Page 54 of Heart Sick

“You’re awake.” I recognize the voice as Dr. Norton. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been slipped a Mickey,” I reply honestly. “And this comedown sucks ass.”

Dr. Norton sits beside me in the orange plastic seat and opens a notepad. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

That’s a good question because my brain is completely fried. I push aside the fog and cling onto the only solid memory I have—it’s when Luna pressed her ear to my chest and listened to this foreign bastard giving me life.

It was the only time I felt at peace and that this heart was mine.

“Are you still experiencing memories which you cannot recall?” Dr. Norton asks as if reading my mind.

“Honestly, Doc, at the moment, I’m not experiencing anything other than wanting to dig my brain out with an ice cream scoop.”

“What about your heart?”

“What about it?”

“Are you still feeling…ill at ease with it?”

I burst into laughter. “That’s a real nice way of putting it. But I guess the urge to cut the motherfucker from my chest has subsided a little.”

She writes something in her little book. “That’s good. That’s progress.”

“What the fuck happened?”

Dr. Norton clears her throat.

“Don’t give me some medical mumbo jumbo bullshit. I want the truth.”

She adjusts her glasses, but I think it’s merely nerves. “We were forced to sedate you because you made some very serious claims about certain staff members.”

I did?

I squeeze through the tiny tunnel of light in my mind and grasp on to any solid memory I can. It’s of me beating the shit out of three lowlife scumbags.

“Motherfucker,” I curse under my breath when I remember what happened in that tunnel. “Those claims are fact. Those assholes were abusing their power, and the only regret I have is that I didn’t kill those assholes when I got the chance.”

Dr. Norton gasps, and her cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink.

Taking a closer look at her, I realize she isn’t horrified by my words—no, she’s turned on.

“Why are you here, Alanna?” I ask, using her name for the first time. I’ve done so with intent because it’s evident her interest in me isn’t purely professional.

“You’re my patient—”

“Enough with the bullshit,” I interrupt firmly. “I’m in a fucking asylum. Pretty sure this is out of your jurisdiction. What gives?”

She takes a moment to compose herself. “You intrigue me,” she confesses, finally giving me the truth. “What you’ve described is happening to you…it can change medical history.”

And now I understand why the sudden interest.

“You see me as your lab rat? You’re the one who did the operation, so you think you should be the one who studies me and reports back to your medical board for a pat on the back and promotion? While I sit in here to rot? Is that it?”

“Dutch, no. Of course not!”

But we both know that’s a lie. I am just someone she can make history with. She doesn’t care at all. She’s just using me as a science project. I can only imagine what this would do for her career.

“Don’t insult me,” I snap, leveling her sternly. “I’ll do whatever you want, but on one condition. You get me and Misha out of here.”

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