Page 55 of Love Sick

Alanna sits across from me at the large table. I’m surprised this table hasn’t been used as firewood. But the good condition of it confirms that it’s not been here long.

Misha’s driver’s license burns a hole in my pocket. He is at the center to all of this, but I doubt he knew how much so. He was at the wrong place, wrong time. The casualty of this entire clusterfuck.

I need to know what this place is. I need to know why Misha’s license is here, and most of all, I need to know how Alanna knows about it.

This isn’t a coincidence. None of this is.

“You don’t like your steak?” Alanna’s question snaps me from my thoughts.

Faking a smile, I pat my stomach. “I am stuffed full.”

“You hardly ate a thing.” Her disappointment is evident. It’s also genuine.

I omit the fact that the reason I can’t eat much is because the only thing I’ve eaten for the past God knows how many months has been fed to me through a tube. Eating real food again is like walking—I need to do it slow. But slow is pissing me off.

“My mind has been elsewhere.”

Alanna pauses from chewing, indicating she’s listening.

“The concert.”

“What of it?”

“What happens once it’s done? We come back…here?” I gesture to our surroundings in disgust.

“What’s wrong with this place? It just needs a new coat of paint and—”

“It needs an exorcism, Alanna.” On cue, a scurrying in the corner of the room confirms my claims.

“Why are you like that?”

“Like what?” I ask because she’s going to have to be a little more specific.

“Why can’t you look at this circumstance as a glass half full? You’re always so negative!”

My mouth actually drops open.

I look at Bobby who is biting his lip in fear. “Kiddo, wanna go to my room? We can color in when I’m finished talking?”

He looks at me frightened, but eventually, he nods and runs from the room.

The moment he’s gone, I spit at Alanna, “Are you fucking with me right now? Alanna, I’ve only just been able to hold my own dick to take a piss. There is no half full. Only fucking insane.”

“All I’ve wanted to do is help you.”

“Help me?” I scoff. “How, exactly?”

“Have I hurt you?”

I arch a brow, peering down at my knee.

“Apart from that one time, and you made me angry. All I’ve ever wanted was to help you.”

“For your own gain. Once upon a time, you referred to me as a host to incubate a heart for your dead fiancé! Now you want to play Mother Theresa. I don’t think so. Now I have to play to a room full of doctors who are none the wiser that their colleague is Dr. Frankenstein!”

Her chair scrapes along the floor as she stands up abruptly. “I should have let you die!”

“You think?” I mock, shaking my head in awe at her naivety. “I was doing just fine until you came along.”

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