I should be glad to have escaped the Siren without being arrested as a killer. But what is there to celebrate? Every day is on borrowed time, the question repeating over and over in my mind: how much does Calder remember? He’s not dead, and I don’t know whether to be relieved or dismayed by that. I’ve spent so long imagining his death, and it’s hard to let those fantasies go, even if they’ve already been replaced by a new one—his lips on mine.
I can’t convince myself it’s worth taking another shot at him. I can’t convince myself he is who I thought he was. I can’t convince myself he deserved what I tried to do to him.
But where does that leave me?
Mindf*ck contains explicit and mature content that may be objectionable to some readers