Page 133 of Taste of Addiction

“But I didn’t do it this time,” I say adamantly. “I didn’t take anything. I haven’t all week. I promise.”

She nods. But I know from her demeanor and her glance to Graham that she thinks I am just trying to protect my addiction. That I would do or say anything to cast responsibility on anyone but myself.

I shouldn’t blame them. In the past, I would lie and steal and do anything I could to get my fix but mask the extent of my cravings.

“I need a moment to myself,” I demand. “Please, everyone go.”

“Sweetheart, I—”

“Go. Get out!”

I wait until the last person leaves, and I curl my knees up toward my chest. I let the tears fly from my eyes.

No one believes me. The reality of that revelation stings.

I throw myself back on the bed and close my eyes. Everything is such a mess. Yet, I know how I got here. I managed to break trust in others and now no one believes me.

My eyes are so heavy that it hurts to try to open them. I sink into the cushions of my hospital bed and allow my mind to drift. And drift.

Until the only thing I see are my worst nightmares coming true.

* * *

I wake to my hands being secured with Velcro straps. Stop! I try to scream but my mouth is covered with a strip of tape. I throw my arms out but I am completely tied down.

“Hello, Angela.”

From the shadows, dressed like a doctor, Mark Tanner reveals himself. “Did you like your slumber?”

I moan behind my tape, shaking my head side to side.

“I heard you had a little setback. My sincerest apologies.”

“Mhmph.”

“Tell Graham I’m coming for him. There is nowhere to hide anymore. As for you, your time is fleeting. The Prophet is not happy. You’ll have to answer to him sooner or later.”

The Prophet? Who the hell is The Prophet?

Mark removes my hand restraints. I frantically pull the Velcro off my legs and rip off the tape from my lips, crying out as the sting burns my delicate skin, but when I look up—

He is gone. Vanished.

I stumble out of bed and go to the window to look out. I check behind the curtain. Nothing is out of place. Mark is like carbon monoxide. You can’t see him, but you know eventually he will kill you.

With shaky legs, I move out into the hallway where my team of nonbelievers are having a meeting about me—without me—in an alcove.

“Sweetheart, you need to be in bed,” Graham says, rushing to my side.

“I’m not safe here. He got to me. He was here.”

His eyes show concern. “We need to have a hard conversation.”

I shake his arms. “Mark was here.”

“What?” He pushes me into the room and back into bed. “No, I think you are just confused. Maybe you had a bad dream?”

“He must have climbed into my window. Or you missed him entering and exiting the door? He had on a white coat.” I furrow my brow and look up into Graham’s eyes. I see something there that I have not seen before—pity. “You don’t believe me, do you?” I whisper.

---