Worship (Milton Book 1) Club XXX book 7

Chapter One

Fair Haven City. Hell on Earth. A maggot-infested shell of depravity and a jungle of
tall, cutthroat buildings shaded in black. As I breathe in, a phantom stench of fumes lingers beneath my nose, despite being in a room fragrant with flowers. As if the bitterness lacing my tongue and grit clinging to my skin will never erase from the days I lived and breathed the slums of it.

"Fair Haven. A place where no one sleeps. Not even the dead," I say, more to myself
than anyone else.

But I do have a listener, and she moves behind me, emitting a breath loud enough to let me know she disagrees. "What do you mean by that?"

Allowing a few seconds of silence to linger, I finally face her. Sat on a high-backed
chair, Dr. Ashley Rogue holds a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. As she watches me, I know she already has me pegged as some spoiled teenage bitch begging for attention.

Dr. Rogue is new here—came from Harvard a few months back, believing she can make a difference. Something they all believe at first. That is until they realize that's not how the world works. It's not how Fair Haven works. Black eventually seeps in and rots, and Ashley Rogue is already decaying.

"You will understand one day." It's a vague reply, and I'm aware she hates it. When I
talk in riddles and never give a straight answer. Not anymore. Like clockwork, her forehead creases, and I know I've gotten to her.

Moving away from the window, I sit on the stereotypical couch, pulling my knees to
my chest. I stare at her, and all she can do is look back.

When her gaze eventually averts back to her notes, my eyes roll. She can never look
for long. As if she can't bear to see the truth screaming in my eyes. I am easier than most
girls here are to read, knowing the visible scars on my skin paint a grisly picture of the life I've come from. Something that would make her platinum straight hair turn to frizz.

Instead, she writes something new. A lie. Whatever. I no longer care. Leaning my
head back against the cushion, I look at a painting on the wall, something I always do
whenever I'm here. It's supposed to be a bright, sunny piece of a young girl in a pretty yellow dress swinging from a tree. But the strokes of acrylic mar into something else. "Are you looking forward to staying with your mother—"

"Gabriella." I cut in sharply. "It's Gabriella."

Her professional mask slips, and I know it's because she thinks I'm disrespectful for
calling my mother by her name. It doesn't take a genius to work out that she's taken it
personally. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it seems my dearest mother has already gotten to Dr. Rogue.

After all, Gabriella's most extraordinary power is corruption.

"May I ask why you call your mother by her first name?" I don't reply, and her eye
twitches with annoyance. "She's looking forward to seeing you. She calls every day to check on your progress."

I bet.

Turning back to the picture, it's changed, just how it always does. The little girl isn't
alone. Someone lurks behind the tree, another watching from afar. People who shouldn't be watching little girls...

"Heidi." Worry, at least I think that's what she's going for, furrows her brow. "I have
to be honest with you. You aren't making progress. You refuse to talk about what really happened, and I fear it's hindering you from getting better. Please talk about it. I promise it will help."

She says this every week. Talk. Try. Promise. Talking will make it all better and magically go away. Yet the moment I tried when I first got here, Gabriella made it her mission to make sure everyone working here knew what a compulsive liar I was. That I enjoyed making terrible things up for attention. Whatever I say won't be believed, and so I say nothing. And like always, Dr. Ashley Rogue sighs with disappointment, writes it down in her notes, and prescribes me something new to shove down my throat. Something I hope to fucking choke on.