The Last Boss' Daughter by Sam Mariano

Author:Sam Mariano [Mariano, Sam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-02-06T06:00:00+00:00

“You need to lower the dose.”

My eyes are still closed, but I’m aware of my mother’s voice—persistent, almost desperate.

“The dose is fine.”

“It’s too strong,” she says. “It shouldn’t make her sick.”

“That may not have been the medicine,” a male voice says, dismissively. Indifferent.

Pietro.

My heart leaps and it’s a struggle to keep my eyes closed.

“You didn’t see her—she was completely out of it,” my mother tells him.

His voice is dry. “Yes, I heard. Thor.”

I can’t see my mother, but her tone sounds defensive. “It could be a code name!”

“It’s a fucking Norse God,” Pietro returns, slamming something. “Nothing she said is useful.”

“We don’t even know if he’s connected. I’ll ask her again, I’ll get answers, but you need to lower the dose.”

I hear his heavy footfall. “She won’t talk to you if she’s off the meds. Not even about her goddamn superhero boyfriend.”

“Not off the meds, Pietro, just less. The doctor said….”

I strain to hear what she says, but they’ve left the room and they’re too far down the hall.

I’m afraid to open my eyes. I don’t know if I’m alone. I don’t want anyone to know I’m awake, because I’m not completely clear on what the actual fuck is happening.

I remember the exchange she referred to. I was high out of my mind, rolling around the floor and eating my own hair. Jesus Christ.

They drugged me? With what?

How long have I been here?

The lack of power over my own body is starting to get to me, so I stop thinking and slow down. Take a few subtle breaths, just in case I’m not alone in the room.

I get my shit together and peek under a shuddering eyelid.

Clear.

My eyes open and I look around. I’m not in my bed in my old room. I’m on a cot—I think it’s a cot. It’s narrow and white and sort of hard. Like a hospital bed. I’m in a lower level spare room, the now-blue one with a nautical painting hanging above the bed.

Why didn’t they just put me on the bed?

I look down at my hands and my heart stops. I’m hooked up to something—an IV? There’s a needle taped to the top of my left hand, poked into a vein.

Jesus Christ.

Actually, now would be a really great time for some divine intervention, I think, eyes darting to the ceiling. Anyone listening? Hello?

No guardian angel appears and I guess I’m on my own. Against Pietro and drugs and my own mother. In my old house. Guarded, with an alarm and a security system.

Helplessness swallows me whole. I long for the days when Paul was out doing God knows what and I had a safe bed to curl up in. I long for that shred of security, now that I have none.

And I long for Liam to come crashing through the ceiling like an actual fucking superhero and whisk me away.

I close my eyes, not to maintain a pretense of sleep, but to keep in the tears.

I won’t cry.

I won’t cry.

I’m so tired.

But I have to fight.

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