Perfectly Flawed by Nessa Morgan Read Free Book Online Page B

true.
    “But most students ,” I say bitterly,
darting my distracted gaze to the open window, “are not me.” It’s a
bold point to counter with, but I just cock my head to the side in
challenge, stating the obvious. “I like the challenge. I welcome
the challenge. Anything to keep me busy.” My hands grip each other
in my lap, my fingers weaving together and unweaving. Anyone that
knows me, even minimally, despite my efforts, could tell that, at
this moment, we are about the breach a topic that I would rather
not discuss.
    Dr. Jett? Well, she knows me very well.
    “Why do you need to be busy?” she asks. Her
hand glides across the page, the pen dancing and bouncing as she
finally finds something noteworthy, something that needs to be
documented for future reference.
    I bite my bottom lip, lightly nibbling,
trying to figure out how I want to answer this question. If I
mention the nightmares, she might force me into another sleep
study. Oh, who am I kidding, she would definitely force me into
another sleep study. Damn me for being a minor . I don’t want
to go through that again. Soon, out of nervousness, my hand
replaces my bottom lip and I’m biting my nails as the session
continues in awkward silence.
    “I like to be busy,” I answer simply with my
finger in my mouth, hoping to leave it at that and move forward.
It’s an easy answer; it’s a good answer. I should leave it at that.
But no, I stupidly open my mouth and add, “I like to be
occupied.”
    “Occupied?” Her head cocks to the side
slightly, the loose hair falling from her ear gracefully, a blonde
curl falling down the front of her right shoulder. She makes no
move to tuck it back.
    Crap! Crap! Crap!
    I blame my stupid mouth for that.
    Wrong word to use, why did I say occupied ? That was a stupid slipup. My teeth transition from
my index finger to my middle finger, clamping down on the nail
until my teeth click together. I’m a compulsive nail biter,
obviously, though I did stop for two months. That’s a personal
best. Now the habit is starting again. I can picture my hands by
tomorrow, nails bitten down, red and bloody. It’s not
attractive.
    It’s too late to take the word back and
substitute something different. I can’t just be like, Did I say
occupied? I meant — substitute any other word in the
dictionary that makes sense .
    “What needs to be occupied, Joey?” Dr. Jett
presses, hoping that I’ll openly tell her, that I will confide in
her like a good little patient .
    My ring finger is next.
    “Just answer the question.” She sighs. I
didn’t know that waiting on me to talk was so exhausting. Not
like it’s your job or anything, Doc .
    I roll my eyes. “Me.” The easy answer escapes
my mouth in a mousy squeak. I feel bare, I feel open now. Thanks, Doc . I’ve never been this open with her. I’ve never
admitted anything to her, not even when she was begging me to trust
her, not even as she tried to build and gain a friendship with
me.
    “You?” Her eyes narrow as she tries to
analyze the statement to better understand what I’m trying to say
so she can better understand and decipher the thought that I refuse
to tell. Good luck with that , I really want to tell her, but
it never leaves my lips. “Do you mean your mind, Joey?”
    My eyes cast down to the speckled carpet
beneath my feet. It is gray, overall, with tiny flecks of brown,
black, red, yellow, and other colors I’m too nervous to mentally
identify. It’s not an attractive carpet. I’m avoiding her gaze by
trying to pretend that I care about her stupid carpet in her stupid
office.
    “Have the nightmares started again?”
    Crap!
    With her words, I feel my metaphorical wall
crumble to the metaphorical ground. I’m open for the battle, I’m
open to be wounded, and I am weak.
    Slowly, my eyes rise from the carpet, locking
with her steely blues. She knows. Of course, she knows, she’s a
trained professional prepared to read people. From my noticeable
discomfort