cough and gasp for breath. More food. Pushing it away, I turn over, shivering. So cold. And hungry, but not for food.
A vacuous emptiness begs to be filled, but with what, I can’t say. My body is weak. Limbs like ice. The blankets fail to warm me, as if my insides have frozen over.
Hot skin presses against mine, a blazing heat washing over me, through me, like intense beams of sunlight. A hard surface presses into my back at the same time as arms engulf me in a tight embrace. I let out a shaky breath and twist around, nuzzling my face into the smooth plains of his chest. The heat of his body is an inferno of warmth and comfort surrounding me. I don’t want to leave.
Sat upright in bed, I stare down at the proffered bowl in Thierry’s outstretched hand. Steam rises over top of it, and my stomach gurgles at the scent of steaming broth.
“How long was I … sick?”
“It’s been a week.”
“I haven’t eaten in a whole week?”
“I’ve been feeding you chicken broth and water, when you can tolerate it. You haven’t eaten much, though.”
A whole week.
My body feels cold and clammy, exhausted, like it’s suffered a persistent hangover. Mouth bone dry, I swallow back the lump in my throat and sip the broth from the bowl. The heat of it warms my belly and fills the ache of hunger. The intense flavor lingers on my tongue, and it’s then I notice everything is stronger. The light. The scents. The flavors. As though I’m just now experiencing the world that’s been dulled by a thin haze.
“You took care of me through that.” A burning humiliation clings to my cheeks in my not wanting to imagine what he’s dealt with in the last week.
“Yes.”
“It’s not going to get better, you know. The hallucinations are what made me take them in the first place.”
“What hallucinations?”
I shake my head. “Never mind.”
“I won’t prod now, chère. But you’re eventually going to tell me everything.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Instead of answering, he hands me a glass of water, which I gulp a little too exuberantly, dribbling it down my neck. A glance down shows a spanking white T-shirt, undoubtedly belonging to him, and the shift of my thighs confirms I’m not wearing any panties beneath. The smooth glide of skin tells me he must’ve shaved me, at some point, though I don’t remember any of it.
“Why did you do it?” I ask, not bothering to look at him, for fear I’ll see a hard truth in his eyes. A sincerity I can’t bear to face right now.
“Do what?”
“Take away the pills.”
“You were abusing them.”
“Okay, and what are you? A walking after school special? What do you care?”
“It so happens, I watched someone I cared about very much spiral into an unreachable state because of them.”
Wasn’t expecting that. I expected something selfish, which would be fitting for him. Like, he couldn’t stand to watch me take them. Or the bag added too much clutter to his room. “Who was it?”
“My mother.”
“You said cared. As in, she’s no longer alive?”
“No. She committed suicide a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” The wolf has a human side, after all. Almost too human. Painfully human. “That still doesn’t explain why you’d go through all of the trouble. Why not just kick me out?”
“I won’t be kicking you out. Not any time soon. There have been some inquiries. You’re on their radar now.”
“Refresh my memory. A lot’s happened in the last week. Exactly who is after me again? And why?”
“I haven’t entirely figured that out. I’ve been busy, as well, in the last week.”
“Laundering money must really take the wind out of your sails.”
“Yes. Between that and cleaning up vomit and shit, I’m pretty much whooped.”
Another flare of embarrassment heats my cheeks. “I didn’t ask you to do any of this. I would’ve been just fine with my pills.”
“Until you ran out of them. Then, who knows what desperate stunts you might’ve attempted.”
“What, are you afraid I’m going to run to Jo’s and spill all your secrets? There’s nothing here. Where am I going to go?”
“That’s the shit of addiction. You don’t really know until you’re desperate enough.”
Looking away from him is all I can do to shield myself from the truth in his words. I’ve done many desperate things for my pills. Scary things. “I still crave them. That’s not going to go away, you know. And when the nightmares kick in? I’m going to be a