Harrison came to the facility. He’s been on my mind constantly. I think about his strength, how his warm eyes draw me in, and that he’s the only man I’ve ever wanted to touch, but yet I refused to see him. The last person I want seeing me like this—scraped raw and razored open from stem to stern—is him. He’s the reason I’m here ... and because of this damn place, my fucking heart and soul have been ripped out of my body. I’ve been left a bloody mess. I knew coming here was a bad idea, but I had no idea how terrible it would be on me.

If you’re an addict, they take away your drugs—drugs I don’t fucking use—but they also delve into your psyche, tear it apart bit by bit, pry into things that are better left untouched. Wounds have been reopened; scars that were healed are now gaping holes with blood pulsing from them. And I’m left to deal with the consequences. My counselor is one smart fucker. She picked me apart for hours until I broke and vomited my whole fucking story. Damn Harrison Kirkland for sending me here. This is his fault.

And now I’m supposed to feel better because of this presumed catharsis. Well, I don’t. My body fucking screams pain. And all I can see is his face and what he did to me ... what he forced me to do. I didn’t need this reminder ... didn’t want it. But I got it anyway. And to think I have two more agonizing weeks of reliving those horrors. My counselor says in time, I’ll appreciate these sessions. The only thing I’ll appreciate is when day thirty rolls around and I can say, “Adios, motherfucker.”

They say time flies when you’re having fun. Well, the opposite is true when you’re not. In fact, someone has completely shut down the passage of it altogether. The last four weeks have taken about five years. Becky, my esteemed counselor, believes I may be bipolar. What she doesn’t realize is my moods are so fucked up from having to carry on this charade and then revealing so much of myself on top of it, anyone would act as though they’re bipolar. One minute I’m crying so hard I’m practically having a seizure, and the next I’m manic, zigzagging around her office, incapable of controlling my actions.

In my final session, the day before I’m to be set free, she says firmly, “Midnight, sit down, or I’ll call someone in to tranquilize you.”

That grabs my attention. I’m not about to screw up my final day here. Getting forcefully injected with a potent drug is not what I need. My ass slams down in the chair, but I can’t keep my hands still. I just need to get the fuck out of here. I came in sane but will be leaving crazy as fuck.

“How are you feeling?”

Is she serious? “How do you think I’m feeling?”

She doesn’t answer. I hate when she does this.

“I’m agitated today, Becky.” I can’t keep the snark from emerging.

“And why’s that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” she says. Her calm manner irritates me.

“I want to go home.”

“I don’t think you’re ready.”

We’ve been through this before. I’m going whether she wants me to or not. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Midnight, I want you to be as strong as you possibly can. If you leave, you might start using again.”

“No, I won’t. I won’t ever use again.” Because I’ve never used to begin with.

“Then explain your agitation.”

“It’s my past,” I say in frustration. “You already know that.”

“And you know how to deal with that.”

“By confronting it, but it only makes me more miserable.” I wanted it to stay buried. I was much happier that way, gummy-bearing my way through life. But no, Harrison Kirkland came up with this brainiac plan and ruined it.

“Midnight, it will make you stronger.”

“I can’t. You want me to visit him. He ... it would never work. You have to trust me for once.” The last thing I will ever do in my life is visit the man who ruined me.

She holds up her hands, spreading them in the air. “It’s your life.”

Fucking A, it is. However, since this is my final session with her, I do want to leave her with one lasting impression.

“Let me just say this, Becky. There’s not much I would like to say to the man who forcibly made me have sex with him and give his friends blow jobs for almost three years while I was a minor. Is that something you can personally relate to?”

There’s a subtle change in the coloring of her face and she shifts in her seat.

“No, I didn’t think so. That’s the reason I will never have any contact with that man as long as there is breath in my body. I’m pretty sure this session is over.”

“You could bring charges against him.”

“Oh? And have all that attention focused on me? No. I don’t think so.”

I tremble during the long walk back to my luxurious room. The conversation brought to mind that other piece of the puzzle—the one that always shatters me—the one Becky doesn’t even know about.

I lie down on the bed and cover my face with a pillow so no one will hear the sobs as they rip from my body.

Sixteen hours later, I walk past the front desk, waving flippantly to the cheery staff people. They’re the last ones I give a shit about. Those happy faces are a sham. The entire month I was here, they were never pleasant to me. Every time I asked them for something, I was denied, even if it was as small as a glass of ice. With the gigantic price tag on this place, you’d think they could afford a glass of fucking ice. I want to flip them off, but I refrain. Who knows whether they run their mouths when they’re away from here? The last thing I need is more enemies than I already have. Holt Ward is enough to deal with as it is.

I’m not surprised to see Harrison walking toward me. He wouldn’t have sent anyone else to pick me up. And damn, is he a sight for sore eyes. He’s wearing a black shirt and dark jeans that mold to his perfect body. If he looked any better, I’d probably faint. There isn’t a man alive who can hold a candle to him, dammit. Even though I’m still angry with him, it’s hard to deny the happiness I feel, though I don’t want to let it show.

He smiles as we meet midway in the parking lot. I want to launch myself at him and press my lips to his perfect mouth. Is this what happens when you lock someone up for thirty days and put them through intense psychotherapy? A giant lady boner nails me. “So? How are you? I stopped by to visit, but you refused to see me that day.”

I swallow away the desert in my throat. “I survived. Truth is, I’m not in the mood to see you today.” Liar!

“Then you’d miss out on all the important news I have for you.”

That piques my interest, but I don’t want him to know. I shrug. “I don’t really care.” Liar!

By this time, we’re at his car, an old convertible red Mustang. He puts my bags into the trunk and then opens the passenger door for me. Such a gentleman.

As I’m sliding onto the seat, he says, “You should care. It’s your career.” He’s right. I should, and I do.

When he gets into the car, he digs inside the glove compartment and hands me a baseball hat. “Here. Your hair will be in knots if you don’t put this on.”

“Thanks.” I say it like I don’t mean it. Why am I being so bitchy? I stuff my hair under the hat, grateful for it, but keeping that from him.

He doesn’t let my sour mood affect his. “I’m a thoughtful guy.”

“Let’s dump the Mr. Jolly. While I’m glad to be out of that fucking hell, I just want to go home, okay?” I ball up my fists and rub my eyes.

“Jesus, who stole your happy?”

“You did when you sent me here. They dissected and tore me apart. Satisfied?” I cross my arms and stare into the sunny sky.

I must’ve hit a nerve because he puts the car in reverse and off we go. Not another word is spoken until we get to my place. He helps me to the door and that’s when he says, “We have a lot to discuss.”

“It can wait. I need time. Alone. In my own home.” I need to get a grip on my emotions. He doesn’t deserve my nasty behavior.

His eyes meet mine and then he does that thing I love. He licks his lower lip and runs a hand over his scruffy jaw. Damn his sexy self. I need to get away from him before I do something stupid … something I’ll regret, like make a play for him. He’s all I’ve thought of for the last thirty days, and I haven’t been around my vibrator for that whole time. I’ve only had my finger to keep me company at night, and now I’m standing before the amazingly hot Harrison Kirkland and I have an unbelievable desire to drop to my knees and do the dirty, just to hear him groan with pleasure. Thinking about it, I nearly groan myself. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Fine.” Then his teeth scrape over his lower lip. His chocolate irises razor straight through me and I don’t like it one bit. Or maybe I like it way too much. “You’ve changed. What happened in there, Midnight?” His tone is soft, and it makes it even worse.

“Things you don’t want to know.”

“Did someone hurt you?”

A hysterical laugh bursts forth. “Of course they hurt me. That’s why I didn’t want to go.” I turn around and close the door, leaving him with a baffled expression on his attractive face. I need to get away from him. He makes me want things I shouldn’t. Men and me don’t mix.

But Harrison is different. I want to hate him, only I can’t. I’m angry for what happened in rehab, and he’s the only one I can take it out on. But I still want to do things with him … dirty, sexy things. It’s best if I keep my distance from him or things may get out of hand.