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My arm still stings from his last prick.
“I used to be a phlebotomist,” he adds, as if that makes it better. “Every time I draw blood, it’s with a clean, disposable needle.”
I don’t want to be in the kitchen anymore. This is the most he’s bothered to talk to me, and the longer I’m with him, the worse it makes me feel.
The bathroom wall seems like heaven now.
I need to be anywhere but near him.
This monster that’s turning my blood into drugs.
He finally lets me go, and I take a small step back from him.
The grin doesn’t leave his face, though. His eyes are delighted, and he’s beaming at me.
“Can I have suppressants?” I ask softly.
I’ve put off requesting them. I figured the answer would be no, but my body is starting to feel the effects of being without them for so long.
Aches. Chills.
Extreme fatigue.
But now that he’s in such a great mood at my expense, maybe he could show an iota of kindness in this fucked up situation.
His face falls, and the small amount of hope I had dies.
He shakes his head. “It’ll ruin the batches,” he says, as if it’s obvious.
I blink.
He shrugs.
“If I have the medication I need, it will ruin your batches,” I repeat slowly, testing out the words.
They don’t feel real.
“Sorry,” he says, grinning sheepishly and raking his hair through his fingers. “You understand though, right? You’re not mad at me?” He takes a step forward, his arm outstretched, and I jump back, the chain rattling.
His pupils are huge.
“Don’t be mad at me, Skylar,” he insists, an edge of hysteria in his voice. “Am I not doing enough for you?”
Oh, no.
I shake my head. “No, you are,” I say softly, doing my best to placate him.
His mood swings are terrifying.
“I give you a room all to yourself, I take care of you, and you’re going to give me attitude about this?” He grabs my arm and tugs me back to him, and I stumble into his chest, bracing my hands against him.
“No,” I croak. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m so sorry.”
Nausea rolls in my stomach as I say it. My hands shake as they press against his hard chest, terror spiking in my nervous system.
“I just want you to like me, Skylar,” he whines, his bloodshot eyes filling with tears as I stare at him in shock. His mood has changed dramatically, and it gives me whiplash. “I don’t want to make you upset.”
It realize it’s the desperation for O that is making him this way.
