But I can’t. The poison ensures that. Even if I somehow escaped the organization, even if I found a way to protect Anne from them, I’d still be dead in a month.
I decided I wanted to be with her while I could. Wanted to steal whatever happiness was available before the inevitable end.
The pain coursing through my system now is reality crashing back. I pull out my phone with shaking hands and type out a message to Rick.
Need to talk. Urgent.
The response comes almost immediately.
Tomorrow. 2 p.m.
I let my head fall back against the fridge and close my eyes. Tomorrow, I’ll beg for the antidote. Tonight, I just need to survive.
Sleep, when it finally comes, is fitful and full of nightmares. I wake every hour or so, drenched in sweat, my body screaming in protest. The painkillers help, but they can’t completely mask what’s happening.
By morning, I’ve taken enough pills to numb myself into a state resembling functionality.
I shower, the hot water doing little to ease the lingering ache in my muscles. I get dressed, and when I look at myself in the mirror, I barely recognize the man staring back—pale, hollow-eyed, jaw tight with pain I can hardly bear.
But I can fake it. I’ve gotten good at faking things.
I pop a few more painkillers before leaving, just to make sure I’ll be able to get through this Monday at work without collapsing.
The headquarters lobby is bustling when I arrive. I scan the crowd automatically—a habit from years of training—and my eyes land on Anne waiting for an elevator.
She sees me at the same moment, and her face lights up with a smile that makes my chest ache for entirely different reasons.
I join her as an empty elevator arrives, and when the doors close, trapping us in the small space alone together, she immediately reaches for me.
“How are you feeling?” Her hands cup my face, searching for signs of whatever she thinks was wrong yesterday.
I catch her hands and bring them to my lips for a kiss. “Perfectly fine. Like I told you, it was just an upset stomach. Didn’t last long.”
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I can’t tell her the truth. Can’t tell her that I’m dying. That every moment we spend together is one step closer to me leaving her again.
“Are you sure?” She’s still studying my face, worry evident in her eyes.
“Positive.” I lean in to kiss her properly. “See? All better.”
She relaxes slightly, sighing in relief. “Okay. But if you start feeling sick again, promise you’ll tell me?”
“Promise.” Another lie. They’re coming easier now.
The elevator dings, and we separate as the doors open. Anne gives me one last concerned look before heading to her desk, andI smile at her before the elevator doors shut again. At my floor, I force myself to walk calmly to my office.
The moment my door closes, I sag against it. I’m not going to make it very long without the antidote. The painkillers are barely keeping the edge off, and I can already feel their effect waning.
I need Rick to come through.
The morning drags by. Every minute feels like an hour. Anne texts me about grabbing lunch together, but I tell her I’m swamped with work today. I go through the motions of my job—reviewing security reports, responding to emails, attending a brief meeting about updated protocols—but I’m not really present. Just counting down until two o’clock.
Finally, my phone rings.
Private number. Rick.
“Hold on.” I get up immediately, rushing off to take the elevator down to the one place I’m sure will be empty this time of day.
The words stumble out of my lips the moment I step out into the parking lot. “I need the antidote.”
