Dirty Addiction (Dirty 2)

It burns slightly and then warms as the liquid fills my skin. He moves the needle to several different places, always slowing down his movements as the needle pierces my skin. I don’t know why he cares if it hurts me. He could be using this against me, to torture me to find out where Nina is, but for some reason, he isn’t.

He sets the needle back down on the table next to him and then gives me a look that tells me to brace myself.

I fist the sheets I’m lying on. My heart races but not in anticipation of the pain. It races when his hands touch my skin.

“Tell me something about yourself. What do you do for a living? Where is your favorite place to travel? What are your hobbies?”

My mouth drops open. He can’t seriously care about any of the answers to those questions.

He waits. No longer touching me or preparing any of his supplies.

I sigh. “I’m a prosecutor. I deal mostly with murder and rape cases. I prosecute the bad guys and lock them away forever.”

He smirks.

“I don’t have a favorite place to travel. I’ve turned into a bit of a homebody since everything that happened with Nina. And my hobbies, I used to enjoy paint—”

He rips my leg off. I know it. The pain sears through my leg and then cascades through my body like a hurricane does a city. Shattering everything in its path and leaving nothing left untouched. My entire body is screaming for relief from whatever trauma he caused. I shouldn’t have trusted him.

“Motherfucker!” I scream as I bend down to grab my leg, hoping to bring it some comfort. The spots return over my eyes, and my head is so light I’m afraid it’s going to drift away from my body.

“Eden, breathe.”

I can’t.

The voice is crazy if it thinks I can focus on anything as silly as breathing. I can’t exist.

Hands rest on my shoulder and chest as I’m gently pushed back down on the pillows behind me.

“Take a deep breath,” the voice commands, again more sternly.

I can’t. Why can’t the voice get that?

“In…,” his hands press against my chest reminding my lungs to breath. The traitors take a breath.

“Now out…” his hands guide my lungs again as I slowly exhale.

“In…” I take a breath in.

“And out…”

I open my eyes that I didn’t realize I had shut and the pain is still there, but manageable. I don’t feel like I’m about to die anymore, more like slow torture that may never stop.

“Tha—” I stop. I’m not going to thank him.

He slinks back from me to his chair. “I hoped taking your mind off what I was about to do would help. Apparently, I was wrong.”

I bite my lip.

“The worst part is over. I’ll rinse out the wound and then close it with stitches. The novocaine I gave you earlier should make it, so you hardly feel a thing.”

I nod.

He begins to work, cleaning out the wound, flushing it w

ith a clear liquid. When he gets the needle out, I close my eyes and grab the sheets again, preparing for a sharp sting. It never comes.

I open my eyes, shocked as I watch him thread the needle through my skin as easily as he would cloth. He’s done this before. He’s too experienced not to have.