The Sick Wife, Lost Loretta [top 10 motivational books .TXT] 📗

even more pathetic and hopeless than we originally thought. I smile sadly at my reflection.

There are worse marriages out there, right? Right? Gabe was able to stay in his marriage through thick and thin, no matter what. Is that what you’re supposed to do? Maybe I can do the same.

When I exit the bathroom after my shower, Mike is standing there with another needle.

“I got a gift for you,” he says softly.

I want to run. I want to scream. I want to beg him not to do it. “Is it okay if we skip the drugs today, please?” I ask politely.

“It would really mean a lot to me if you took them,” Mike responds.

I close my eyes briefly. “Mike… I really just love being able to walk around.”

“And you can always walk around another time,” he says, stepping closer. “For now, I think we should spend some quality time together. This is just an enhancement. I think it makes it more… spiritual.”

Some tears slide out of my eyes. I want to fight. I want to yell. I want to leave. But I can’t find the strength. “Can we just… not use drugs?” I ask him. “Please. I don’t want to.”

“Why are you crying?” he asks, and he seems to be growing a bit angry. “Don’t you trust me? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Mike… I trust you, but this is not necessary. It’s not normal.”

“Not normal?” he asks. “What do you know about a normal relationship? You never even met your last boyfriend in person, right?”

I nod slowly.

“You’re taking antidepressants and doing counseling, Milla. You are just suffering from too much depression and anxiety—that’s why you can’t relax and enjoy this. Normal couples experiment with each other all the time. Play out all kind of strange fantasies. It’s healthy.”

“Mike,” I say quietly. I look to the door. I consider running. But where am I running to? This is the life I chose, even though I didn’t know exactly what I was choosing.

He’s right. I am depressed. And although part of me wants to fight and run, another part of me gave up a long time ago. I’m already so dead inside.

Is being Mike’s sedated sex toy really worse than being flattened under a subway train? I haven’t exactly been taking very good care of myself, so maybe… maybe this is still better than what I was doing before. It’s not a bad thing if I give him what he wants, and he gains some happiness from it.

So what if I’m miserable. Haven’t I been miserable for a long time, anyway?

“Don’t worry about anything, Milla,” he says, stepping closer with the needle. “You’re going to love how it feels, baby.”

I stare at the needle with apprehension. No, Mike, please, says a little voice inside my head.

Tears are streaming down my face.

“Okay, sure. Go ahead. Do whatever you want.” That’s what I say out loud, in surrender.

“Good girl,” he says, stepping forward and injecting the needle into my arm. He kisses my forehead. “You’re going to feel so good. You won’t feel any pain. I promise.”

This time, when my limbs turn to jelly and I start to black out, I welcome it.

I don’t have any pressing reasons to be conscious right now.

Chapter 38

I once had a nightmare about falling into a coma, when I was a child. Except I was too young to understand the word coma so I thought people were talking about a comb. It was the only similar word I knew. I understood that they were saying the person was trapped in their body and unresponsive. So, my childhood imagination caused me to dream about falling off the side of the bed—and magically getting my soul sucked into a hair comb that was lying on the floor.

The nightmare was basically me running around in a giant hair styling tool, trying to get free. Like I was shrunken down to being ant-sized to fit in the comb, and from my perspective, the comb was the size of a house. I screamed at my parents to alert them to the fact that I was in the comb, but they didn’t notice or hear me.

My mother picked up the comb to style her hair. And my soul was trapped inside forever.

I was forgotten to the world.

That nightmare comes into my mind now, as I’m drugged out of my mind and being used for Mike’s pleasure. It was such a frantic, horrible feeling, screaming for my mother to hear me, and her not noticing that I was inside the hair comb.

But now, my mother is gone. My father is gone.

Who do I scream to for help? I don’t want to bother Veronica. I don’t want her to see me like this.

And I can’t talk to Gabe.

My dreams drift toward Yvette. Her hand picks up the comb that I am trapped in, and she begins using it to style her hair. Her hair is beautiful, and she expertly uses the utensil to make it even more attractive. She doesn’t know I’m stuck in here. I don’t want to scream for her help, because she was trapped inside a comb too, for so long. I don’t want her to be sucked in here with me. She puts it down, and she goes over to Gabe, and sits on his lap. They are talking and laughing and happy. He is kissing her and holding her, and they seem perfectly content.

I smile through my tears. If they are happy, it’s all okay. I don’t mind being trapped here.

They are the important ones, and I’m disposable.

I was just in the way.

I belong here.

Mike lets me wake up sometimes to shower or eat, but I don’t have much of an appetite. He supervises all of my awake-time, so I can’t try to escape or call someone. One day, he’s being particularly friendly.

“Milla, you’ve been so good to me lately. You’ve made me so happy since we got married. I know you haven’t