a little too hard. The wood had started to splinter. She forced her fingers to let go, relax. She got them to let go. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Tell me what's bothering you."

"Nothing."

"Liar."

Ashley looked up sharply. The doctor met her stare straight on, but her face was impassive, like one of those freaky Japanese people-robots.

"Brody's being a jackass," Ashley stabbed at her, biting off each word. "I get to be pissed off if Brody's being a jackass."

"You get to be angry about a lot of things. What is it this time?"

Ashley gripped her hands together so tightly her knuckles ached. Did they have to play these games? She was hanging on by a thread and the doc wanted to play Twenty Questions. The doc knew why Brody's a jackass, he would've told her why during their weekly Ashley's-still-a-psycho phone call. Ashley wasn't that stupid. Why did the doc need her to say everything out loud?

Dr. MacNamara cocked an eyebrow and repeated, "What is it this time?" She held her pen at the ready. Ashley wanted to jam it— She cut that thought right off. Shaking a little that she'd had it. Shaken enough that she told the truth.

"Ian offered me a job. At the store. Said I could come in, work off some of my tab. Earn something. Brody said no."

"Why do you think he said no?" the doc asked, making another note.