Page 126 of Runaway Hearts: Seduced by Danger

I blink.

“We need to verify that everything is as it should be for your safety.”

My fingers grip the phone tighter as if holding onto sanity with both hands. “I’m not in town right now. Can’t this be handled over the phone?”

Dr. Harris hesitates. “Due to the nature of your medication, it’s crucial for us to verify some information face-to-face.”

My mouth goes dry. The beach blurs around me; I grasp for reality. “What?”

“I suggest you visit immediately, Miss Milosh.” Dr. Harris’s voice carries concern. A shit-ton of worry.

I nod despite knowing he can’t see it. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”

One shaky goodbye to the pharmacist later, I hang up with one thought in head:no… fucking… way.

A strange feeling washes over me, like when I’m on the brink of discovering the identity of a killer in a podcast. It’s dreadful yet exhilarating, causing my heart to thump against my sternum and goosebumps to appear on my skin.

It stinks of ugly truths.

I need to check out my pills. The idea has me erupting in a manic chuckle, shaking my head and counting the sea birds’ shadows on the ocean’s surface.

A large gulp of tequila gives me the courage to do something I should’ve done years ago. I grab the bottle of chemicals. And my body’s reaction is immediate. My blood is replaced by icy water; my heart pounds faster, spreading the cold liquid in my limbs.

Phone whipped out, I search online for answers. As I scroll through the usual medical jargon, I stumble upon something alarming—the pills that supposedly ease my anxiety are powerful anxiolytics with dangerous side effects when taken long-term. My heart sinks as I read about potential hallucinations, suicidal thoughts, sexual avoidance, andpanic attacks... all symptoms that I’ve experienced while taking these pills.

Bile rises in my mouth, and the air doesn’t know how to fill my lungs anymore. These pills have been silently wreaking havoc within me all this time. My body cowers as air is kicked out of my lungs by shock.

The label warns that the pills, known as S.U.P.E.R., should only be taken temporarily to control severe panic attacks while waiting for regular medication. Yet I’ve been taking them for three years straight.

Further research reveals that the recommended doses listed on the website are much lower than those written on my bottle. That explains why every pharmacist winced when they handed me my prescription.

But I get sucked into the rabbit hole, and the next paragraph sends me spiraling into complete mental isolation. At high dosages, these pills are used to maintain control over-psychotic patients.

To make them...compliant.

“Just take a pill, princess. It’ll make everything better.”

My insides roil with a seething blend of fury and disbelief as I realize Eric and my therapist had been manipulating me all along.

A web of lies that leave me sick to my core. They made me a docile fucktoy.

The person I trusted most with my mental health had been working together with my violent ex for their own twisted agendas.

During my despair and anger, a fierce determination takes hold. I refuse to be a pawn in their sick game any longer. With trembling hands, I dial Dr. Rossi’s number on my phone, desperate for answers.

The phone rings once, twice, and then a click as it connects. “The number you’re trying to reach has been deleted.”

Of course!

The land spins around me as I fumble for the bed’s edge. My mind is a whirl of thoughts, too relentless to process. But one pops out.

Kai.

He went above and beyond to make sure I didn’t take the pills.

Did he know?

I swallow, my eyes darting to the bottle of pills clenched tightly in my hand. I’m on the verge of falling to my knees, but something gives me strength, and I burst out laughing hysterically.

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