Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Autumn showered, tossing the pills down the drain, and then once dry, she dressed distractedly, her heart beating more swiftly than usual. She was scared, anxious. What if you’re wrong and the price you pay for this comes quickly? She had a scan in about a month. What if they find a tumor or three or six? Will it be worth it? The way her blood raced and her breath came short—not because she felt ill but because she felt a shiver of life move through her sickly body—offered up the answer: yes.
Yes, yes, yes.
The mere idea of feeling unmedicated and experiencing physical normalcy was suddenly a draw too strong to deny. She’d only considered going off her pharmaceuticals because Salma had all but instructed her how to do so, but now that the promise of strength—no matter how momentary—was shimmering before her, Autumn could not let go. She gazed at her sallow, sunken face in the mirror, feeling slightly surreal. She was certain of her choice, yet it’d happened so quickly, with nothing more than an off-the-cuff question and the unexpected instructions from her favorite nurse.
Maybe that’s the only way it could have happened. If you’d considered it too much, you’d have chickened out.
She was glad she hadn’t chickened out. She turned away from the mirror.
She’d only skipped two doses, but already she felt better, stronger. The nausea had gone completely, and she ate all her breakfast for the first time in months.
Over the next several days, her stomach pains diminished and then disappeared. When she looked in the mirror one night before bed, there was color in her cheeks, and her lips had taken on a subtle rosy hue where before they’d been practically bloodless.
Her muscles ceased aching, and one day as she headed to dinner, she came to a stop right outside the cafeteria, realizing suddenly that the ceaseless ringing in her ears had stopped. She blinked, bringing her fingertips to her ears in wonder and almost laughing out loud. The tinnitus—yet another side effect of the medication—had been ongoing and aggravating, but she’d learned to live with it as if it was just part of existing. As she stood there, the realization that it in fact was not almost brought tears to her eyes. Her head felt clear, the fogginess that had been a constant companion had lifted, and she felt bright and alert. Alive.
Autumn palmed the pills for the next week and then the next, her strength doubling by the day.
Yes, but there will be a price.
She pushed the thought aside. She was willing to pay it, she knew that much. She just didn’t want to consider it too closely and risk her fear taking over. So far, she hadn’t dreamed of her monster. But again, those running dreams—or, more specifically, hiding dreams—had come during the full moon. The more she’d thought about it, the more certain she was. There was a possibility she’d never dream of him again, the possibility that all the medication she’d been taking, not just the sleep aids, and that inexplicable pull of the moon Salma had spoken of had worked in perfect combination somehow to bring on that particular vivid dream. So on the night of the full moon, she’d take a dose of the sleep medication. A singular dose would wear off the next morning. But she wouldn’t take the others. She refused to feel hopelessly ill again when she’d just begun to really live. Even he wasn’t worth giving that up for. She pulled her shoulders back. Will it work? There was only one way to know. There was still a little less than two weeks until the next full moon.
A week to get strong.
She wanted Salma to see her. She wouldn’t tell her what she’d been doing, but she would certainly know. She wanted to share her happiness, brief though it might be, with someone. But Salma hadn’t been to her room since Autumn had started palming the pills. Was she on vacation?
She walked to the nurses’ station where Ian was sitting in front of a computer. He smiled as she approached. “Hey, good lookin’.”
Autumn smiled back, leaning on the desk. “Hey, Ian. I haven’t seen Salma this week or last.”
His smile slipped. “They didn’t tell you? She was let go.”
Autumn’s breath stalled. “What? Why?” No, no, that can’t be right. Salma was the best of the best.
And though Ian looked sad to deliver the news, he merely shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Is there any way to get in touch with her?”
“Not that I know of, and I doubt they’d give out her personal information anyway.”
Woodenly, Autumn pushed off the counter, muttering a thank you to Ian and walking away. Loss twisted through her, but she steeled her shoulders. She was no stranger to loss. In fact, one might say she was intimate with it. So why did it still hurt so badly? I need you, Salma.