Page 123 of Lovely Darkness

He sees me.

The real me.

The broken, scattered, insane, unfixable me.

And he wants to kill me.

He wants to kill me for trying to kill him.

Donovan is scrambling to sit up. It takes him most of the time that the rest of us are coming to terms with the switch in direction.

Adam and I come to some sort of silent truce—wrong word. An impasse that requires further thought before action. That’s more accurate.

And by the time we get there, Donovan has managed to swing his legs out of the bed and get to his feet, the gun still pointed at his temple.

“What the fuck are you doing, Donovan?” McKay yells.

“That’s not Donovan,” Merc says.

Which makes Donovan laugh. “Oh, trust me. This is me.”

“Maggie!” Adam yells. “Get out. Now. To your room. Now!”

“No!” I yell. “No! She’s not your child, Adam. She’s not your friend, she’s not your charge, she’s not your ward, she’s not even related to you! You do not get to tell my daughter what to do. Maggie.” I don’t look at her. My eyes are locked with Adam’s. “Stay here.”

“Whoever you are,” Merc says, and his voice is surprisingly calm—I think everyone notices this at the same time because the whole room goes still as we wait for Merc’s next words—“what do you think you’re going to accomplish with that gun to your head?”

“Wrong question,” Adam snaps. And again, he’s lookin’ at me. “Better question. Who gave it to him?”

I point to myself. “You think I gave him a gun? Why would I do that? I’m the only one in this room who loves him!”

Adam laughs.

Merc says, “Shut the fuck up. Both of you.” Then he turns his gaze back to Donovan. “Do you want them to leave so we can chat?”

Donovan scans the room. He doesn’t know the nurses. He might recognize Doc, Nick, and Merc. But then again, he might not.

His gaze lands on Sasha.

Then we all turn to look at Sasha.

But just as quick, Donovan directs us all back to him. “Weren’t we all going to have a drink?”

“What?” Nick says.

“I heard something about a drink,” Donovan says. “I could use one, to be quite frank.”

A dumb silence fills the room and I can practically read their thoughts. Will it be this easy?

But Donovan’s next words discourage any hope of that. Because he says, “Yeah. A drink. Let’s all have a drink.” Then he picks up the mason jar filled with thick, blue liquid and walks over to a tray where there is a short stack of little water cups. He counts out thirteen as he fills each one to the top. Evening them out until all the blue liquid inside the jar is gone.

He picks one up, then backs himself into the corner, pointing the gun at us. “Drink.”

“Maggie’s not drinking. You’re fucking crazy—”

“Oh, I’m crazy, all right,” Donovan says. “But you’re wrong, Adam. She will be drinking with the rest of us.”

“It’ll knock her out,” Merc says. “Hard. It’s way too much.”