Monster's Temptation (Monster & Me #1) Read online

  Props to him for livening up the place. Even if he did it with drool dripping down from his mouth.

  After breakfast, we were shuffled to the nurse's station, where they forced pills down our throats and stuck their fingers in our mouths to make sure the pills were gone. Luckily I was just on a mood stabilizer after I’d refused the other pill–not that I had anything against taking medicine for mental health. But considering I didn’t have any of the disorders I’d been diagnosed with while under the influence of the drug I’d been injected with on that fateful day, taking anything stronger probably wouldn’t have been great.

  Evidently, my father was fearful of the effect that stronger meds could have on me and had ordered that I not be given any. He recognized that stronger drugs might have the detrimental effect of “loosening” my tongue, and he wouldn’t want that.

  Not that anyone was ever going to believe my story. It was so outlandish that I would sound crazy to anyone who heard it. That was the beauty of my father's plan. Have everyone on the outside doubt my sanity, and everyone on the inside doubt it as well. I would never have anyone believe me again.

  We had an “A” schedule and a “B” schedule, just like school, and our routine was followed strictly. Except, instead of Calculus and English, we were learning how to paint our feelings, use recorders to “play our emotions out”, and talk in small groups.

  That was one of the hardest things about my new reality. Not only had I been thrown in here before the end of school, but I wasn't even allowed to take any tests to get my diploma, or even a GED, despite the fact that I’d been number two in my entire class. Stanford seemed like a fantasy that I'd made up in my mind at this point.

  Most of the therapists were completely intolerable. They treated us more like toddlers than adults, and I cringed every time they spoke to me in their slow, sympathetic voices.

  Since I knew I didn't have a chance to get out, and the therapists weren’t interested in hearing about my innocence, I’d begun telling fairy tales during group therapy. But I'd make them so convoluted that it would take at least ten minutes for the therapist to figure out what story I was telling. It was a game I played, with only myself, of course, to see how long I could go before they caught on.

  Anything to make the day go by quicker.

  There was only one bright spot in Bright Meadows Asylum. Steele Adams.

  Dr. Steele Adams, I should say.

  Seeing him twice a week was most likely the only thing that kept me from falling off the deep end and becoming as crazy as my parents claimed I was.

  Dr. Adams was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. He looked like he’d just stepped off the catwalk, and he was completely out of place in the drab, gross atmosphere I existed in now. During our sessions, I honestly wasn't even sure what we talked about, because I would get lost just looking at him and listening to the cadence of his voice. It’s like someone out there had scooped out any fantasies of male attractiveness I had lurking in my brain and created him just for me.

  When I was in sixth grade, I’d been to Iceland and we’d visited the Blue Lagoon. That's what his eyes reminded me of—they were a glowing blue color I’d never seen on another human being. Combined with his raven-colored hair, the effect was stunning. It was no wonder I was having dreams about him.

  It was a Thursday today, which meant that I would be seeing him after breakfast.

  I was pushed out of my lustful daydream by a tray clattering to the floor nearby. I looked over and saw that Candace was brandishing her spoon at a girl I’d never seen before. The poor girl was covered in the sweet potatoes the kitchen staff was trying to pass off as breakfast, and there were big tears rolling down her cheeks.

  Maybe in another life, I would've stepped up to defend her since I was pretty sure that Candace was one of the resident murderers in this place. But apathy…and self-preservation was about all I was capable of feeling right now. Plus, I had a scar on my leg where Candace had somehow whittled a spoon into a knife and stabbed me in the leg a year ago. I’d bled so much that I’d passed out.

  So someone else could handle Candace.

  Candace started cackling wildly as orderlies rushed in. As soon as they got to her, she began to flail her arms, hitting and scratching every person that she could. "I'll kill all of you mother truckers," she screeched, making the word ‘trucker’ much more menacing than you would think. For some reason, Candace had a thing against swearing. She didn't care about murdering and mutilating people, but swearing crossed the line of her moral compass. "Let go of me, you butt munchers!”

  She managed to cut one of the nurse's cheeks with her spoon before someone plunged a needle into her neck.

  Almost immediately, her eyes took on that glazed, faraway look I was used to seeing here, and she stopped struggling. Two of the orderlies led her out of the room and then we were all instructed to go back to eating like nothing had happened. Just a typical day in Bright Meadows.

  I wished I could say that Candace was the worst resident in this place, but there were far scarier people than her. And a bunch of them at that. I did my best to try and stay away from them. But every couple of months I'd slip up, and I'd be caught somewhere where the staff wasn’t present. Slammed against the wall, a piece of my hair hacked off, burned with a lighter they'd come across…they were always quite inventive.

  The only time that I could let my guard down was about to happen. My session with Steele.

  I put my tray down, keeping my head tucked just in case any of the psychos thought I was looking at them wrong, and then hustled out of the dining area towards his office.

  Butterflies ricocheted through my veins the closer I got to his door.

  My dreams might've been filled with him, but he'd never given me any notion he felt similarly.

  But then again, why would he? Here I was, a 21-year-old locked away in an insane asylum, while he was an accomplished doctor, able to live his life out in the real world. I wondered if he had a girlfriend out there. I didn't think he had a wife. He didn't wear a ring; not that his lack of one really meant anything.

  I knocked on the door of his office, and a minute later, he opened it, a warm smile on his beautiful, beautiful lips.

  "Hi," I murmured, inwardly wincing as I realized how breathy my voice sounded.

  "Blake," he said with a nod, a piece of his hair falling into his face. I bit my lip in an effort to prevent myself from being weird and reaching out and brushing the curl out of his face. I'm sure that would go over well.

  He was dressed in his typical uniform—a perfectly pressed, buttoned-up white collared shirt and navy black dress pants—and looked like he was about to conquer a corporate boardroom instead of spending an hour asking me how I was feeling.

  I passed by him with a nod and entered the room, and he followed me inside. In my daydreams—not my night dreams, since those were solely filled with creatures—he was checking out my ass as I walked right now. But our uniform pants were shapeless, so that probably wouldn’t happen even if he was interested in me like that.

  The room was cozy. He’d obviously done his best to make it feel welcoming. It had to have been him who decorated the place because there was no way that anyone else in Bright Meadows would care about something like comfort. There were tall shelves on every wall stuffed full of books. Most of them were boring psychology books, but there were some classics scattered in there as well. He had his patients sit on a comfortable leather couch that had an assortment of squishy pillows and throw blankets he encouraged me to use every time. There was a red and black oriental rug on the floor, potted plants here and there, and a massive fireplace on the far wall that he had lit most days. Which was heaven since Bright Meadows believed that its residents should feel like human popsicles judging by the freezing temperatures we were kept in.

  I settled into the couch, immediately grabbing a fuzzy blanket and wrapping it around me. Dr. Adams walked over to the fireplace and threw another log in before opening his s
mall fridge that sat next to it and pulling out a can of my favorite orange soda.

  My mouth started watering just looking at it, and it was honestly all I could do to not jump up and grab it out of his hands like I was Gollum from Lord of the Rings. My Precious, my inner voice cooed.

  That was creepy.

  “You obviously were listening last week,” I said with a blush as he handed me the drink.

  He smiled at me, and the butterflies in my stomach started doing freaking cartwheels and flips like they’d made it to the Olympics.

  “I always listen to you,” he murmured as he settled into the warm armchair across from the couch. “It just took a minute to track it down. Evidently, they stopped making it last year.”

  While I was definitely twitter-pated…and interested in the fact that he’d tracked down the soda I’d mentioned was my favorite, I was also thinking that I’d been trapped in here long enough that they discontinued my favorite drink. I mean, I may have been the only person in the world who drank it, so that was probably why, but it still represented the stark passage of time and all that I’d lost.

  “I made you upset,” he commented, leaning forward in dismay. I threw him a tremulous smile and popped the tab on my drink before taking a large gulp of the drink, moaning a bit as the fizzy orange beverage hit my tastebuds.

  “Finally, something that doesn’t taste like old leather,” I said as I glanced at him, almost spitting my drink out when I saw the expression on his face.

  He looked—almost hungry. Starving, in fact.

  For me.

  Dr. Adams blinked and the look disappeared. His face was blank again, only the kind, caring psychiatrist to be found.

  But I swore that I’d seen it.

  Unless the dreams were driving me to see sexual desire everywhere.

  I didn’t think that was happening. I hadn’t thought Mr. Drools-a-lot was into me at lunch.

  Focus, I chastised myself as I took another sip of my drink.

  “So, have you thought at all about what we talked about last session?” he asked, his bright blue eyes boring into me.

  I shifted in my seat. “I’ve told you that it won’t make a difference.”

  He’d been bringing up the medication he wanted me to try for weeks now. One of the main focuses of our sessions was my…intense dreams. He knew in general that they were sexual—the staff had told him that. But he’d never pressed me on specific details—thank god. Dr. Adams seemed to be under the impression I wasn’t going to be trapped in this place for the rest of my life if I could get my dreams under control.

  He seemed to think that was the main concern and not the fact that I was being held hostage here because of my father.

  Dr. Adams leaned forward. “If you could just stay on it for a while, enough to convince them you’re ready to be released—”

  I squeezed my can so hard that orange soda went everywhere.

  “Shit,” I gasped, attempting to use my shirt to blot at the soda now all over the leather couch. Frustrated tears built in my eyes as I wiped. I knew what would happen—I would go on those pills but would still be trapped here, of course, and I’d lose even more when I began to walk around in a daze.

  Suddenly, his hand was on mine, and I looked to see that he was crouched in front of me. This close to him, it was almost unbearable. He was so fucking beautiful.

  “Blake,” he murmured, his gaze searching my face. “I’m sorry. You can tell me if there’s something else going on.”

  My lip trembled, and I was very much aware that his fingers were softly caressing my hand. I wanted to tell him about my father, and how I’d ended up here. I wanted to so fucking bad.

  I opened my mouth, the story on the tip of my tongue, but then I remembered my father’s warning the day I’d been dropped off. I remembered the way the staff had reacted when I’d even dared to say that I wasn’t crazy.

  Dr. Adams was my only safe space here. I didn’t want to ruin that on a pipe dream.

  “I’m fine, Dr. Adams. I’m so sorry I’ve made such a mess,” I finally said stiffly, watching as disappointment leached into his features.

  “Steele,” he said as he pulled his hand away and stood up.

  “Steele?” I asked, confused, and hating that I missed his touch.

  “You should call me Steele.” I watched as he went and grabbed some paper towels from a shelf in the back corner of the room and then walked back over and methodically cleaned up the rest of my spilled drink.

  “Oh. Okay.” I had to have cracked. That was the only way to explain what was happening. I mean, maybe to a normal girl it wouldn’t have seemed like much—the special drink, the hand touch, the first name. But for me, it was a lot. A hell of a lot.

  After throwing away the towels, he sat back down in his chair, and he asked his normal questions.

  I responded with my usual answers, but everything felt different. I could feel it in the air. I could see it in his eyes. Something had changed.

  And as his hand brushed the small of my back as he opened the door at the end of our session, I wondered what I’d done to make the universe hate me so much.

  Because in this life, I could never have Steele or anything else that I wanted. Even if he wanted me.

  I walked down the hall away from him, feeling the heat of his stare caressing my back, but I didn’t look his way.

  The only comfort I was ever going to get in this forsaken place was in my dreams.

  With my monsters.

  I had to live with that.

  CHAPTER 2

  BLAKE

  Three brutal years at Bright Meadows Asylum. And not one visitor.

  Until today…

  I tried to shake off the weird, ominous feeling that had stretched across my skin ever since one of the staff had come to take me to Dr. Adams' office, where apparently my guests were waiting.

  Although Andrew, the asshole, wouldn’t tell me who the visitor was, I knew it had to be my parents…which was terrifying. I didn’t have anyone else in my life who would have shown up besides them.

  I paused in front of Dr. Adams' office door, finding it difficult to make myself knock. I bit my lip as I tried to prepare myself. Was I ready to face them?

  You’ve got this, Blake. Deep breath. And if it is your parents, try not to throw any sharp objects at their heads.

  The thought made me smile. If they wanted crazy, I could show them how looney I could get. I’d had a lot of time to perfect that here.

  I shook my head and sighed, knowing that would only end with me in the isolation rooms where the real crazies were kept. Rooms with actual padded walls.

  I’d been locked up in one on my arrival…and it had messed with my head for weeks afterward.

  Drawing in a trembling breath, I knocked on the door, trying not to let myself get my hopes up that maybe they were here to finally let me out. I could move away, far away, and they’d never have to see or worry about what I’d do again.

  “Enter,” Dr. Adams answered in that deep voice that captivated me.

  I pushed open the door, instantly catching Mother’s harsh voice at the doctor before she twisted to look at me with a forced smile. But it vanished as quickly as it came. Her lips pinched with that look of disappointment she’d mastered.

  She hadn’t seen me for three years, and she could barely hold a smile. I shouldn’t have expected anything less.

  Ignoring the small pang in my chest, I shut the door and made my way to the empty chair beside her.

  “Hi, Mother,” I said with a strong tone, refusing to let her see me cower. I wouldn’t give her that satisfaction.

  “My darling daughter,” she responded in a sickly sweet voice that made me want to puke. I saw no evidence of her affection to match her words.

  She was a chameleon and knew how to perfectly work a room, to say the right things, even if they were lies. “Blake, you are looking pale.” She eyed my gray t-shirt and matching tie-string pants. “And gray isn’t your col
or, dear.”

  “I’d rather think it brings out my blue eyes,” I answered and took my seat, catching the small grin tugging at the corner of Steele’s mouth.

  He sat across the desk from us in his white button-up shirt done up to his throat today, his bent arms resting on the table, studying us. He was the kind of man that you could get lost for hours just staring at and admiring his features. The kind of hotness that was really good at distracting you from your troubles. The doctor exuded confidence and an aura which had always calmed me. His presence alone made this visitation bearable. He was the one thing that had kept me sane in this insane institute.

  On the bright side, there was no sign of Father, which made breathing easier. Perhaps I was about to learn that they’d split up, and somehow in her cold-hearted soul, she’d found enough empathy to help me.

  She sat stiffly on the chair, legs crossed. She was wearing her rose-colored wrap-around blazer dress and matching heels, looking completely out of place in the warmly decorated room. Pins kept her hair fixed around her face, dark locks cascading over her shoulders. As always, she looked immaculate. Nothing was ever out of place with her.

  Directing her attention to Steele, she asked, “I was promised she would be taken care of. Is she eating enough and getting sufficient sun? The girl looks deathly.”

  I blinked at her. She talked about me as though she was leaving her pet poodle at the doggie daycare. My hands curled into balls by my side, and I remembered my therapy lessons on anger management about breathing deeply and letting go of emotions.

  They weren’t doing much to help right then in Mother’s company.

  I eyed the stapler on the desk and mulled over how good it would feel to throw it at her. I’d picked up a penchant for throwing things since moving in here, which was really my only release and mostly came in the form of destroying my pillow. I was on my fourth one. Steele encouraged me to get my anger out that way, saying it was better done in my room when no one saw.