Chapter 48: George Bush

I’m rocking back and forth, the movement keeping the pain at bay for tiny fragments of seconds before it crashes back over me like a tidal wave. My skin feels like it’s trying to crawl off my body. My joints ache with a deep, throbbing pain that makes me want to tear myself apart just to make it stop.

Nausea hits me again, harder this time, my empty stomach heaving uselessly. I can’t remember when I last ate. I can’t remember anything except the pain, the desperate need for whatever relief Caterina has made my body crave. My useless hands shake uncontrollably, trembling against my sides like dying birds.

I curl tighter into myself on the couch, my entire world reduced to this agony, this desperate need. The tears flow freely now, streaming down my face and soaking into the expensive leather beneath me. I don’t care how pathetic I look. There’s no one here to see my shame anyway.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to the empty room, my voice cracking. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The words become a mantra, meaningless syllables repeated over and over as if they could somehow summon her back. As if my apology could reach her wherever she is and convince her that I’ve learned my lesson. That I’ll never try to be independent again. That I’ll happily remain her broken, dependent pet for the rest of my life if only she’ll come back and make this pain stop.

I hear the doors open, and my eyes go wide. “Cat?” My voice is desperate.

Caterina comes into the bedroom with a frown. Her white coat almost looks like a cape, billowing around her tall frame as she moves toward me. Her crimson eyes scan my pitiful state, taking in every detail of my suffering.

“Baby, look at you,” she says, her voice soft with genuine concern.

“I’m sorry, Cat, please don’t leave me, please stay,” I beg, reaching for her with my useless hands. Every word feels torn from my throat, raw and desperate.

She rushes to the couch and pulls me into her arms, cradling me against her chest like I’m something precious and fragile.

“I’m so sorry, Adam,” she whispers, her voice cracking with emotion I never expected to hear from her. “I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

I cling to her, my useless hands tapping weakly at her coat as tears continue to stream down my face. Relief floods through me so intensely it’s almost painful, my entire body shuddering against hers.

“I had an emergency I had to deal with today,” she says, stroking my sweat-dampened hair with gentle fingers.

She doesn’t elaborate.

“I should have left your medication,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to my forehead. “I didn’t think I’d be gone this long.”

Her hand moves to her pocket, pulling out a small pill box. The sight of it makes my heart race, anticipation cutting through the fog of pain. She gets it open, her crimson eyes never leaving my face as she pulls out a couple of pills, one white, one blue.

“Open up, baby,” she says softly, holding them out to me like an offering.

I part my lips without hesitation, my tongue darting out eagerly. She skips the kiss instead, opting to place the pills on my tongue directly. Her fingers lingering against my lips for a moment. I swallow immediately, desperate for relief, not even waiting for water.

“There you go,” she soothes, pulling me closer. “It’ll be better soon. I promise.”

I collapse against her, exhaustion overwhelming me now that help has arrived. My body feels like a puppet with cut strings, limp and useless in her embrace. She holds me tighter, rocking me gently as we wait for the medication to take effect.

The pills begin to work their magic, spreading through my system like a warm wave, washing away the pain. My tremors gradually subside, the invisible insects crawling beneath my skin retreating with each passing minute. The relief is so intense it brings fresh tears to my eyes.

“I’m sorry, Adam,” Caterina whispers, her crimson eyes scanning my face with genuine concern.

I nuzzle against her neck, seeking more of her warmth, her scent, everything about her that has become my anchor in this twisted reality. As my body starts to feel better, the veil of withdrawal lifting from my mind, I become aware of my physical state. My shirt clings to my skin, hair plastered to my forehead, the leather couch beneath us damp with my perspiration.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. I think I got my sweat all over your suit,” I say, noticing the dark patches where my body has pressed against her pristine white outfit.

Caterina chuckles with a frown, her crimson eyes softening around the edges. “Just stay with me for a minute,” she mutters, pulling me closer against her body, not caring about the dampness seeping into her expensive suit. “I like your sweat.”

I let myself sink deeper into her embrace, my newly recovered hands resting limply against her. The drugs have started working their magic, turning the sharp edges of my world soft and blurry.

My heartbeat slows to match the steady rhythm of hers, a synchronicity that feels like the most natural thing in the world. The penthouse windows frame the Boston skyline, city lights blurring into constellations as my vision softens around the edges.

“You’re safe now,” Caterina whispers, her voice vibrating through her chest and into mine, where we’re pressed together. Her fingers trace lazy patterns across my back, each touch sending ripples of comfort through my weary body.

My eyelids grow heavy, weighted with exhaustion and medicinal peace. I fight to keep them open, irrationally afraid that if I close them, she might disappear again. But it’s a losing battle.

“I was so scared,” I murmur, my words slurring slightly as the medication deepens its hold. “Thought you weren’t coming back.”

“I’ll never leave you, Adam.”

I mumble something that almost resembles words into her chest.

“Shh now, baby,” she whispers, pressing her lips to my forehead. “Fall asleep.”

I surrender completely, letting myself drift away in her arms. Peace settles over me.

*****

I awaken slowly, my consciousness forming like a spirit bomb. The room comes into focus slowly, details emerging from the blur, the familiar white ceiling of our bedroom, the soft whisper of air conditioning, the distant hum of Boston traffic far below.

Something’s different. There’s a strange tugging sensation at my arm, a cold intrusion that doesn’t belong. I glance down and see it, an IV line snaking from my inner elbow to a clear bag hanging beside the bed. The liquid drips steadily, hypnotically, feeding something directly into my veins.

Panic flutters in my chest like a trapped bird. The last thing I remember is falling asleep in Caterina’s arms after my withdrawal episode. How long have I been out? Why am I hooked up to medical equipment?

A movement catches my eye, Caterina, sitting in a chair pulled close to the bed.

“Am I okay?” My voice comes out scratchy and thin, barely recognizable as my own.

Cat’s eyes snap to mine, relief washing over her features before her composure returns. Her lips curve into that possessive smile I’m slowly starting to find endearing.

“My darling boy is finally awake,” she says, leaning forward to stroke my cheek with cool fingers. “I was beginning to think you might sleep forever. Don’t worry about the IV. I’m just ensuring your body... Is up to snuff. Can’t have you suffering unnecessarily, can we?”

I stare at the IV line, following its clear tube from the bag to where it disappears into my arm. The sensation feels familiar now, almost comforting in its clinical precision. I can almost feel the drugs racing through my system, warm and soothing, smoothing away all my rough edges.

A sudden realization hits me, as shocking as if I was reading to a bunch of elementary school students and found out the world trade center was hit by not one, but two planes.

“Cat,” I blurt out, my eyes widening with genuine shock, “I think I’m addicted to those drugs.”

Caterina’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rise slightly, her crimson eyes registering confusion. She tilts her head, studying me as if I’ve just told her water is wet.

“Yeah, of course you are,” she says slowly, as if explaining something to a child. “Adam, did you not know you were addicted?”

I blink at her, my mouth dropping open. “No, I thought they were just regular pain pills that made me zone out or get goofy.”

My mind races back through the foggy memories, trying to pinpoint when casual medication became something more sinister. How could I have missed something so obvious? The way I craved them. The way she fed them to me. The way I wanted her lips on mine. The way her tongue feels like home.

‘Am I addicted to Caterina too?’

Caterina leans closer, her voice softening. “Yeah... some of them are.”

She reaches out, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw with a tenderness that contrasts sharply with her words. Her crimson eyes hold mine, filled with that unique mixture of possession and genuine affection that only Caterina can master. There’s no remorse there, no guilt, only a calm acceptance of what she’s done.

“Adam,” she says, her voice dropping to that intimate register that makes my skin tingle, “I want you to be addicted to those drugs.”

The admission hangs between us, honest and unapologetic. I should be horrified. I should be furious. Instead, I feel a strange clarity washing over me, like finally seeing the complete picture of a puzzle I’ve been working on for months.

“Ohhhhhh,” I breathe out, the sound stretching between us as understanding dawns. “So you can control me.”

“No,” Caterina says matter-of-factly. “So you can never leave me. I didn’t just get you addicted to the drugs, Adam. You’re addicted to me.”

She leans in and kisses me, her lips soft but demanding against mine. And she’s right. It feels good. It feels even better than the drugs. My broken hands twitch uselessly at my sides, wanting to grab her, pull her closer, but they can barely move.

‘I was right!’

When she pulls backI stare at her panting.

Her crimson eyes gleam with satisfaction. “Look at you,” she purrs, “all needy, wanting more.”

I stare at Caterina for a long moment, studying the sharp angles of her face, the crimson eyes that miss nothing, the slight curl of satisfaction at the corners of her perfect lips. She’s just admitted to something so vile, yet I don’t feel any anger. There’s a strange beauty in her honesty, a terrifying clarity.

“Aren’t you afraid telling me this will make me reject you?” I ask, my voice steadier than I expected.

Caterina laughs, the sound both musical and mocking. Her head tilts back slightly, exposing the elegant line of her throat as amusement dances across her features.

“The damage is done, Adam,” she says, leaning in close enough that I can feel her breath against my face. “You’re already mine.”

I search my feelings, expecting outrage, betrayal, the hot burn of anger. But there’s nothing except a strange, floating sensation of acceptance. My mind feels crystal clear despite the drugs flowing through my veins.

I don’t even feel annoyed. I feel surprisingly calm.

“What now?” I ask.

Caterina studies me for a moment, her crimson eyes searching mine for any hint of resistance or rebellion. Finding none, her lips curve into a smile.

“Are you hungry?” she asks.

“I could eat.”