One Little Secret by Avery Maxwell EPUB & PDF – eBook Details
- Author: Avery Maxwell
- Language: English
- Genre:
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 1 MB
- Price: Free
ASHTON
“How are you today, Ashton?” Dr. Benson asks in a monotone
voice.
“Same as Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday,” I respond dryly. Dr.
Benson is used to my snark by now. At least I’m not yelling at him as
much.
“Still not sleeping?”
A heavy sigh escapes as I lean back on the sofa. I really don’t want to
fucking be here, but I’ve promised my family. There are so many of us
these days. We just keep expanding, and I can’t even keep track. But my
mom and Sadie are the most important, and they’re worried, so here I am.
“Not really.”
“And you won’t take the prescription I gave you?”
And risk being caught unawares? I’m as safe as I can be in my secluded
mountain house, but I’ve made a lot of enemies in the past few years.
Enemies that would love to catch me with my pants down.
“No.”
“Ashton, as I’ve said before, needing medicine is not a sign of
weakness.”
“I never said it was,” I bark.
“Okay. Have you been journaling?”
I glance down at the notebook in my lap, knowing exactly what the new
entry says. Instead of answering, I nod and hand it to him. He reads it out
loud.
He always fucking reads it out loud.
Dear Dad,
Reason #732 why I hate you: Because of you, I’ve lost my best friends.
Reason # (unknown) why I love you: Because you meant to make the
world a better place.
“Hate is a powerful thing, isn’t it?”
Barely resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I keep them focused on the
ceiling.
If I always look up, he can’t see straight through me when our eyes
meet.
“You’re the doctor,” I say. There are seven points on the popcorn ceiling
I can count without moving my focus.
“I am. Some would say that hate is the easy way out. Forgiveness is
harder.”
“They’re probably right.”
“Why do you think so?”
Oh my God. It’s like going around in a circle with this guy. Growing up,
I didn’t care that I was on the outside of social norms. I’ve always been
more concerned with technology than people, but I’ve been like an ogre
since my attack. I can’t even be nice if I try—the exception to that being my
family. And even they have become a daily exercise in niceties.
The door bursts open, jerking me to high alert. A symptom of PTSD,
according to the good doctor. But my spine tingles with an awareness that
something’s wrong. When the receptionist enters holding a phone out to me,
I’m on her in two long strides.
“What’s wrong?” I growl into the phone, knowing it’ll be one of my
brothers or their wives.
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