But Virgil's not listening.
He's focused on my arm, searching for a vein, the syringe poised and ready.
Something snaps inside me.
I think about the baby. About Garrett. About all the work I've done, all the pain I've survived, all the reasons I have to stay clean.
And I think: Not like this. I am not going to let this monster win.
I wrench my body sideways with everything I have.
The movement throws off the men holding me, and my arm jerks free just as Virgil pushes the needle forward.
It catches my skin, draws blood, but doesn't hit the vein.
"Goddamnit!" Virgil snarls.
I keep fighting.
Kicking, thrashing, screaming.
I don't care about the pain, don't care about the hands trying to hold me down.
I just know that needle cannot go into my vein.
That poison cannot get into my body, into my baby's body.
One of the men punches me in the stomach.
The pain is blinding.
I double over, gasping, my bound hands useless behind my back.
Terror floods through me—the baby, oh God, the baby?—
"Enough." Virgil's voice is cold. "Hold her still. I don't care if you have to break her arms."
They grab me again, harder this time.
One of them has his hand around my throat, squeezing just enough to make it hard to breathe.
Another is pinning my arm to the chair.
Virgil approaches with the syringe.
"I was going to make this gentle," he says. "A nice, easy high for old times' sake. But you had to fight. You always have to fight." He presses the needle against my arm again. "So, now I'm going to make it hurt."
I close my eyes.
I think about Garrett. About the baby. About the life we were supposed to have.
And then I do the only thing I can think of.
I go limp.
Completely, totally limp. Like I've given up. Like the fight has gone out of me.
The hands on my body relax, just slightly. Just for a second.
