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“This isn’t the place I see myself dying.”
I don’t see myself dying ever, even if I know it’s coming someday. “Where do you see it happening?”
She stares at me, and I notice how the hazel color of her eyes is really a mixture of browns and green ribbons swirling around her irises. Really beautiful.
“When I die, I see myself surrounded by my children and grandchildren,” she says. “I see them smiling and hugging me. I see myself at peace.”
There’ll be no peace for her if she takes this drug. “You know they won’t stop coming after you if this works, right?”
“I know.” She nods solemnly. “But maybe that’s why I see myself at peace. I fought back. I fought for them. My kids, their kids, all our kids.”
It’s as good a purpose as any, but what do I know. “Ready?” I ask, uncapping the needle.
“Yep.”
“I’m giving you one drop to start. It’s the smallest dose I can go with.”
“Let ’r rip, Huff.”
My shaking hand hovers over her soft skin, and I pause, looking at Luna’s pretty face. “If this kills you, I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you.”
She laughs. “We just met.”
I know she cares, she’s passionate about doing good, and she’s honest. “Yet I somehow know I’m lucky to’ve met you.”
She leans in and plants a kiss on my lips. I’m about to pull back, but she might die in a minute here. Plus, her lips are soft, and I can’t claim I’m not attracted to her. She’s sharp, outspoken, and brave. But…I love River.
Luna pulls away, and she licks her lips. “You taste incredible.”
“Watermelon Trident. I stole some from the pharmacy when I got the syringes.”
She laughs, and I take the moment of her distraction to plunge the needle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Luna
“Ouch!” I cup my hand over my arm. “Motherfucker! That hurt.”
“You okay?” Huff’s vivid blue eyes focus intensely on my face like a child waiting for Jack to spring from his box.
I move my shoulder in circles, massaging the injection site. “It burns, but it’s starting to tingle.”
He pulls out a notebook and writes down:Morris’s Huff Recipe, along with my name, dosage amount, injection site, and time of day. “Okay. Just…keep talking. And whatever you do, don’t leave, all right?”
“Sure.” Where am I going to go, anyway? Not like I just won the Super Bowl and Disney’s calling. I took a potentially fatal drug.
Huff whips out his phone and starts recording with one hand, ready to jot with the other. “Tell me what you’re feeling?”
“Stop that.”
“I need to make a record of this for future analysis. I’ve given you exactly point-zero-five milliliters—the equivalent of a drop of water. Describe anything you feel no matter how small.”
I wait while he stares. Ten minutes, thirty, forty minutes go by.
“Huff, I don’t think it was enough.”
“Be patient,” he orders. I can tell by the veins in his arms that he’s on pins and needles. I am too, but he’s much more intense.
