#KILLME2

Chapter 1

#KILLME2

By: theinkslingerr

Chapter 1

"I bet you feel dumb for choosing to work here," I said to the school psychologist.

Dr. Tifft gave me a warm smile— school sanctioned, no doubt. "I like Brookside High."

"Really?"

"Really."

He was a sucky liar pretending to be good at it. Every time he lied, he ran a hand over the knee of his cotton slacks. "Bet your teacher friends think you're dumb though."

"And why is that?" he asked calmly.

"Because other places only have to worry about school shootings. You picked the one school that has to worry about that and serial killers."

It didn't get me a reaction, and that irritated me. Was he a robot? If so, he was probably programmed to know what I was doing. I was stalling. Desperately. Because I didn't want to hear the inevitable question. The very reason for my visit.

"How are you feeling, Ellis?"

Hot crap on a stick.

"Fine."

Dr. Tifft tilted his head, blue eyes like a placid lake. He had messy brown hair and one dimple when he smiled. I'd pegged him to be in his early thirties, but he was the boyish kind that had girls faking anxiety and depression just to see him. I wondered if he liked the attention.

Even his office screamed I'm not like all the other shrinks— I'm cool! One wall was a cheerful blue while the others were white and showcased photography he'd probably taken himself. They were mostly nature shots of trees, mountains, and lakes. Calming stuff to put his manic teen patients at ease. Liam would've hated them.

Dr. Tifft was such a hipster, there was even a jukebox in the corner. A freaking jukebox. Sometimes when you walked by his office you could hear The Beach Boys or the War on Drugs playing.

"It's okay not to be okay," he said. "A very bad thing happened. Something people rarely experience. Especially people your age."

"I don't know, Dr. Tifft. With all the school shootings, you're telling me no one's boyfriend, girlfriend, or side chick's caught a bullet?"

"That's different."

"How?" I challenged, lifting my chin.

"Liam was missing for three days. His parents were worried, his friends were worried, you were worried. That's seventy-two hours under extreme stress. Not eating...or eating too much..."

I stiffened, my throat tightening in shame. He didn't know I sometimes ate my feelings. At least, I thought he didn't. It was a general observation, because he had a PhD and had to acknowledge that people dealt with stress differently.

"Not sleeping...or sleeping too much," he continued.

"I didn't stop sleeping because my boyfriend got murdered last week." I sounded defensive, even to my own ears. "I've...I've always had trouble sleeping."

I could've sworn his eyes glinted. The prick was happy he'd gotten something out of me.

"Can you remember when it started?"

I was happy to tell him no, and spent the rest of our session being difficult. When our time was up, Dr. Tifft couldn't hide the fact that he was slightly annoyed. I smiled, smug as a bug. I had that effect on people sometimes, and I didn't hate it.