Page 5 of Chain Me

Had he stooped to poisoning me again?

Or perhaps a more nefarious ailment to drive me insane for good?

Anything to retrieve the one thing of value I had that might interest him: his contract. He was most likely stalking me from some unseen hiding place, waiting for the chance to pounce. In the meantime, he settled for gloating from afar.Ignoringme.

Well, I would give him something to ignore.

Upon returning to my room, I collapsed onto the chair before my desk. Countless brochures littered the surface, and they fell to the floor as I swiped them aside. Some contained the donor lists of city-owned buildings. Others were political donation rosters. Some pertained to the boards of other area hospitals.

I had scoured them all for even a hint of one name. One mysterious benefactor with a fetish for the dramatic.

Again, my fingers caressed the cross hanging from my throat. The moment he’d given it to me replayed in my mind almost daily.

“Wear it,”he’d insisted.“Take it off and you’ll die.”

Despite the warning, I had considered doing just that. I’d eventriedto in the days after he’d left. But something always held me back. Stupidity, most likely. Or maybe pride?

Resisting him was what the pathetic, old Eleanor had done, and look where that had gotten her.

Though look what the opposite had gotten me, current-day Eleanor.

The same damn thing—loneliness.

Dejected, I watched my hand fall onto my lap. Then I wrenched a drawer open and fished out a page of stationery and a pen from inside it. The moment I pressed the nib to the paper, an odd flash of déjà vu made my hand tremble, which made ink splatter onto the page.

I envisioned a painfully handsome man with the face of an angel, his voice cruel as he dished out his trademark proposal.

“Live or die, Eleanor?”

How naïve I’d been back then. After all, there’d never been a choice. Just a game, but this time, I vowed to make my own rules—even if I had to scribble them hastily in black ink.

I never fell for it, you know. I never believed that you could actually want me. I never did…

When I finished writing, I folded the page and attempted to stick it into an envelope. I would never send it, of course.

I hadsomedamn sense of modesty. It was the mere thought of it that mattered: shoving all of my pathetic fears regarding him into a small space and sealing it with a flick of a finger.

“Damn!” Faint heat prickled the pad of my thumb and I popped the digit into my mouth, though I barely felt the sting. Just…

Hunger.

My teeth bored down on their own accord, extending the bitter flavor coating my tongue. I must have grazed my hand over something without realizing it. Something that didn’t make my stomach rebel in disgust. Instead, it triggered a thought that blotted out all others.

I need more.

I scanned the surface of the desk as I sucked, hunting for whatever substance I might be tasting. Solid oak. Paper. Black ink.

Reddroplets on white parchment.

Light flickered over the domed surfaces while my brain finally connected the taste with sight.

Oh god!I wrenched my thumb from my mouth and lurched from the chair. Too fast. My hand flew out, grasping for the edge of the desk, but I missed. Both legs gave way, pitching me onto my knees. My stomach lurched at the pain. Demanding, sharp, pinching cramps…

Food. That would fix it. All I needed was a meal.

I considered bread, or a salad, or whatever might be lurking in the pantry down below, and I’d barely made it onto my hands and knees before my stomach roiled again. There was no hiding from what came up this time. Crimson painted my fingertips, caught beneath the spray, tainting my touch. Still gagging, I snatched the finished letter from my desk, hauled myself upright, and staggered toward the door.

Modesty was for healthy people.