He laughs at this, standing up and pulling on his shirt. “No, silly. Something hot. Something naughty.”
“Uh, any suggestions?” I ask him. What is going on with my legs? I can’t quite figure it out.
“I have lots of suggestions. Magic Mike is almost too easy, right?”
“Oh, god,” I say with a groan.
“How about Man-candy Mike?” he offers.
“Well… if you really want me to say that out loud,” I answer, trying to be fun and teasing. But I’m feeling super weird.
“Muscles MD?”
“No way,” I answer. What am I feeling? Is this the effect of those drugs finally kicking in? What did he give me?
“You’re right, we should keep it simple,” he answers. “Just something classic and normal.”
My arms and legs are very heavy. I am having trouble moving them.
“Can I look at your phone?” Mike asks, picking it off the table where it’s sitting.
“Sure,” I say slowly, as I try to move my body. Did he give me… sedatives? Paralytics?
“I want to change my display name in your phone,” he declares.
“Okay,” I say softly. “Go ahead.”
I’ve already deleted the thousands of text messages and pictures from Gabriel, so there’s nothing too incriminating for a new husband to find there. I think. (I have them all backed up somewhere safe.)
“There we go,” he says, moving over to show me the phone. “What do you think?”
When I see the name, I have to blink. My mouth suddenly goes very dry.
Mike shrugs. “Not cute and charming enough? We’ll think of something better. But I’ll leave it like that for now.”
A sensation of dread crawls into my neck, like the dead, icy fingers of a corpse clawing at my skin. I can’t breathe. I can’t respond.
“Anyway, Milla, I’ve got to go to work now. Enjoy the drugs. The sensation should wear off soon. But I can always get you more drugs before that happens, if you like the feeling. We’re going to have so much fun.” With that, he kisses me and leaves.
I am left here, unable to move, staring at the ceiling, and hyperventilating.
Sexy Babe.
That was the nickname he entered on my phone. Sexy Babe.
Does that mean that he…? My blood runs cold as realization dawns on me.
“What the fuck?” I whisper.
It’s almost too horrible to process at first, as my mind connects the dots. All the blood has drained out of my face and hands. I struggle to move, but my body is paralyzed.
I’m not sure if I want to throw up or pass out… or some combination of both.
My world comes crashing down around me. The bruises on Yvette’s comatose body. They were identical to the shape of the bruises I saw on my own hip earlier. And I don’t even know how I got those bruises. What happened last night? The penis pictures on her phone. The texts asking to tie her up. The rush to sedate her. The refusal to put her on a plane to France for private medical care…
Do you know that her husband is rich or something? That’s some rich people shit.
The pregnancy.
The pregnancy that ended my relationship. When Gabriel promised he wouldn’t… and said that he didn’t.
“What the fuck!” I whisper, because it’s all I can do. I try to clench my hands into a fist, but my fingers barely move. I can’t lift my arm. My phone is too far away for me to use. My heart starts beating rapidly as I realize the gravity of the situation.
Fuck! I married him. I thought he was someone I knew and trusted. I thought he was safe.
I can’t breathe or move, and I’m starting to panic as the room starts spinning and my vision falters. Oh, god. Did he know that my father just died? That I received an inheritance? I really feel like I’m going to pass out. All the cups of coffee he made me—getting the best sleep of my life? Has he been drugging me this whole time? Roofies?
A few questions swirl in my mind, burning holes into my brain.
Did Yvette ever really need to be put on a ventilator?
What did he do to her?
What is he going to do to me?
My heart is beating out of my chest and I know I’m about to lose consciousness. I just hope that whatever mix of drugs he put in my system isn’t powerful enough to kill me. I try to turn my head to the side, and I am able to move it barely a few inches. I look at my phone with desperation. I wish I could call someone for help. But it’s so far away. The room is so large, and it almost looks like it’s getting larger and my phone is moving farther away.
I fight to bend my fingers, but I cannot make my arm budge. I can just about wiggle my toes, but I can do nothing with my whole leg. I fight so hard to move anything. Anything at all. I try to flail around like a fish out of water. Desperately. I scream, fighting with every ounce of strength in me.
But nothing. Fuck! I can’t believe I trusted him. I can’t believe I let him do this to me.
My chest is heaving with every gasping breath. I thought he was a good thing in my life. I really thought he was a good man. Weird images and memories pop into my mind. There’s a morgue in the hospital. A morgue that Mike used to visit very frequently…
I want you to just lay there, and pretend you’re dead.
Oh my god. I had unprotected sex with him.
“What the f—”
I can’t restrain it any longer. I throw up all the contents of my stomach. And then the room darkens rapidly, and I know I’m passing out.
Gracefully, in my own vomit. Let’s hope I don’t drown in it.
But maybe I deserve to die by drowning in my own vomit, for how stupid I’ve been when it comes to men…
I’ve become the sick wife, now.
Part II
Gabriel
Chapter 26
