Page 21 of Runaway Hearts: Seduced by Danger

“I need a room for tonight.”

Her smile never wavers as she grabs a key and hands it to me. “Excellent, I’ll give you number seventeen. It’s at the end of the alley. Park your vehicle in front of the door.”

I thank her before walking back to my car to get my luggage.

I’m being ridiculous.

No one is following me. Or my blue Civic. There’s no reason for me to freak out. But I still do. I need to take my pill because I know I can’t relax without it, as awful as it is. So, I act like a responsible woman and push open the door of my room. The floorboards are uneven beneath my feet, and the curtains are frayed, barely hanging onto the rusted curtain rod.

As I go to the bathroom, the flooring creaks under my weight.

Am I that fat?

The bathroom door moans when I push it open, revealing a tiny space. The bathtub is clean, with no visible signs of grime or dirt. The faint aroma of a lemony cleaner is a welcome reassurance.

I nestle in the room and open the satanic bottle.

The little white pieces defy me.

Three whole months without having to rely on this crap.

Three months under control, gone because of a man, too sexy for my mental health.

Two breakdowns in just one day. And I thought I had it under control.

I’m screwed.

I grab a pill and swallow. It’s as bitter as the illusion of being able to live without them. I taste the strain of it bearing down, suffocating me. It’s a constant battle to keep my thoughts in check, to keep from drowning in the chaos of my mind. But a bitter resignation takes hold of me. There’s nothing I can do to change my reality. I must accept it.

An hour later, a relaxed sigh flies out of my mouth as I rest in the bathtub. It’s unclear to me why I wanted to stop taking my pills. The idea seems irresponsible. Maybe Eric’s theory about my inability to survive without them has something to do with that, but I don’t care right now.

I trace vague patterns in the water with my fingers until my eyelids droop.

I get out of the bath, put on my thick pink bathrobe, and throw myself on the bed. The fan blades twirl and twirl.

It’s so hot in this room.

My sighs are no longer countable.

The blades spin and spin.

I follow the motion with my eyes when a fluffy little rabbit shows up. A small, naughty furry ball looks at me, perched on one blade. I can’t stifle the laughter that comes out of my mouth. He winks at me. It’s hilarious. He observes me with his silver eyes. I see his lips move, but I don’t hear a thing.

Am I asleep?

“Hello, little bunny. Want a hug?” The stuffed animal jumps from its perch to land on my chest. He rubs his nose on mine, and I giggle. He’s so soft. A blue bunny jumps from the fan, then another pink and a purple one. It’s a mess. Bunnies fall around me until they make a carpet of colorful fluffs on the floor. I roll on the ground, arms outstretched on either side, stroking the stuffed animals to the fullest. The music of little bunnies collapsing, creating crumpled piles, makes me beam.The little rabbits carry me at arm’s length in a rock concert of adorable stuffed animals. I feel so good, my eyes closed, and I consent to this sympathetic mess.

That’s never happened to me before, but then again, it’s been three months since I took my last pill. Maybe I should’ve taken only half.

I’m suddenly transported to a very luxurious hotel room. There’s a weird bunny in the corner. He looks like a dictator with viper eyes. He’s overseeing this whole commotion, that’s for sure. You should never trust the little stuffed bunnies that fall from the ceiling.

I’m not in danger. I must have dozed off without realizing it.

The rabbit has the same mean hazel eyes as Eric. I jump in place, fists high and ready for battle. It’s not a rabbit; it’s him. Eric is here. His whiskey scent hits my nose, and a bottomless fear nests in my gut.

But what the hell is going on?

“You no longer separate reality from dreams, huh, princess?” Rabbit-Eric says.

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