I hate the drugs they give me. But I also love them.
They make the pain go away.
I am a medicated zombie when I take them, but I’ve learned that they help with the guilt and memories which won’t go away. The only times I feel remotely better is when I’m with Bowie.
They took me back to my room this morning and all I could do was look over my shoulder in hopes of seeing him. But the first time I saw him was in the sunroom where it seemed he wanted to tell me something.
Noah made that impossible, however. I can’t believe he’s still standing after being beaten to a near pulp by Bowie. I know the doctors have insisted he take some time off, but he won’t, and that’s what scares me.
I can’t shake the feeling he is watching us closely, like a predator would, waiting for the perfect time to s
