Page 67 of No Asylum Here

“I just need to have the whole picture before I decide what’s real and what isn’t.”

I knew by the mischievous gleam in his gaze that this information would come at a price.

“Alright, Doc. I’ll tell you the rest of the story. But you’re going to have to do something for me in return.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Tuesday

The next morning, I couldn’t stop shaking, and it wasn’t from my nerves.

I hadn’t taken the pills in over a week, but only now were withdrawal symptoms setting in. My symptoms should have appeared days ago. Was the Treatment delaying the effects?

I clutched the prescription bottle in my fist. I don’t need them.

I don’t need them. I don’t need them.

Closing my eyes, I counted to three. Once, twice. A dozen times. When I opened my eyes, I raced to the bathroom and flushed the pills down the toilet before I could change my mind and stared at the swirling water in the porcelain bowl, my stomach churning with nausea.

The withdrawal symptoms tore through me like a fever. If it were one of my patients, I’d order strict bed rest and prescribe a dose of Clonidine. I glanced at my clock, and my heart leaped seeing that I was late to my early-morning session with Mal. The orderlies would likely already have transported him to my office.

“Fuck!”

My fever-like symptoms, paired with the heat of Mal’s gaze as I burst into my office, had liquid fire tearing through my veins.

“Didn’t take you for the type to sleep in.”

Ignoring his comment, I made a beeline for my desk and collapsed into my chair. I picked up the rotary phone on my desk and dialed the nurses’ station.

A few moments later, a nurse popped in. I frantically scribbled an order for Clonidine, ripped it from the pad and handed it to the nurse. “Run this down to the pharmacy, have him fill it immediately and bring it straight back. With a cup of coffee, please.”

The nurse nodded and left.

Gathering myself, I took a deep breath and turned my attention to my patient.

The orderlies had opted to take him off the gurney this time and chained him to the metal chair bolted to the floor at the center of my office. At first, I thought the chains, the mask and the straitjacket were overkill. Now that I’d read his journal, I wasn’t so sure. Could he turn into some demonic entity? With claws and fangs and glowing veins?

The split tongue he’d had in my dream had been long enough to wrap around that hefty scalpel and ooze copious amounts of saliva.

It should have been a turn-off.

Yet it wasn’t.

Teratophile was the psychological term. I didn’t know I was a bit of one myself, not until I read Mal’s detailed account of ripping a hole into his father’s face and throwing him around like a rag doll. As I turned the explicit imagery over in my head, feverish heat rolled between my thighs and hooked inside, liquifying me from the inside out.

And if that wasn’t enough, I started to sweat and shake.

Great. Just what I needed. A double dose of adrenaline without the pills or cock to take off the edge.

“Let’s begin.” I fumbled for my notebook, unaware of how much I was shaking, until my hand brushed the small plant and sent it hurtling to the floor. “Oh no, Joanie…”

I sank to the rug, perched on my knees and scooped up the dirt and terracotta fragments in my palms. It wasn’t until my vision swam that I realized I was crying. Embarrassed, I glanced at Mal to find him staring at me with concern, an inquisitive brow slowly arching.

“Uh, should I be offering my condolences?”

“No. It’s just that Joan— It’s just that this cactus has been the only constant thing in my life for years. Not a family, not friends, a stupid houseplant. Pathetic, isn’t it?”

He pinned me with his heavy gaze, and for a moment, it felt like I might topple off the face of the world if it weren’t for those piercing eyes holding me steady. “You? Pathetic? No. And I’d know. I’m Pathetic the Third, son of Pathetic the Second.”