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I flop back into the sofa, blow out a deep breath, and I groan as I gaze up at the popcorn ceiling in a trance. Adam…I do love him. I love him so much it hurts. What am I supposed to do? I’m forced to live with these drugs running amok throughout my body, and I’m forced to deal with one particular handsome man pawing at me at every turn. I wish I were in Adam’s arms right now; better yet, I wish he were rescuing me and taking me far away from this deranged mess I’m living in.
He loves me; I know he does, and I have to believe he hasn’t given up hope. My fingers drift unconsciously to my ring finger to find it bare. Damn Nick, he had no right to take what was mine—freedom, rings, and otherwise. I know Adam would forgive me for these thoughts. He would tell me none of this is my fault and that we could get past this bump in the road, because we’re meant to be together.
I allow a few silent drops of sadness to escape my tear ducts before I have to push my love—my Adam—back into the recesses of my mind, in order to deal with the here and now. I was saving myself for the man of my dreams, but I won’t have that now. Nick is going to rob me of that, too; I’m sure of it. I have to kick myself back into survival mode. I don’t bother wiping my stray tears away; they can stay. I pretend they’re a piece of Adam comforting me, remembering how he wiped them away at the airport before my flight to Atlanta. Crazy, I know, but I’m dying on the inside, little by little. I’m losing touch with reality at an alarming rate, and I’m grasping at straws for any sort of familiar comfort. I find myself clutching my medallion, holding it with a death grip in my hand.
I abhor this feeling, this state of being a slave to my own body. The drugs are snaking their way through my bloodstream, making my body physically ache with an animalistic hunger. Jared was spot on—the drugs are taking over every aspect of my mental faculties, affecting my concentration, making me think of nothing but...unnatural desires. Excessive saliva pours from my parotid glands, and I feel as if I’m a caged wild animal, sickly foaming and frothing at the mouth. I throw my head back and moan. Just…God, please don’t let me think of bestiality. I can’t handle that shit. There’s enough debauchery pervading my brain to make a whorehouse look like a convent.
I’m sure I’m creating quite the picture for the sickos watching me right now through the cameras in each corner of my room, and I find myself struggling against these horrific urges to take matters into my own hands, literally. I refuse to give these perverts a show, I think as I clench my fists. I can see it now—them monitoring me, fist-bumping as they sit down with a cold brew and a bowl of popcorn, waiting for kickoff.
Frustrated, I get up from the sofa and go draw a wicked-hot bath, one near boiling point. I want something else to focus on, pain. Perhaps feeling burning pain on my skin from the scalding water will knock the neediness out of me. I’m also counting on the steam that’s billowing around in the small bathroom to help me sweat this shit out of my pores, as well. I will not be picking up that particular book again, nor any other romance novels, for that matter. I don’t need any other outside forces wreaking havoc on my body and running rough-shod over my brain. It would be equivalent to starting a giant forest fire with a tiny little spark, watching the flames spread uncontrollably and consuming everything in its path.
Do they really think this is a more humane way to treat women? I guess we’re not considered women in the scheme of things; we’re prized possessions, like expensive racehorses as Jared put it. I need to find a way around the Blyss, keeping it from impairing my judgment, and not let it cause confusion and disorder in my mind. I still have this small window of opportunity left to save myself before they twist my mind around, making my body addicted to the drug, the sex, or both. If there is one thing I’ve been taught in life, it’s where there is a will, there is a way. I have no doubt I will find a way. I may have been naïve and sheltered, but my dad and Jake didn’t allow me to grow up a helpless and spoiled little princess; therefore, these people don’t know the willpower I possess.
