Page 2 of Say You're Mine

You're mine. And I'll burn this whole fucking world to ashes to prove it.

I close my eyes, fighting against the drug-induced haze. Images of Cara flash behind my eyelids, a kaleidoscope of memories both tender and savage. Her laugh, musical and free. The way her eyes sparkle when she's plotting mischief. The curve of her spine as she arches beneath me, lost in the throes of passion.

My cock throbs, straining against the thin fabric of the hospital-issued pants. I grit my teeth, willing away the arousal. Not now. Not here, in this sterile hellhole where they watch my every move, waiting for a sign of the "instability" they're so eager to cure.

A knock at the door jolts me from my reverie. I don't bother responding. It's not like they need my permission to enter anyway.

The door swings open, and a man in a pristine white coat steps in. He's older, with salt-and-pepper hair and wire-rimmed glasses perched on a hawkish nose. His smile is practiced, professional, but his eyes are cold and assessing.

"Good morning, Mr. Deveaux," he says, his voice smooth as oil. "I'm Dr. Faulkner. I'll be overseeing your treatment during your stay with us."

I force my lips into a bland smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Doctor. Though I have to say, the accommodations leave something to be desired."

He chuckles, the sound as hollow as his empathy. "Yes, well, we do prioritize safety over comfort here. Now, let's discuss your situation, shall we?"

He takes a seat in the chair beside my bed, crossing one leg over the other in a pose of studied casualness. "I've been reviewing your file, Mr. Deveaux. It's quite... concerning. Paranoid delusions, obsessive behavior, a history of violence and instability. Your family is very worried about you."

Red-hot anger burns through me at his words, at the way he reduces my love for Cara to a set of clinical terms. But I tamp it down, forcing my features into a mask of contrite acceptance.

"I know I've made some mistakes," I say, my voice carefully modulated to convey remorse. "But I'm ready to do the work, to be better. For myself, and for the people I love."

Dr. Faulkner nods, but there's a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Deveaux. But I must warn you, the road ahead will not be easy. You have a long journey of self-discovery and healing ahead of you."

I clench my fists beneath the thin blanket, my nails biting into my palms. "I understand, Doctor. And I'm ready to face whatever challenges come my way."

He stands, tucking his clipboard under his arm. "Very well. We'll begin your therapy sessions this afternoon. In the meantime, try to get some rest. You'll need all your strength for what's to come."

With that, he's gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more.

I lean back against the pillows, my mind racing. They think they can fix me, these doctors with their degrees and their superior attitudes. They think they can cure me of my love for Cara, make me see the "error of my ways."

But they're wrong. They're all wrong.

Cara isn't some delusion to be medicated away. She's not a symptom to be treated or a problem to be solved. She's the air in my lungs, the blood in my veins, the very essence of my existence.

I close my eyes, letting the memory of her wash over me like a tidal wave. The softness of her skin beneath my fingertips. The taste of her lips, sweet and intoxicating. The way she'd moan my name, a breathless litany of desire and need.

"June," she'd whispered that last night, her body trembling beneath mine. "I need you. Only you."

My cock twitches at the memory, and I bite back a groan. Even here, trapped and drugged and at the mercy of these white-coated jailers, my body responds to her. Always to her.

I have to get out of here. Have to find my way back to her side, no matter the cost. I'll play their games, jump through their hoops, tell them whatever pretty lies they want to hear. And all the while, I'll be planning, scheming, looking for any weakness I can exploit.

Because they can drug me, analyze me, try to reprogram my mind all they want. But they'll never cut out the part of me that belongs to Cara. The maddening need ingrained in every cell, every firing neuron.

A bitter laugh escapes my lips, harsh and humorless in the sterile silence of my room. If only they knew the futility of it all. That any sanity I once possessed was forged and anchored to Cara alone. She is the eye of my hurricane, the only stillness amidst the maelstrom. And without her... madness reigns unchecked.

The door opens again, and a different nurse enters. This one is younger, with kind eyes and a softer smile. She's pushing a cart laden with trays, the unmistakable smell of hospital food wafting from beneath the plastic covers.

"Lunchtime, Mr. Deveaux," she says, her voice gentle. "Are you feeling up to eating?"

I nod, forcing a weak smile. "I'll try," I say, injecting a note of uncertainty into my voice. "Though I'm not sure how much I can manage."

She sets the tray on the small table beside my bed, then hesitates. "Would you like some help sitting up?"

I pause, weighing my options. Playing helpless could work in my favor, make them underestimate me. But I also need to build trust, to show progress if I want any hope of getting out of here.

"I think I can manage," I say finally. "But thank you. It's nice to be treated like a person, not just another patient."

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