25. Chapter 24
Chapter 24
Leon Aldon
When I open my eyes, I'm 14 and strapped to a cold metal table that has been my permanent residence for the last two weeks.
My arms and legs ache from being immobile for so long, stuck in place with thick and cold leather straps digging into my skin and I can't even move my head.
Everything is cold and all I want to do is close my eyes, but I can't.
Trying to sleep physically hurts me, and leaving my eyes closed for too long burns even more than leaving them open.
Everything hurts and my entire body aches and itches to move from this spot.
I hear the loud clack of my mother's heels from down the hallway, making me anxious and terrified the closer the sound gets until my mother is staring down at me with a clipboard in her hands.
"Day 15, Leon. How are you feeling?" My mother asks me.
I can hear her, and I know what she's saying, but my brain can't process a response.
I hear her talk to herself, something about cognitive function decline.
I don't know; I just wish I could close my eyes for longer than a second.
I feel sick, physically sick.
“Mom." I whine.
I wish I could say that my mother looked at me with sympathy when I cried out for her, but she stared down at me in disgust and marked something in her little chart.
I can't keep doing this.
This medicine she has me on hasn't let me sleep in over two weeks, and despite her knowing I could die from this, she keeps giving it to me.
I've not had a rational thought since day two. Everything in my head feels fuzzy; there's nonsense going on in my head, and I'm scared that I'm hallucinating.
I know the things I'm seeing aren't real, but I can't get my brain to tell my body that.
I keep flinching away from the spiders that crawl on me, realistically I know my mother is far too sterile to have spiders in her study.
Realistically, I know this is a controlled environment, but between the spiders, the snakes, and the man in the corner watching me, I feel sick.
I just want to rest and get dressed.
I've been strapped to this table for 15 days!
I've had a catheter since a few hours after the first day, and my body is sore from laying in the same position for too long.
Why won't she let me sleep?
At the very least, can I not have a pillow?
The table under my head is hard and cold, pressing into the back of my skull and leaving a pulsating headache that hasn't faded since the first day.
Everything is a blur until I snap back into my thoughts; I'm not strapped in anymore.
Did she give up?
Am I asleep?
I don't feel asleep; I still feel sick.
I feel exhausted and uneasy.
Am I dead?
Is this finally over and I don't have to be a puppet for my mother anymore?
No matter what I am right now, I know I can't stay like this.
I have to get this IV out so she can't keep dosing me.
I climb out of bed as quickly as possible, having to ignore how unsteady I am on my feet.
The room spins when I let go of the cold, metal table, but I have to ignore it, I have to get this IV out.
I run until I reach her lab. Logically, I know where the IV is, or where it should be, but the man in the corner followed me here.
I know he's not real, I know I'm alone, but he feels real, and he tells me the IV is in my leg.
He puts a spider on my foot and I watch as it crawls up my leg until it bites a spot in the middle of my calf.
“There." The man tells me, pointing to the spider bite that deep in my head I know isn't real. I just can't seem to convince myself that this isn't real.
I grab the bone saw, desperate to get this IV out so I can rest. So, I cut. I cut until everything starts to go dark. I ignore the crunch of bones, the ripping noise of flesh tearing; I ignore the blood gushing and spraying all over me and the once sterile room.
I ignore the searing pain radiating through my calf.
I even ignore my own screams.
All I can focus on is the man telling me to keep going. I'm almost there, and the IV is almost out.
I have to get this IV out.
The muscles slow me down, making me scream out in agony as my nerves and muscles are severed, but I can't stop, I need sleep.
I cut until I hear "Leon!" Screamed at me from a distance, and everything went black.
I wake up in a cold sweat and shoot straight up in bed.
My stump throbs and pulses, this happens every time my mind is forced back to that day.
I hate this fucking leg.
I hate my mother for doing this to me.
She created a drug to make sleep obsolete and needed a test subject that she didn't care about. It's sad that her subject ended up being me; her own child was someone she viewed as disposable.
So, I became her lab rat to test out her drugs.
I became the one who had to learn the hard way that 16 days is how long you can go without sleep before your mind gives up on you and you cut your leg off with a bone saw.
It only takes 16 days to ruin a teenage boy’s life forever.
Fuck!
There’s no way I’ll be able to fall asleep again after that, so I sit up on the edge of the bed and screw my prosthetic into the metal implant sticking out of my calf.
It hurts sometimes when it gets too hot or too cold, but it’s still more convenient than having to wear those sleeves to keep my leg on.
Once I hear the click and know my leg is secure, I stand up and head out of my bedroom.
The house is quiet for the middle of the afternoon; even the football player who tried to follow Maeve home is sound asleep in the basement.
I still don’t know what to do with him, and it’s giving me a headache.
I wonder if I should just let him go.
He didn’t technically do anything wrong; he just planned to.
Plus, he has rich parents, so I’m sure he’ll be reported missing soon, and that just creates a whole new headache for me.
I don’t know. I’m too tired to decide anything right now; I've been up all night already.
I hate that I slept my day away, but staying up to watch over Maeve was my top priority.
I sat at her desk and watched this beautiful creature sleep until the sun came up, and I heard her roommates stumble in the door, already complaining about throwing Maeve out.
The guy didn’t even want to throw her out; he said he liked Maeve and that she had never been a problem, but this girl wasn’t having it. She forced him to choose between herself and Maeve.
She claimed it was because of Maeve’s little fantasy, but the guy pressed her until she finally admitted that every guy she tried to take home last night only had eyes for my girl. Every time she approached a guy, all they cared about was learning Maeve’s name.
So, my girl’s kink was a pathetic and shallow excuse for her to exploit to throw out her much more attractive roommate.
Why that idiot picked her over Maeve, I’ll never know, but he did eventually agree to throw her out as soon as they could get a new roommate lined up.
I didn't need to hear anything else after that.
I know what I need to do; I just need to ensure that our house is ready for her.
I take a pain pill while I wait for my late breakfast to cook. I just need it to give me enough energy to deal with my guest and get my girl, so I add a double espresso for good measure.
Normally, I’d never drink caffeine after noon; it would keep me awake all night, and I know that sounds lame, it is.
I wasn’t like this when I was younger. I used to be able to stay up all night partying, studying, or killing and still function the next day, but that died when I turned 30.
Thankfully, my girl also seems to be an early bedtime, stay-at-home kinda girl, aside from last night.
That’s okay; when we’re together, I won’t allow her to stay out so late and drink so much that she can’t walk straight. I’ll let her get tipsy, have some fun, dance the night away, and come home safely.
With me.
I won’t allow her to go out and party alone, it’s a dark and scary world out there, one filled with monsters and killers.
I should know.
Maeve will know soon enough; she’ll learn that even the nicest people can be scary.
She’ll learn to dance and live among the monsters.