Page 52 of Second Chances

All my hopes, dreams, and aspirations gone down the toilet.

My mother is barely speaking to me because I can’t be the perfect daughter for her.

It’s not fair, and I just want it all to go away.

I take one final look through all my possessions and don’t find what I’m looking for.

Flopping down onto my office chair, I feel the tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I’m in so much pain, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t have the money for anymore tablets this month. Ryan and I have just paid for a holiday to Mexico in a couple of weeks. How am I even going to be able to get there? I can’t imagine being cramped up in a plane for eight hours or so. Ok, we’re traveling on his brother’s private jet, but still, I’m not going to be able to walk through the airport without being in pain.

They didn’t fix my leg properly. I know they didn’t. I wouldn’t need so many tablets if they had. All that money on supposedly the best doctor in the world and he was useless.

He didn’t do his job properly.

He should give me more painkillers.

Maybe I should book an appointment to go and see him like he said. It probably wouldn’t work, though. He’d just say his stupid fucking x-rays indicate everything is ok, and I don’t need any more painkillers.

I know my body better than him.

I need them.

I need something.

Shit! I’m falling apart. I’m useless. Ryan will hate me soon. After all, who wants a freak for a girlfriend who’s constantly in pain?

Damn it.

Shit.

Fuck it.

I scream out loud.

Thankfully it’s late, and nobody else is here.

Maybe I could ask Ryan for a loan until payday. No, he isn’t working at the moment and is busy fighting for his inheritance. It must be costing him a lot of money to do that.

I pace around the room, growing more and more anxious as time goes by.

My leg’s going to be unbearable by morning.

I can barely put weight on it now.

I test my theory and immediately recoil my leg back up when agony shoots through it.

Why is this happening to me?

It isn’t fair.

Am I really such a bad person?

Maybe the man I’m getting the painkillers from would take an IOU or something else in return. I’ve a ring on my finger that was given to me a few years ago. It’s gold. My handbag’s designer as well.

I’ll give him a call and see.

Searching through my phone I find the number. I’ve stored him under the initial ‘V’ for Victor. I don’t want anyone asking me who he is. I never text him only call. Ryan is an intelligent man and knows surveillance techniques from his MI5 days. It’s safer this way. I feel awful lying to him, but he’d never understand. Nobody would. All he’d do is suggest going back to the useless doctor. It’s what he did the day I upset him when I chose exercising over him licking my pussy.

The reason I decided to exercise that day was because standing in the kitchen cooking had made my leg hurt. I needed to go to the gym where I’d hidden my tablets and take a few. They’d worked instantly, so I started to work out. It was nice spending the rest of the day relaxing with Ryan, even if I did have to work twice as hard on my exercise the next day to lose all the extra weight I’d gained from the treats he’d bought. My leg injury has caused my metabolism to slow down—I just look at a slice of cake now and I add ten pounds. Ryan doesn’t want an elephant for a girlfriend. I need to push my body, and the painkillers allow me to do that.

---