Two for Joy - Louise Collins Page 0,48
nausea.
Romeo picked up the bucket from the chair by the bed. He thought of Chad, sliced, bleeding, his throat slit, and rather than fight the build-up of bile, Romeo relished it until he heaved into the bucket, choking and spitting. The more he threw up, the worse his headache got, until he wasn’t faking, it was a cycle of headache and sickness.
Zander peeked looks at him, but took a long time to come back over. Romeo wheezed, and panted, then looked up at him.
“Where am I?”
“On the hospital wing.”
“Hospital wing,” he repeated, “I don’t understand.”
“Justin Steel punched you in the face.”
Romeo turned his head, then went to reach for it with his secured hand. It rattled, he stared down at it, then yanked on it some more.
Zander took the bucket off his lap, put it aside, then pinned Romeo to the bed by his shoulders.
“Calm down.”
“Why have you chained me up? You can’t—you can’t do this.”
“I need you to relax, Romeo.”
“Romeo?”
“Yeah, it’s your name.”
Romeo stopped fighting against Zander and sunk into the bed. “Yeah … of course it is.”
“Try and … try and get some rest.”
He slumped back, breathing heavily. Romeo closed his eyes, murmuring incoherently to himself. He could feel Zander watching him, studying him, and then he left to check on someone else.
Romeo repeated the performance again, and again. All day.
He complained of a headache, of bad vision, and in general, acted confused, but Zander didn’t do anything. He looked worried, made a note on his clipboard, then gave Romeo more painkillers, probably too many, but he wasn’t concerned about his patient accidently overdosing, he was more worried about making a mistake.
Zander helped him get to the bathroom, but he made sure he appeared unsteady on his feet, leaning heavily on Zander for his support.
In the morning, Romeo cracked an eye open, and it wasn’t just Zander watching, but the prison governor, stern-faced, military haircut, and Paul and Fred. He hoped—no, he prayed his performance had been enough.
“Where am I?”
The governor frowned, enough that his bushy black eyebrows met in the middle. He looked at Zander who hesitated, then approached the bed.
“You’re in the hospital wing.”
Romeo looked at the bed, the machine beeping beside him, Zander’s clothes.
“Hospital … why?”
“You were punched in the face.” Paul said. “You walked up to Justin’s cell on purpose.”
“On purpose?” the governor asked.
Paul nodded. “Yeah, I saw him do it, he wanted to be punched.”
The governor turned to Fred who shuffled on the spot. “Well?”
“I didn’t see, Paul was in front of me.”
Romeo carefully pressed his cheek. Still swollen, still tight, he hissed, tried to move his other hand to cup his face, but the cuff clunked, and he stared down at it.
“Why—why have you chained me to the bed?”
“Calm down.” Zander said, trying to keep him still.
He focused on the pain, the dreams about magpies, Chad being tortured, and his heart started to thump, the speed picked up until the machine beside him started beeping more urgently, flashing colors.
Paul and Fred both backed away, but the governor came closer, darting looks between the beeping machine and Romeo struggling against Zander. He tried to make it look authentic, muttered, frowned a lot, acted confused.
“You can’t seriously believe him?” Paul said.
The governor hummed. “He could be faking it.”
“Faking what? What the hell is going on?”
“I think we should take this seriously.” Zander said.
The governor bunched his lips together, then nodded. “Sedate him.”
“What?”
“You heard me, sedate him.”
“But if it’s a concussion—”
“Just do it.”
Zander released Romeo, then pressed the button by his head. More men in white suits appeared, and the thrashing and panicking were no longer fake. He didn’t want to be sedated. He didn’t want to fall asleep and see the killer breaking his magpie, but he had no choice.
They pinned him down and stabbed him in the arm with a sedative.
****
Romeo stood in the bathroom of a fancy hotel, breathing heavily, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked raving, like he was at the point of having a nervous breakdown, and others that needed to use the facilities quickly changed their mind when they saw him bracing himself by the sinks.
Nothing, his life felt empty of anything, where positives emotions were supposed to be, there was nothing. He’d got a new job. He’d bought a new apartment. A new car.
From the outside, he was flying high, but inside, he was barely hanging on. The desire in his head was so constant, so all-consuming, a never ending need to itch it, and knowing