3
Robert reiterates that I can have time to get over the heroin withdrawals before I must get him Maksim’s body. Then he shuts me in the cell, alone.
The key turning echoes, emphasizing my solitude, and his shoes clink, clink, clink, down the hall outside until their sound is nonexistent.
Desperate to stay in control, desperate to fight the alleged withdrawals, I listen to my shallow breathing and the raucous thump of my heart in my ears. I tense my hands when the itchy, scraping in my veins begins, twisting and turning my wrists to ease the discomfort. It somehow worsens, spreading like fire throughout every nerve ending in my body. And then Robert’s voice is spinning in my mind, daring to torment me. I have James under my care. You will appease my request. Decena has Maksim’s body.
Motherfucker.
When Charlie finds out, he will slaughter Robert for what he’s doing to me.
If he finds out.
What if he never finds out?
My stomach knots, magnifying with nerves.
What if something happens, and I don’t get to go home to him?
I tell myself to stop being stupid. Even if I can’t get to Charlie, he will come for me. He’s like a dog with a bone. He fought the Russians to keep me for himself. And Robert said he shot up London searching for me.
He. Will. Come.
The itching under my skin becomes nearly unbearable. I scratch the needle marks, creating sore, thin red streaks. That’s when the metal bed I’m sitting on clatters on the ground. My eyes whip around the cell, searching for signs of life, but I realize it’s me. My legs are twitching like wiggly worms from the most indescribable discomfort burrowing in my muscles. I shuffle forward to sit on the edge of the bed, passively tapping my feet as a distraction.
What was I thinking about?
Heat breaks out all over, starting at my cheeks and emitting outward. I assume it’s because I’m moving so much, or there could be a radiator on full blast.
I glance about for a radiator, pressing the back of my hand to my forehead. It’s sweltering. Hot sweat slithers down my cheeks, dripping onto my chest. I wipe my forehead and wipe my hand on the bedspread. I pinch the chest of my t-shirt and shake it out to create some cool air but it’s no use.
“Focus... Focus. Focus. Focus,” I chant to the empty room, blowing out a long-winded breath. I try to anchor my mind on Charlie, on what we have together, but—something slithers down my chin. I smear the spot with my inner wrist, noticing it’s saliva. I’m actually drooling.
What the hell is this?
I can’t think about the state I’m in. I battle to stare at the wooden door as I know it signifies freedom, but my eyes start to water like crazy. They sting, too, and my lashes are soaking through.
Stay focused.
The door...it beats and pulses in my vision, a hallucination from the withdrawals. I squeeze and blink, squeeze and blink, hoping it’ll still. That’s when the shivers set in, chilly pimples overpowering everything else. They race up and down my arms and legs in icy tracks, burrowing bone deep. I cuddle myself, cowering in my long hair to use it as a cloak, but I’m so cold.
It’s just the flu. I remind myself I was ill like this once, that it’ll pass in a few hours, but I couldn’t be more wrong.
My head snaps forward, and I sneeze in cupped hands, stuffed with a sensation of cotton wool. I wipe my snotty palms on the bedspread before pinching the bridge of my nose to soothe the tickling, to soothe the blocked feeling. It doesn’t help. My eyes glaze over some more and become puffy, causing my cheeks to stream with tears.
“Co-count. Just count it away...one...two…ten…fifty…one-hundred...” I’m certain that by the time I get to one thousand, I’ll be all right.
But again, I don’t even realize how wrong I am.
My head throbs. The boundary of my skull is pounding like my brain is swelling beyond its capacity. I massage my temples, so tender to the touch that even this hurts. And the more I massage, the angrier I get. It blooms in my stomach, emitting outward with fierce power. My entire body is mad with trembles, hot and cold at once. And to ice my nightmare, the worst symptom of them all sets in; a formidable, unexplainable, all-consuming need—a blazing, painful hunger in my chest, like a nagging voice telling me you want and need a fix. I want to kill someone just to take the pain away.
I knead the spot on my chest to ease the painful hunger, but it grows tighter and stronger. I feel as if I’m suffocating in my own fucking body.
“Aargh!” I scream, the veins in my neck pumping, and before I know it, I lose all sense of sanity. My muscles tear as I flip the bed, sending it crashing into the wall. I draw back to kick the sheet of springs, using lower body strength to make an impact, and I can’t stop. I’m mad with madness, and my pulse is through the roof. I snatch at the basket of supplies and rip it apart, causing the contents to explode around the room. I dash over to the main door and kick it time and time again, screaming at the top of my lungs, “Robert, I’m going to fucking murder you! Do you hear me?! Yeb tvoyu mat’!” Go fuck your mother!
My craze goes on for so long that it wipes me out completely, leaving me feeling weak with something I’m not used to.
De-fucking-feat at its best.
I stand there panting and wheezing, shoulders aching as they rise and fall. The door has never looked more appealing. Escaping never seemed more appealing. I could pick the lock and go murder that fat fuck, but I can’t guarantee I’ll find James.
More defeat engulfs me, more than I can stomach.
I notice the long-winged fly is on the floor in the corner of the cell, dead.
Don’t even think about dying.
Still angry, I pace the room until the muscles in my legs cramp. I crouch to the upturned bed and pull out the thin mattress, straining as I haul it to the middle of the floor. Snatching for the blanket, I lie down and cover myself from neck to toe. I think going to sleep will help this affliction pass but, fuck, I am so wrong.
I couldn’t sleep if my life depended on it. It makes me anxious. My heart rate doesn’t come down. It hammers in my ribcage, sending sharp pains through my chest that often catch my breath. I toss and turn on the mattress, unexplainably uncomfortable—moaning because I’m so fucking uncomfortable. No matter what position I lie in, I just can’t be still. Then I’m hot again. My forehead boils with sweat, my eyes run wet with withdrawal tears, and my nose tickles to sneeze.
I kick the blanket away and groan as my stomach cramps and knots.
“Ow!” I curl over on my side. It’s like my muscles are rubbing against each other with serrated edges, tying up with barbed wire. “Just, stop!”
———
My body twitches on its own now, and the cramping knots in my stomach are beyond pain.
When my nose tickles, I sneeze and splutter everywhere. My bones crack when I do, and the sudden movement shoots waves of pain throughout every inch of my body.
Bested, I whimper in self-pity. I ask the empty room for Charlie, begging him to come get me. “I’m sorry I left you to return to Maksim! I won’t ever leave again! I promise!” I screech promise, turning angry with him.
I know he can’t hear me. I sob in the pillow, nose running with snot. No one can hear me.
This is the worst part, being alone endlessly. I don’t want to be on my own. I feel lost. Isolated. Scared. My own presence terrifies me.
Escape. “I can’t!”
I don’t know what time it is or how long I’ve been here. It feels like days—weeks. Though, if there was a clock nearby, I’d also swear it hasn’t moved a tick.
I hug myself and rock from side to side, attempting to comfort my lonely soul. It becomes anguish. The bones in my body are pulling out of their sockets one moment, crumbling the next. The more I move, the more intense it gets.
Everything is intense.
Icy sweat clings to my chest and face, droplets forming on my eyelids. The roots of my hair are damp and heavy—I’m tangled in hair every time I change position. The clothes I’m wearing itch the backs of my shoulders. Every-fucking-thing itches.
“Please, stop!” I beat my legs against the mattress, riding the waves of hell. Move, keep moving, my body insists, but it’s agony. The pinprick marks on my inner elbows and ankles scream. “Stop!” I screech, squeezing my eyes shut. “Stop! Stop! Just fucking stop!”
After what seems like hours of internal torment, I climb off the mattress to pace the shady room, bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet.
My skin, bones, head, heart, stomach...they all hurt now. But nothing compares to the consuming, painful hunger in my chest—except for sneezing. Whenever I do, the muscles in my center contract, punting from the inside out. That’s the only way to describe it: kicking.
“Just take the pill...you will be okay.” Robert’s voice is like a serpent in my fucking ear, but I fight with inner strength to resist his offer.
Though, not for long.
When I notice another long-winged fly flapping about near the other, I park my butt up against the wall, knees to my chest, and I crumble. “Robert...Robert...Robert...” I begin saying his name in subconscious whispers, then I’m screaming out the anguish. “Robert! Come back! Please come back! I give in!” I break down, hiccupping sobs so hard my tummy hurts. There’s thick, crusty snot stuck to my upper lip, running wet with whatever else is coming out of my body, though I don’t give a shit. “I give in, okay? I fucking give in!” I smack my head on the ground, causing a sharp pain to shoot through my skull. It’s a pain I welcome compared to everything else.
Everything else is far past agony.
My throat grows sore with my shouting, and my eyes swell with tears and tiredness. I can’t sleep though. I try, but my brain keeps on going. Relieve the need. Ask for a fix. Continue asking. Beg!
“Charlie, where are you?”
———
A strong, creamy scent fills my senses and I dry heave.
I’m spread eagle on the floor like I passed out. My cloudy head seesaws from side to side, trying to recollect, but I’m totally blank for a while, lingering in a vegetated state.
I’ve never wanted drugs so much in all my life—the burning hunger in my chest is past pain. To feel that colorful dance of ecstasy right now...oh, it would be paradise. The sensations on my skin and in my body, and the reverie...how I miss it.
Eventually, my dream-like-state drifts away and all the hurt sets back in. My limbs squirm, pleading for release, but pleading is useless. If anything, the torture exaggerates. All I can hear is my own voice calling out for Charlie; my loneliness embodied.
Charlie...Charlie, Charlie, Charlie!
He isn’t coming for me. His absence must be a punishment, since I left him and returned to Maksim. I played them both; cared for one, and fell for another. I caused this. It’s all my fault. I deserve what’s happening.
Don’t say that. I try not to wallow, but it’s so damn hard. I have nothing to hold on to anymore.
Squinting through crusty, sore eyes, I lift my face, determined not to give up. I see the single metal framed bed is turned upright in the heart of the room, covered in that itchy, gray blanket. Someone has been in here to tidy up, and I missed them because I was passed out?
“No,” I say, conquered once more. I’d rather die than suffer like this, losing a losing battle. I cannot deal with the all-consuming, painful hunger or the loneliness. I just need a little remedy, or that pill Robert was talking about. I’ll be able to function then, and find Charlie. He will help me get clean.
“Charlie,” I whisper—or sob his name. “Charlie, please...please, I’m sorry...” Sobbing still, I run my tongue over the jagged cracks on my lips, tasting salt. And with every breath I inhale, yuck, I can smell that creamy stench. Soup. It smells like soup.
I struggle to turn on my hands and knees, every limb in my body aching with the bones grating on each other.
I need to get rid of that vile smell.
There’s a wicker basket over by the main door with a stack of white towels, a food tray housing a steaming white bowl, and a huge bottle of water.
Water! I might not know a lot about drugs, but I know enough to be sure water can only make me feel better.
Get up, Blaire.
Pressing in to the ground, I strain, trying, but it hurts. My arms shake and my knees crack. I crawl, lumbering over on all fours, feeling like I’m competing in a marathon.
“Ah-chu!” I sneeze hard enough to make my eyes stream. I sniff and swallow, wiggling my nose to get rid of the itching.
By the door, I buckle to my elbows and snatch for the bottled water, twist off the cap, and turn it up to wrap my lips around the lid. I gulp greedily. Hmmm. It tastes salty and sugary, same as the sports drinks I used to devour when training. Isotonic water. My body needs this, badly.
It seeps out the corners of my mouth, streaming down the sweaty curves of my neck. When the bottle is empty, I crunch it up and toss it across the room, gagging to keep the fluids down. I catch a glance of the bowl of soup and push it aside, shoving it out of reach. Then I snatch everything out of the basket, thinking Robert has appeased my request for a remedy or given me that pill he offered before.
Shampoo. I toss it aside. Toilet tissue. Toss. Soap. Toss, and it hits the wall with a light thud. Dried fruits in see-through packets with Albanian written ingredients. I yank one packet open and eat what I can, grimacing on crunchy, tangy pieces. I carry on digging through the basket. Toothbrush and toothpaste. Toss, and they skid under the bed. I frown at a note that reads, Three days have passed. You are almost over the worst. The sight of it turns my heart upside down, and the burning in my chest becomes a full-on blaze of starvation.
Just three days...that’s impossible. I feel like I’ve been here for weeks—months!
Pressing my forehead on the floor, I hiccup cry so desperately my soul hurts, wondering why he isn’t giving me any drugs. I just need a little to get through this.
A warm breeze travels under the threshold crack, carrying that horrid creamy soup scent. Bile rises through me so fast I projectile vomit on the floor, spluttering all over my hands. I scramble to my feet and sprint into the shadowed bathroom, whacking open the door with a loud crash! I reach the toilet just in time as it sprays out like a waterfall, splashing in a frenzy. It burns. I try to gulp back, but it makes me retch harder and harder, panic gulping for oxygen.
Only when the heaving stops can I take a full, deep breath, though it doesn’t help. My torture worsens when a sharp twinge rips through my lower stomach. I grunt in agony with my insides bubbling and roaring. I fumble to pull down the shorts I’m wearing and sit on the toilet, and I cannot even explain what’s coming out of me. I cup my face with elbows on my legs, internally fighting to deal with the burning.
This is hell personified, and in my misery, I can’t help thinking I deserve it. If I hadn’t betrayed Maksim’s honor, or if I had just stayed with Charlie when he asked me, I wouldn’t be here. Robert would have still been sour with wrath, but he’d have had a swarm of Los Zetas to go through. Charlie and I could have stood united and eliminated our enemy together. I’d be safe in his arms, in my warm bed at his house. Home. I would be at home.
But instead, I’m here. James is Robert’s captive. And it’s all my fault.