Toxic: A Dark Romance

“What is it, exactly, that you want me to do?” I ask. My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips. My throat is so scratchy it causes my eyes to water. Panic will do that to you, I guess.

“I want you to place a call for a medical emergency.”

My mind races, connecting dots that I’d been too distracted—or too blinded—to notice in the first place. That’s why Gracin targeted me the day we met. Why he hadn’t left me alone since. Why he wormed his way under my shell when I was at my most vulnerable.

“You—” I grind my teeth to stem the flow of words. “This is your end game. You didn’t pursue me because you were concerned about what my husband was doing to me. You don’t give a shit about that.”

He draws close, but I don’t back away. His eyes flit over my hard expression. “You can punish me for it later,” he says. “Make the call.”

Gracin prowls back to the bank of computers where Annie slumps somewhat drunkenly over the keyboard. He places a hand on her head and absently strokes her hair.

Threat signed, sealed, and delivered.

My hands don’t tremble as I reach for the receiver and punch in the number to the control room. The line rings for a few long seconds, and then a familiar voice answers, “Control Room, Sergeant Bennet speaking, how may I help you?”

“Sergeant Bennet, this is nurse Emerson from medical. I have a patient here in need of an ambulance for transport to the hospital.”

“Inmate’s number and medical information?”

“Number 8942589. The inmate is presenting with symptoms of appendicitis. He needs to be transported immediately for further evaluation.” I try to interject enough impatience in my tone to make it seem like I’m just doing my job.

“Prepare inmate for transport.”

“Thank you,” I say.

I turn to find Gracin standing behind me. “Get on the gurney,” I snap. “You’re supposed to be sick.”NôvelDrama.Org: text © owner.

“I like it when you’re feisty,” he says with a smile as he hops onto the gurney and reclines.

“I like it when you keep your mouth shut.”

He groans as if in pleasure. “You’re only making this better for me, little mouse.”

I strap him down and pat my pockets to make sure my car keys are still there. I won’t have a lot of time between them loading him into the ambulance and making my escape. The next person through those doors will find Annie, who probably won’t hesitate to tell them exactly what happened, then the police will be hot on my tail. I just have to be gone before that happens.

I don’t know where I’ll go, but it will have to be somewhere far enough away that Vic, the cops, and Gracin can’t find me.

Like a deserted island in the middle of the ocean.

“What are you thinking about so hard?” Gracin asks as I begin to wheel him down the hallway.

“A vacation,” I retort. “Now shut up. You’re supposed to be incapacitated and in excruciating pain.”

“Keep talking to me like that,” he croons, “and a part of me will be in pain.”

“Your head, because I may accidentally dump your ass on the concrete. Keep your mouth shut until we get to the ambulance.”

Before he has a chance to reply, the officer summoned by the industrious Sergeant Bennet arrives to escort us to the ambulance at the gate. My chance to turn back comes and goes, and I can only follow the officer as he moves at a clipped pace. I have to take two steps to his one as we speed through the prison and toward the west gate where the ambulance will be waiting.

From there, everything speeds up. So much so that I can almost pretend it’s happening through the filter of a dream. If it weren’t for that filter, the gravity of the situation would have been too big, so big the weight of it could crush me. When a rush of panic threatens to suffocate me, I feel someone’s hand brush my own and find Gracin watching me. I immediately pull mine away and suck in a strangled breath.

You can do this, Tessa.

We burst out into the bracing cold, and I curse under my breath at the slap of frigid air against my bare skin. Without my coat, it’s like jumping in the Atlantic—Titanic style. Except there’s no hero to talk me off the edge. In my case, it’s the villain forcing me into taking that first plunging step.

The ambulance is already waiting by the gate with another officer in a van, which is idling by the control tower. A part of me had been hoping something would go wrong. Someone would discover Annie or Salvatore, call Gracin on his fake performance, or question me about his illness, but none of those things happen.

The officer escorting us guides the gurney to the back of the ambulance, and I cling to it, if only to have an anchor in the maelstrom of my uncertainty. A paramedic emerges from the back of the ambulance, and he and the officer transfer Gracin to another stretcher and load him without any fuss at all. A sick, oily feeling begins to roll in my stomach, and it’s only my clenched jaw that keeps me from being sick at their feet.

In seconds, the officer is jumping in the ambulance behind Gracin’s prone form as the paramedic slams the door closed. I reel back on my heels, stumbling on the slick pavement and reaching blindly for the door handle to keep myself upright. The ambulance guns for the gate and pauses while it opens. My heart leaps, thudding erratically as I wait for someone to sound the alarm, but they don’t. In fact, the ambulance glides through the open gate, and the van follows behind without any fanfare.

It turns out when your life falls to pieces right before your eyes, it isn’t with a bang . . . it’s with a whisper.

The entire way back through the prison to the control room, I’m certain someone will stop me and demand to know where Gracin is. I jump at every sound and stop breathing each time I hear footsteps or voices coming toward me. But they just pass by without a glance. It should be reassuring, but it has the opposite effect, ramping up my anxiety until I feel like I’m going to snap in half from the tension.

I make it back to the locker rooms and retrieve my things. As I close the door, I realize it’s probably the last time I’ll ever be back, so I open it back up, clean out all of my belongings, and throw away what little trash is inside. My bag is a bit heavier than normal, and my steps are hesitant and dragging as I make my way to the control room, where chaos reigns.

Two officers are on duty, and they’re both so busy it takes a few minutes for them to even see me waiting on the other side of the thick glass. One raises an eyebrow at me, and I put my keys through the slot and sign out. It isn’t the end of my shift and Annie is the only nurse on duty, but they don’t comment, and I don’t dare draw any attention to the fact.

“See you tomorrow,” are the first words I wring from the officer.

I make an appropriate reply, but my voice cuts out. I can’t force any enthusiasm into the words.

I won’t be back. Either I’ll escape this place or I’ll be in jail myself.

The shock hits me on the drive home, and then numbness floods through me, and I’m grateful for it. It blots out all the doubts, the fears, the hopes. I feel everything through a pleasant layer of warm, fuzzy cotton and only manage to pull into the drive safely because I’ve driven it so many times it’s practically muscle memory.

Moving on autopilot, I park and head straight for the bedroom to pack. There’s no reason for me to delay leaving. Plus, I don’t want to risk being here when Vic—or the cops—show up. Bras and panties, T-shirts, jeans all get tossed in the bag indiscriminately. I won’t need anything fancy. Especially not the trashy lingerie Vic insisted I wear. That stays in the drawer. I give a passing thought to burning it, but it wouldn’t be worth the effort.

I grab my things from the bathroom and look around the room I’ve lived in for the past three years. There aren’t any mementos from my childhood, no photo albums or baby blankets. I threw everything from my wedding day away after the honeymoon and didn’t bother scrapbooking after it, either. There isn’t anything besides clothes that I care to take with me.

Maybe it’s a good thing. A fresh start.

I shoulder the bag and head for the front door, plotting my route as I go. Maybe I’ll head for Mexico. Somewhere with the sun to burn away all the dreariness.

I wouldn’t have even seen the drawing if it wasn’t taped to the door right in front of my face. There’s only one person who could have put it there. I don’t realize I’m saying, “Nononono,” until my voice chokes with tears. It’s a drawing of me the day I visited his cell. I’m clinging to the bars and looking a bit wild—my eyes bright and my hands gripping the metal like it’s a lover.

Certain I’m imagining it, like a waking night terror except in the middle of the day, I don’t believe Gracin’s standing in the doorway until he says my name.