Page 15 of Heart Sick

An imprint of my teeth is indented in Noah’s skin, which pleases me, but the reason he won’t report this is because he doesn’t want any issues to arise because that would mean he can’t do whatever he pleases. He wishes to fly under the radar, not drawing any attention to himself and the disgusting acts he commits.

“That wasn’t very nice.” He pulls his hand away from his nose to see if he’s bleeding. He’s not. Shame, that. “It’s always the hot ones who are the craziest. But that’s okay, I like crazy.”

He tongues his cheek, his heated eyes revealing all the nasty things he’s currently thinking.

Before I can tell him to fuck off, he stuffs the pills down my throat, forcing me to swallow them as he pinches my nose. Eventually, I have no other choice as I gasp for air.

Noah slaps my cheek playfully. “Good girl. I’ll be seeing you really soon. The boys and I have a little initiation late at night for the newbies. See you soon, crazy bitch.”

I watch as he exits coolly, while I wonder how being in here is better than death.

Weeks Later…

“Ireally can’t,” says Monique, my nurse and the only hope of me getting what I want. I know she uses a pseudonym as the policy here is that we are not to know any of the staff or other patients by their real names, but she looks like a Monique.

It worked last time, but I suppose word spreads quickly about the man who tried to cut the donor heart from his chest with a ballpoint.

I haven’t heard a single note since. All I can hear is this deafening asshole, sounding strongly in my chest.

When they asked me if I would try to remove my heart again and I said hell to the fuck yes, my mom had no other choice and on the advice of Dr. Norton, had me committed.

And here I am.

I suppose it does sound a little crazy trying to cut out your heart, but not being able to play music is crazier. This has never happened before. Regardless of the bullshit in my life, I have always been able to play. But now that that’s stopped, it feels like a porn star in his prime losing his hard-on right before he’s about to perform.

I am impotent.

“I promise I won’t tell if you don’t.” I’m currently trying to coax Monique into giving me a real fork, and not this plastic one which I’m expected to use.

But she’s been given the direct order by Dr. Norton to keep me away from anything sharp that could be used as a weapon—a weapon against myself, that is, because the moment I do, I am carving this motherfucker from my chest and playing soccer with it.

I don’t like it. I want my old heart back.

Monique simply smiles and goes back to reading her magazine.

I can’t even eat unsupervised. Not sure why. The only risk I have is choking on this slop they call food.

Pushing the tray away, I peer out the window, the silence greeting me, as usual. The view is of a rose garden. But it may as well be a brick wall. The universe sings to me no more.

“All done?”

I nod.

She presses the call button for someone to collect my tray. Another order from Dr. Norton is that I am to never be alone. And if I am, then I am to be restrained.

They tell me it’s for my own good, but what good is being held captive, your spirit dying with each passing day. All because this motherfucker in my chest beats strong.

“Did you want to take a walk in the garden?”

I can’t help but laugh as “walk” translates to her pushing me around in a wheelchair like an invalid. Again, Dr. Norton said the flight risk is too high. I’m in good shape, regardless of the operation I just underwent, and could outrun any of these assholes.

She has every right to be worried.

I know both she and my mom think they are doing this for my own good, but they are killing me, and killing me softly.

On any other day, I would hear Roberta Flack’s haunting voice singing her famous hit, but nope, not today, or any other day.

Monique is waiting for my reply, so I nod.

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