Page 8 of Black Light: Cured

Scoffing, I turn my gaze back to Heather, unable to believe that she would be so gullible. “I’m

sure it wasn’t her massage that did it. Massages aren’t actually designed to help with injury. I’m sure

you just finally allowed yourself to relax enough for your arm to get out of spasm.”

“Believe what you want, but it’s not just me, you know. A lot of members and staff swear by her

healing touch. Why do you think she works here twice a week? She’s good. Like, really, really good.”

“I’m sure you all think so, but facts are facts.”

“You can always sign up and see for yourself,” she mumbles.

“Sign up?”

“Yeah. The link is at the bottom of all the Black Light emails. You can sign up for one of her

timeslots.”

“Do her massages come with a free bottle of snake oil?” I snark.

“If you don’t believe me, ask Spencer. She helped him with his back.” Lowering her eyes,

Heather wipes down the bar, avoiding my stare. I just don’t get it. Does she want me to let her live in

the delusion that this Lila, without any medical training, can do something that usually only surgery

can fix? Clearly, the injury wasn’t that serious to begin with. If it were, a simple rub wouldn’t have

made her arm better. The idea that Spencer could be dumb enough to fall for this woman’s schtick is

even more insane. Shaking my head, I take another sip of whiskey, letting the burn slide down my

throat and settle into my gut.

“I’m not going to concede and say you’re right, but I’ll think about signing up just for the

opportunity to prove how irresponsible it is for the club to suggest she can heal anything.”

“Yes, Master Aiden. Whatever you say, Master Aiden.”

And there it is, that petulant, passive tone I so despise. She’s so wrapped up in her naïve beliefs

that she’s unable to see reason. It’s sad, really. Unwilling to continue this conversation, I grab my

wallet and pull out a ten for her tip and toss it onto the bar before turning my attention back to this

‘ miracle worker.’

LILA

IN THIS SPACE, EVERYTHING SPLINTERS AND SPLITS APART, MY PSYCHE DRIFTING INTO THE ETHER

where I know nothing will matter. Normally, it takes a massive amount of pain or a long impact

session to get here, and yet, here I am, on the cusp with no amount of discomfort in sight.

I want so badly to go into that nirvana where subspace cries out for me, but I’m not there. Not yet.