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The medicine comes with a host of potential side effects, including a heightened risk of heart attacks, strokes, kidney issues, and other mental conditions such as insomnia, anxiety, psychosis, and depression. The maximum recommended dosage is three pills a day. He’s taking way more than that.

He’s killing himself slowly with his extreme behaviors and unhealthy habits.

It’s like he doesn’t care.

“You can’t save me. I need to have something worth saving first.”That’s what he told me during our second session.

Then three days ago, he finally gave me a glimpse of his pain, and why his calling was to make his family happy. Because, in some sick, twistedway, he felt responsible for his mom’s death. That he took away his dad and siblings’ happiness.

That marble I’ve seen him take out every so often is a sign of his guilt.

So he gave all his joy to others. All the while, he carved ribbons of pain into his skin, hiding his guilt and anguish from the people who loved him most.

He slept for one hour that day in the office. He was restless—groaning and shifting on the recliner, sweat dotting his forehead.

And he wouldn’t let go of me. He clutched my hand like it was a lifeline.

The worst part was…

I didn’t want to let go.

I wanted to hold him in my arms and tell him he didn’t have to hide with me.

He wanted to fuck women so he could exhaust himself enough to go to sleep. And in one horrifying moment, I was tempted.

So very tempted to climb on top of him, to wake him up with my body, and kiss away his pain. I’d suckle the flickering pulse on his neck and worship the ridges of his chiseled muscles. I’d take his hard cock into my mouth and give him pleasure until he’s sated. He wouldn’t need the pills because I’d be there. He could use me. Any part of me. Over and over again.

Then, I wanted to hold him in my arms while he slept.

It’s wrong. It’s immoral.

I’m his doctor.

And so, after he left my office that day, I made every attempt to avoid him. I didn’t go to the sun deck, knowing he liked it there. When I saw him walk down the hallway, I took a side corridor.

Blowing out a breath, I pull up my email and begin typing.

Dear Mr. Anderson,

I’m stepping back from the therapeutic role of your physician, as it’s no longer appropriate or effective.

Regards,

Olivia Lin, MD

My finger hovers over the send button, but I hesitate.

I want to help him. He has no one to talk to.

If I leave him now, what will happen to him?

And my promise to Lana to help him. The funding for ADAS. I’d disappoint so many people.

Sweat beads on my upper lip and I look at the mirrored wall across from the bed. Like everything else on the cruise ship, it’s state-of-the-art and high tech.

“Sanctuary, please tell me the weather forecast.”

A screen showing the Weather Channel appears on the mirrored panel. “Dr. Lin, for the next two days, a severe weather alert has been issued for the Central Mediterranean Basin. A deepening low-pressure system is bringing turbulent conditions. Mariners should expect winds gusting fifty-to-sixty knots, heavy rains, and rogue waves over twenty-three feet. Passengers are advised to remain inside their staterooms for safety.”