Page 76 of Rush of Jealousy

“Thank you,” I whisper softly. “For always helping me when I need it most.”

Out of his shirt pocket, he removes a light and shines it into my eyes and does so a couple of times until he is satisfied. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I really am. No woman deserves this.”

Tears pour out of my eyes. I close them tightly, trying to keep from breaking down.

“Angela?”

“Hmm?”

Dr. Saber’s eyes soften, as he gathers his belongings. I know he wants to say more, but he refrains. “You’re going to need to drink lots of fluids to wash out the drug from your system. You appear to have little residual side effects, and that is amazing. The bruises and swelling on your cheek and nose may look worse than they actually are. Your face has a lot of sensitive spots, and once the blood breaks under the skin, it could look pretty gruesome. So I’m going to leave you with several one-time-use packs of ice.” He notices the already used one resting near my feet. “These are similar in function. All you need to do is fold them in half, shake for a few seconds, and then take off the plastic protector. Try to do so every few hours for the first twenty-four.”

“I have a huge headache. What can I take for it?”

“Nothing right now.”

“Nothing? Why?”

“Because the drug that was slipped to you needs to be completely out of your system before you introduce any other blood thinners. This is serious, Angie. You could have been really—”

“I know,” I mouth. I know I could have been…

Raped.

I don’t want to keep thinking about how fortunate I am and what could have happened. I just want to forget about tonight.

Dr. Saber leaves the ice packs on the seat between us and exits his side. He shuts the door and stands at Graham’s window—most likely to give him an update on my condition. For some reason, I feel like HIPAA rules do not apply to Graham Hoffman. I suppose that if he can shell out money for a doctor to be at his beck and call, the doctor would be able to follow a set of pre-decided upon orders.

Once again, I am alone in the backseat. I feel empty. Insignificant. Everything that I am wearing—including my underwear—doesn’t even belong to me. I do not have a piece of jewelry on. There’s nothing in my hair. Whatever I did own at one point is up in the hotel room or being taken away by Graham’s worker bees. I have nothing. I own nothing. Yet, I am responsible for everything.

I slouch in the leather seat, slipping down under the confines of the belt.

I must doze off, because it is the clean, masculine scent of Graham that awakens my senses, followed by the sound of the car door shutting.

The acceleration of the car pulls me back into my seat. I glance in his direction. His bloodshot eyes meet mine for a split second and then go back to facing forward, staring emotionless at the opaque privacy screen.

We sit in silence for at least ten minutes while I become more coherent and realize that we are still driving, except we are way beyond the outskirts of the city. I stare out the window at the unfamiliar landscape of the interstate. “Take me home,” I sniffle and choke out. I want to curl up in my bed and waste away in the privacy of my own room. Claire is probably home, and I can wallow in self-pity with her the rest of the weekend. I need to flush out the craziness from my system.

Perhaps a fasting would be necessary and allow me to meditate and cope with my loss of reason. Shredded carrots and moon water sound good to me right now. At the very least, I will have my bestie’s support to surround me while I navigate the ruins that my life continues to find itself in.

Tonight I was introduced to a new version of Angie. She was completely different than the old me and nothing remotely close to the new me. But the one thing I know with certainty is…

I don’t like her.

Tonight I turned into a desperate version of my old self. I became reckless and stupid the minute I instinctually felt that Mark was dangerous and still chose to follow through with my original plan. I treated tonight like a game of poker where I was anxious to see the last card on the table instead of just folding the horrible hand I was dealt.

I give a side-eye to Graham. “Are you not going to talk to me?” I whisper, trying to keep my gaze on the trees outside. A few still have color to them. Reds and oranges and browns.

Silence.

“Did you kill him?” I don’t even recognize my own voice. It is hoarse from screaming, raw from crying, and weak from breathing.

He grunts, and his nose twitches just enough to tell me that he is pissed at my question. “He’s breathing.”Thank heavens. “Barely.”

When Collins got me out of there, I wasn’t sure if Graham was just waiting for me to leave to finish the job.

“He needs medical attention,” I hedge, knowing that my words could be confused as being genuinely concerned for Mark’s welfare. I only care that Graham could be in some type of trouble with the law.

“And he’s getting it.” His disdain tightens my muscles into a compact ball.

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