I’ve sat in this f*****g chair, in this fleabag motel, for I don’t know how many hours, watching her. But she doesn’t stir. She simply sleeps.
She needs to go to the hospital, but I can’t take her there. If I do, they’ll just call Dr. Norton and return us back to hell. And besides, the car I stole from those motherfuckers will no doubt be reported to the police.
I don’t know what happened to Luna, but she’s not the same person. She doesn’t remember me. I’m doubtful she even remembers herself. What did they do to her?
The whine of the armchair I sit in hints it’s about to snap in half if I clench at the arms any harder, but it’s either this chair or I go back and beat those assholes to death. It was hard to stop, and it scared me. I’ve never felt that kind of rage before.
But that voice
