The Sick Wife by Lost Loretta (motivational books to read .TXT) 📕

if she’s still comatose somewhere in this house? What if I’m part of a collection of sick wives? Dread creeps into my chest, and I am so creeped out, I wish I could run the hell away from this house. Fear prickles my skin like little spiders crawling all over me. And there might actually be spiders—I don’t know, I can’t feel my body or move my head to look at it.

“Okay,” I whisper to myself softly. “I’ve watched too many horror movies. Calm down, Milla.”

But keeping your first wife locked up somewhere in your basement or attic isn’t a new idea. It isn’t even specific to horror movies. Even Jane Eyre’s man did that. And he was the hero of that book. Gross.

Really, being heavily sedated all day isn’t going to be great for an overthinker like me. I don’t think I’m as strong as Evie was. I was already on antidepressants and going to counseling before this all began. I was already inches away from stepping in front of a subway train.

If this is the best that life has to offer me, why would I want to continue like this? Why would I even want to fight so hard to get out of this situation, and go back to a life where nothing ever goes well for me? Why the hell would I ever want to go on another date again, if this is what happens when I try?

Look at what happened with Gabriel.

Look at what happened when I married the safe, reliable doctor.

It’s not like Mike is someone I just met. This is a man I’ve probably spent thousands of hours working beside. For years. How can I ever grow to trust someone else again?

I don’t have the energy to spend years getting to know someone, just to end up drugged and paralyzed, passing out in my own vomit. It’s all a waste of time. People can be so awful to other people. Maybe the subway train was the best idea I’ve had in years.

I should let Mike do whatever he wants. I should just stay like this. I wasn’t really alive before, anyway. What kind of existence was that, just staying alone in my apartment, watering my plants? I have a cactus. They survive for a really long time without water. They don’t even need me. They definitely don’t notice that I’m gone.

When Yvette was first sedated, I remember thinking for a while that I wish I could switch places with her. I remember thinking that she had so much to live for, and I had nothing. That I deserved to be half-alive. That it was more suited to me.

Well, here I am, now. Unable to move. Be careful what you wish for.

Do you want to know the worst part?

I kind of miss Mike.

I also hate his guts and want him to burn in hell for what he did to Evie, and what he’s currently doing to me. But the room is so quiet. I only have my thoughts, driving myself mad.

I don’t want to be alone anymore. Here, or anywhere.

Maybe Mike is just the best I get in life. And I have to find a way to live like this. I chose to marry this man. I made my bed, I vomited in it, and now I need to lie in it. At least someone is coming home to me tonight. At least there will be someone beside me. I should look on the bright side of things.

A single tear slides down my cheek.

Chapter 37

“Oh, Milla… you’ve been sick everywhere.” I wake up to Mike cleaning vomit off my face and the bed. I try to move, and my hand has more flexion than before, all the way up to my elbow. I think that maybe I can stand. I must have slept for a while, and the drugs are wearing off.

“I think I had a bad reaction to whatever was in the syringe,” I lie to him, groaning. “Those drugs must not agree with my body.”

“Yes, I can see that,” he says gently. “Don’t worry, I will try something different next time.”

“I feel filthy. Do you mind if I take a shower?” I ask him.

“Sure, go ahead. I’ll change the bedsheets.”

I still have some trouble getting up, and the room spins around me. My head is throbbing. But I need to get up. I need to move around. I have been stuck on that bed in that one position for god-knows-how-many hours.

“Do you need help?” Mike asks.

I hate to admit it, but I do. But I don’t want him to come near me or touch me. “Where is my phone?” I ask him dizzily. “Can you bring it to me?”

“You don’t need your phone to shower,” Mike says with a frown. “Who do you want to call, anyway?”

“It’s just a habit to check my messages,” I tell him softly as I rub my head. “Sometimes I play music while I shower.”

“There’s a voice activated music system. You can talk to the speakers in the shower and ask them to play whatever you like.”

“Oh, thank you. That’s convenient,” I say with defeat.

“Go and freshen up,” Mike says gently. “I’ll be waiting here when you get out. Maybe we can get something to eat.”

“Okay, Mike.” I push myself to get up, and dizzily stumble toward the bathroom. I also badly need to brush my teeth. I try to look around the room, but I have no idea where my cell phone is. He must have moved it, and that drives me a bit crazy. When I enter the bathroom, I place both hands firmly on the cold quartz countertop to keep me balanced, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

I don’t even recognize myself.

Even if I had my cell phone, who would I call? Veronica? And tell her what? That she was right. That the whole wedding was a joke. That I failed yet another thing with another guy. That my life is