Page 8 of Love Sick
“Tell me!”
The drugs make talking to Misha easier because they allow me to straddle the line between his world and mine.
“This is my fault.”
“Well, stop being a pussy and make it right. Tell me what you know! Why did she kill you?”
Misha looks up at Joy as she fucks him into next week. Her obsession with him is unhealthy. There’s a reason she preyed on him so young.
“I don’t think it was me she wanted dead. It was…Mom. I was driving Mom’s car. I think Joy thought it was my mom.”
Time stands still as Misha’s revelation winds me.
I can feel his uncertainty, but I believe him.
The love Joy felt for Misha was strong. Even though he tried to end it because he was seeing Trista, she wouldn’t hurt him. But she would Luna. She hurt Luna the moment she fucked her underage son.
But why? What does she stand to gain by Luna’s death?
Tears leak from Misha’s eyes as he wraps the belt around his upper arm, syringe between his teeth. As he finds a vein, he injects heroin into his body, wishing he could stop, but it feels too good. It helps numb the pain.
He falls back onto the dirty floor, syringe still embedded in his vein as his pupils dilate and our heartbeat slows.
“Everything,”he whispers, eyes slipping shut as the sound of absolute nothingness drags him under.
Everything? What the hell is that supposed to mean?
No, motherfucker, no!
Wake up!
But soon, I too am dragged back into reality as my eyes are pried open and a bright light is shone into them.
“Welcome back,” Alanna says with a smile on her demonic face.
When I focus, she turns off the penlight and places it into her pocket. “That was so fascinating to watch.”
“I’m glad you take pleasure in my pain,” I spit, eyeing her something wicked.
“What did you see? He spoke to you, didn’t he?”
There’s no point in being evasive. She’s going to poke and prod until I give her the answers she seeks.
“Yes. It was the first time since being here. What drugs did you give me?”
“Just some very mild, mind-altering medication. The effects will wear off very quickly.”
And just like that, I have an idea.
“It’s not long enough. What can you give me for it to last longer?”
She mulls over my question, not at all suspicious as she thinks aloud, listing the drugs…drugs which will come in handy when I get the fuck out of here. I keep a mental note of the names.
“I’m so pleased we’re finally seeing eye to eye,” she says happily. “And because of that, I’ve decided to reward you.”
Now my interest is piqued.
She leaves the room, and I always wonder where she’s going. I hear wheels turning against the floor, but know it’s not a wheelchair. We’re not there yet. But what she pushes into the room is second best.