Paint Me Claimed - Book 2

23| A solemn vow

Leonardo

When Zemira discovered my addiction, I had assumed the worst of my days had begun. Dramatic, I know but one would always defend their addiction, no matter what. An alcoholic would state they had it under control and so was a druggie.

I wasn't any different. The woman who wanted to help me suddenly resembled a monster than the goddess she was - unwilling to leave my lousy ass and save herself.

A week of spending my money and time at a de-addiction center brought me to face the grim reality of who really was the monster. I was. There was no doubt about it.

The funny thing about monsters was - they'd hide. Always. I did the same. The truth about my dependency on those pills that felt better than any ecstasy trip I'd ever had made me lie.

To Zemira, to the world. I wasn't doing better than when they found me in an almost dead condition in Afghanistan. I was doing way worse.

Down the rabbit hole and into the pit where all addicts sought asylum. A lie that showed me as better - hiding the truth that always in pain till I wasn't. The dependency on those painkillers didn't start till I left Miami.

Amara had complete control over those dosages. She even ensured that I'd rather bear through the bearable discomfort rather than seek help from those pale pills.

When we moved to the new city, with her impending custody battle, she lost control of how she managed my medication.

I'd never blame Amara. She did everything in her control to ensure I was doing well - both with the physiotherapy and counselling.

It was me, who decided to deviate.

It began in a very subtle and almost unrecognizable manner at first. Almost like the early winter chill creeping in, first drying the skin and eventually growing strong to draw out goosebumps to turning intense - bone-jarring and teeth-clattering.

That was how I recognized I was addicted to those tiny pills.

They took control of me - making me feel like I was always floating on a cloud. Every woe of mine faded when I took them.

Every painful sensation I had - not that I had any by the time I began taking them - faded. Left as a happy, content man, my dependency grew.

Half became one, then two and three.

When I visited Zemira at her office for the first time, the bottle of my elixir accompanied me, resting in my pocket.

I never told Zem but I always felt territorial about her whenever she was with Sam. Those pills didn't help with the feeling. It aggravated them.

"Leo."

Someone opened the door to my room.

It was the helper staff, always making an appearance whenever Zemira came to meet me.

I got off the couch I'd always found myself on every time I was hit with a revolting feeling, body craving for what I made it used to, mind split in two to run away from here or endure everything to ensure I gave Zemira what she deserved.

A decent, sober man she fell in love with. More than that, I wanted to be my past self, away from the guilt before everything in my life began crumbling.

I walked with the staff outside my room, passing through the brightly-lit hallway, and gazing through all those closed doors with weird room numbers.

Z01 or GP-65.

Mine was U-97. Not that I understood what U stood for, or why none of the room started with the alphabet A to P, I decided not to remain fixated.

The corner, turning me towards the visitor's room always tempted me to run. That was when I began my stay here. Today, a week since being admitted, it felt better.