Page 65 of Love Sick

Hell will freeze over before I thank Alanna, so I simply give her a stiff-upper-lip smile. I don’t bother with a shirt as it’ll give me an excuse to use the bathroom to shower and see Luna.

I hobble from the room, not needing the crutches, which is a small win for me. But I can’t allow Alanna to get wind of my recovery. If she does, Luna won’t be the only person tied up.

Alanna purposely avoids the bathroom, and I limp behind her. She has a wheelchair positioned near the stairs. I want to walk, but I sit and allow her to escort me down the stairs. She wheels me into the kitchen.

Bobby is sitting at the table, happily eating his pancakes. No sign of Daddy, however. I don’t know his name, and I don’t want to know it because it won’t make a difference when I rip out his spine and beat him to death with it.

I don’t know if he and Alanna are, in fact, related. It would explain why she’s so fucked up. But it doesn’t excuse her behavior. Nor does it change the fact that I am going to take great pleasure in killing her.

I was fucking insane for ever thinking she inspired my music. What she’s done has changed the way I look at life and how I feel, andthat’swhat’s inspired me. These feelings of pure hatred I’ve never felt before because I’ve never hated anyone in my life until I met Alanna.

Artists need emotion to create—some use heartbreak or love. Me? It seems unadulterated disgust and revulsion is what I need to create the most fucked-up music which I am most proud of. It shouldn’t surprise me, however, as I’ve always gravitated to where the shadows like to hide.

I sit at the table and offer my fist to Bobby. He looks at it before fist-bumping me when Alanna turns her back to us. He too is mindful of her, it seems.

“How do you like your eggs?” she asks, heating up a pan on the small camping stove she has set up on the counter.

I’m about to tell her where she can shove her eggs, but Bobby shakes his head subtly.

“Sunny side up.”

“Sunny side up, coming right up,” she singsongs while I eye her suspiciously.

Why is she so perky?

She hums under her breath while cooking up a storm.

I massage my temples, in desperate need of sleep and stabbing Alanna in the throat as she butchers Mozart. Music was once my happy place but it’s because of the music that I’m here. It would be easier to stop, but I can’t.

Music is like air for me.

I know that this is Luna’s plan, but I hate it. I can’t sit down here and eat breakfast while she’s chained to a heater like a fucking dog. I don’t know if I have it in me to entertain this charade for another few weeks.

Bobby is watching me closely and rolls a marble to me. I smile, about to roll it back, but he shakes his head, gesturing with his little hand that it’s a gift. In this place of horror, his innocence reminds me of why I need to play this game.

I act in haste, and no doubt, he too will suffer the coincidences.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Alanna says happily, placing a plate in front of me.

It’s piled high with food and although it looks and smells great, my stomach gurgles.

“You don’t like it?”

She’s wringing her hands in front of her, appearing anxious. When did she turn into a Stepford wife?

I suddenly realize why.

She lived to please Jonathan, and now that he is nothing but a pile of dust, she seems to want to please me instead.

This shitshow just gets worse.

“I love it. Thank you.” I pick up the plastic fork and don’t fail to notice there’s no knife.

Smart move on her behalf.

I use the fork to cut through my breakfast, feeling incredibly creeped out as Alanna watches me while I eat. When I can’t eat any more, I push the plate away and use the napkin to wipe my mouth.

“That was great. I think I’ll take a shower.”