Before Nick came into my life, I tried to end it many times. That’s how we met. I was on my way home from a short stay at a facility similar to Meadow Fields. Dr. Marc said it would only take one person to revive my will to live. He was right. It was Nick—“was”being the operative word.
My transfer to Meadow Fields was a result of my sixth failed attempt at suicide in the past year. It was a more secure facility that could handle patients “like me.” I didn’t want to die. I just wanted to end the misery, to stop the intense pain that shreds through my heart for every second of every day.
Already hating the blubbering idiot I’m about to become, I slip my prescription from my pocket and tap three pills into my palm. My movements are soundless, but Dexter must have supersonic hearing.
“What’s that?”
His question is delivered so sternly, I jump, which in turn, knocks the tablets from my hand. After gathering the discarded pills from the dark-fiber carpet, I toss the half-full bottle to Dexter. He veers back onto the right side of the road before dropping his eyes to the tattered label.
I’m so distracted by the massive hole burrowing in my chest, I swallow the pills whole. It is no easy feat with how dry my throat is, but I’ll suffer the injustice if it stops stupid emotions from bombarding me. I don’t like feeling like this—dirty and unhinged. I’d rather be emotionless than miserable.
“Fuck!” Dexter’s tug on the steering wheel is so violent, my temple smacks the frosty glass.
While I cradle my throbbing skull, he throws off his seatbelt, tosses open his door, then stomps to my side of his car. The hinges squeal in protest when he violently flings open my door.
“Ugh!” I grunt when he drags me from my seat. He’s in such a hurry, he doesn’t bother removing my belt. It is lucky I’m barely over five feet four in height, or I’d be a tangled mess.
“Do you have any idea what’s in those pills?” Dexter growls under his breath, his angry snarl quickening my pulse more rapidly than the medication seeping into my veins. “How many did you swallow?”
If he wants me to answer him, he needs to remove his fingers from my throat.
“This is their way of mind-fucking you, Megan! By making you stupid, you won’t fight back. Is that what you want? Do you want them to win?” He shoves his fingers to the very back of my throat, making me gag.
“You were born this way, Megan. This is who you are. Don’t let a bunch of pricks in white coats tell you any different. Every sunrise creates a shadow for bad people to hide in. Every dream unlocked invites thieves to steal it so you’re forced to create more. Just like every person has a little bit of black in their heart. Greed. Incest. Adultery. People act on their desires every single day, so why should we hide ours just because they’re a little darker than average?”
He continues ramming his fingers down my throat until the three pills are discharged on the roadside—along with my dinner. It’s probably for the best. I wasn’t feeling too good after guzzling down the red drink Joseph kept serving me.
“How many did you take?” Dexter asks, bobbing down to count the number of pills in my vomit. “One. . . two. . .” He pushes a large chunk of meatball to the side. It is so substantial in size, it looks like I didn’t chew before swallowing. “. . . three. Did you only take three?”
He raises his eyes to mine, knowing no words will escape my lips. A spark of relief fires through his squinted gaze when I nod.
“Good.” He licks his dry lips before continuing, “Do you have any more prescriptions besides what’s in this bottle?”
My headshake is pushed aside for a squeal when he pegs my medication into the dense tree line curving around the roadside. I’d go in search of them, but his throw is so impressive, I know I have no chance of finding them.
Returning my eyes to Dexter, I silently ask,Why did you do that?
“Because I’m saving this.” He taps his index finger on my temple. “Those pills are vile, Megan. They make you into a robot who says and does exactly what it is told to do. They aren’t medication; they’re sedatives prescribed to control every aspect of your life.” He locks his eyes with mine, the possessiveness in them making me hot. “I can sure as hell tell you, if anyone is going to control your life, it won’t be a fucking tablet. It will be me!”
He throws his head back before scrubbing his hand down his face violently. He appears as stunned by his declaration as I am. I knew he cared for me, but what he just did, and hearing him say what he just said, I don’t have any words. I am utterly speechless.
It is probably for the best when Dexter’s eyes missile back to mine. They’re not as stern as they were when he entered his car over an hour ago. They’re more worried than agitated. “How long have you been taking that prescription? From your lack of maturity and sexual awareness, I’m guessing it was before you turned sixteen?”
Although my ego sports a bruise from his underhanded criticism, I still nod. Second only to obeying his every command, honesty was my dad’s number one policy.
Dexter bites out a string of profanities, “How old exactly? Sixteen? Fifteen? Fourteen?”
He stops counting when he reaches twelve. Not because he’s given up, but because of the dip of my chin.
My heart stops beating when he shouts, “Twelve! You’re fucking twelve. Great!”
I shake my head before stomping my foot. I am not twelve!
My immature display doesn’t help plead my cause, but it does gain me Dexter’s attention. “I don’t mean literally; I mean in here.” He taps my temple once more. “If you’ve been taking those tablets since you were twelve, your brain is stuck in a time warp. It still thinks you’re twelve. . .”
He stops talking as his face screws up. I can’t tell if it is a good grimace or a bad one.
“If you think you’re twelve. . . does that mean. . . Are you. . . Has anyone popped your cherry?”
