Dirty Addiction (Dirty 2)

I grab the towering decorative vase sitting in the center of the coffee table and scoot it towards me seconds before the contents of my stomach come back up. There's not much left in my stomach, but whatever was inside dispenses into the shiny gold vase.

"Jesus, Eden,” Matteo says, holding the trashcan he went to retrieve in his hand.

"What happened to me?" I dry heave, grasping the vessel like it is my most valuable possession.

Matteo unhinges my hands from the vase filled with my puke and carries it out of the room ignoring my question and leaving me with the empty trashcan. He returns less than a minute later with a glass of water, a warm washcloth, and two pills in his hand.

“Clean yourself up and take these anti-nausea pills, they will help you keep the food down.”

I take the washcloth from him and wipe my face before I set it down on the coffee table. Then I pop the pills into my mouth, swallow, and down the entire glass of water.

My eyes suspiciously cut to the soup sitting on the coffee table. I should try eating it again, but I don’t want to vomit.

My hunger wins out over my fear. I try picking up the bowl with my hands. I manage to lift it an inch before it slips out of my trembling hands and hits the table with a thump, spilling a couple of drops onto the table’s flawless surface.

Redness flushes my cheeks. I can’t even lift a fucking bowl I’m so weak. I grab the spoon with my still unsteady hand, while I lean over the bowl. I scoop some of the broth onto the spoon and lift it to my lips more slowly than before. The liquid finally touches my lips, and I quickly swallow. I wait for my stomach to growl or burn again, giving me any sign that food is settling well in my stomach. It doesn’t.

I smile. Success.

Now on to another spoonful.

"Fuck this. We’ll be here all day," Matteo says, snatching the bowl of soup away from me.

My eyes protrude from their sockets as I glare at him. I may not have the strength to do much damage to Matteo, but I will use every ounce of strength I have left to attack him for taking away the only thing giving me any comfort.

"Sit back," he commands.

I do, but only so I can see his pupils when I tell him off.

He puts the spoon down on the table and holds the entire bowl of soup up to my lips.

"Drink.”

He tilts the bowl, and the liquid gradually pours into my mouth and down my throat. He continues to feed me until all the soup is gone. My cheeks begin to warm, my head becomes lucid, and my stomach no longer aches for food. Even just moving my arms is manageable compared to before.

He sets the bowl back down. "You should climb back in bed and sleep."

I nod and stand, my legs still wobbly and weak.

Matteo doesn’t have the patience for me. He scoops me up in his arms and carries me back to what I now assume is his bed. He places me down and pulls the covers back over me, but that’s as far as his chivalry goes.

"Sleep."

My eyes drift closed, following his command. None of this makes any sense. The photograph of Nina. Matteo taking care of me. My body so incredibly weak. I can’t process what’s happening in my still foggy head. My body, nor my mind can deal with solving the problem. What I need is sleep. It’s the only thing I can think about.

I open my eyes, and everything becomes clear.

Matteo stole me.

He knocked me out. He pretended to care about me when I was at my weakest.

I don’t know how long I've been asleep, but I won't stay his prisoner. My feet hit the floor, I sprint to the door, and throw it wide to see Matteo standing there again like deja-vu.

He smirks. "Video cameras," he says, answering my unspoken question and explaining how he knows I was out of bed.

This time, when I confront him, I'm not decrepit. This time, I remember what he did. I punch him in the nose, making sure to cause the most impact to a sensitive area, as my self-defense classes taught me all these years. I don't wait to see the blood spurting out. It isn't the first time I’ve broken a man's nose before.

I bolt down the hallway, barefoot. He must've changed my clothes because I’m dressed in one of his T-shirts that scarcely covers my butt and underwear. I should've put regular clothes on first before I tried to make my escape, but it's too late now. I'll run barefoot as long as it takes to reach my freedom.