I hate him.
I hate myself more for how badly I needed that.
They leave me like that—half-floating, half-aware. Long enough for the high to peak and for my body to remember exactly what it’s missing.
Then they come back. This time, they don’t give me time to brace. Someone lifts me to my feet so fast I feel fucking disoriented. Then a fist slams into my ribs. Another into my gut. Pain explodes through me, sharper now that my nerves are waking back up. The high fractures instantly, ripped away like a rug from under my feet.
I scream again, even though I don’t want to.
Another hit. My head snaps back. Stars burst throughout my vision. My legs give out, chains biting into my wrists as my weight drops.
He crouches again, calm as ever. “I need youstrong,”he says. “Focused.Useful.”He straightens. “You can’t be that if you’re soft.”
The next blow knocks the breath out of me. I choke, gasping, lungs burning. My stomach twists violently, nausea surging. Withdrawal crashes back in full force—sweats, chills, cramps, the unbearable itch under my skin. My body is a war zone, and I’m losing on every goddamn front.
They don’t stop when I vomit.
They don’t stop when I’m crying.
They stop when Alexei decides they’re done.
When the door slams shut again, I’m left trembling, soaked in sweat and blood, my bodybeggingfor another hit that isn’t coming for god knows how long. I press my forehead against the chain, focusing on the breath that unfortunately is still happening.
How many days has it been?
The lights are on, then they’re off. None of it matters. My body keeps a different clock now, one measured in pain spikes and the distance between doses. I exist in fragments.
A guitar riff plays somewhere in my head. I try to remember my fingers on strings, the calluses, the way sound used to come from my soul. My hands twitch uselessly against the restraints. I’m strapped into a chair now instead of sitting on the floor with chains. I...I don’t know when that happened.
I mumble things I don’t mean to say. Apologies. Names. I laugh for some reason. It’s a broken, startled sound that scares me. Then the door opens, and my body reacts before my mind does. My heart is pounding and my muscles lock up.
“Look at you. You're learning,” Alexei says, circling me. “Your body recognizes me now.”
I don’t answer.
He stops in front of me and lifts my chin with two fingers. The gentleness makes my stomach turn. “You associate me with relief,” he continues calmly.
He nods. Then the needle comes.
I hate the grateful sound I make when it hits. Warmth spreads through me, quieting the desperate hunger. I close my eyes despite myself. For a moment, everything stops hurting. But it’s not enough. Not even fucking close.
Alexei watches closely. “Good,” he murmurs. “Nowrememberthis feeling.” He doesn’t leave this time. He lets the high fade while he’s still there. He watches me for too long, studying when my breathing finally changes. Watches the shaking and sweat start again. The leather creaks as he shifts closer. He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out.
Then I see it.
My stomach drops so hard I think I might actually vomit. He’s holding something between two fingers, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t weigh a fucking ton.
A photo.
It's worn at the edges and creased once down the middle. The one I kept folded into my wallet. The one I stared at almost daily—on planes, in bathrooms, backstage. Before I decided to fucking kill myself that night with Micah. It was always proof that my life was once something quite beautiful.
Her face.
My breath shatters in my chest.
Alexei watches my face intensely. He hums softly, pleased. “Ah,” he says. “This one matters a lot to you.”
“Don’t,” I rasp. My body jerks forward against the straps, instinctive and useless. “Don’t fucking touch that.”