LOVE SICK (Heart Memory Transfer #2)

Welcome to my hell. “Here comes the airplane. Open up.” I once thought Alanna to be kind, caring. But as I look at her now, all I can envision is ramming that silver spoon she holds into the side of her throat. My lips are pulled into a tight line because I would rather starve to death than eat her f*****g pureed apple. “Dutch, stop this. You need your strength. You’re injured.” “Yeah, I’m injured because you broke my leg with a f*****g hammer!” I retort, turning my cheek so she gets the memo that I am not going to be spoon-fed—now or ever. Alanna sighs, but I’m not sure what she was expecting. “You’ve already got the perfect patient over there.” I gesture to good ole dead Jonathan with my chin. “He won’t object to anything because he’s, you know…dead.” Alanna knows who my Achilles’ heel is. So it’s only fair that I know hers. She pulls back her shoulders and drops the spoon into the baby dish she holds. It’s got blue bunny rabbits running laps around the lip. “A gift for your nonexistent children? Makes sense you use it, I guess. Seems a waste otherwise.” Tears begin to well in her eyes, but she can blow me. I don’t feel sorry for her. She chose the wrong person to f**k over because the moment I’m strong enough, I’m getting out of here. But not before burning this place to the ground. “I should have let you die,” she says, coming to an abrupt stand. “Yeah, you should have,” I counter, content she’s pissed off. “Because there is no f*****g way I’m helping you, and you want to know why? Because it’s insane. You are insane! And I swear to God, the moment I’m free, you’ll pay for what you’ve done.” Alanna’s lower lip trembles. “I just wanted my happily ever after. Why is that so bad? Why does everyone else get to be happy but me?” “Oh, grow the f**k up,” I spit, not interested in her sob story. “Do you see me skipping off into the sunset, picking daisies? No. No one gets what they want. Did Misha?” Alanna’s tears stop when I mention the man whose heart gives me life—literally. “Did Luna?” Just saying her name makes my heart ache because it aches for the both of us. Me and Misha—her son. This story doesn’t need a rotting corpse or crazed scientist to add drama because it’s a horror story within itself. This is the stuff you read about in Gothic horror books, it’s not real life. But here I am, living this f*****g nightmare. I knew Luna was someone special the moment I laid eyes on her. It felt like I knew her, and that’s because I did. Misha’s heart is what drew us together. His heart gave me his memories and showed me who Luna was. The odds of this happening are slim to none. Alanna said it’s called heart memory transfer, and it’s happened before. That it’s not uncommon for the recipient of the donor heart to fall in love with the donor’s family. But what I feel for Luna, those feelings are mine alone; Misha’s heart has nothing to do with it. Even without his heart, I would love Luna, and I do. I f*****g love her with every beat of this heart. And I never got the chance to tell her that. All because Alanna is hell-bent on using me as some science project to revive her very dead fiancé. “I would rather cut out this heart than give you what you want.” In all honesty, I still can’t wrap my head around what Alanna wants to do. It’s that messed up. She believes she can give Jonathan Misha’s heart and give me my old heart back, which she kept, just in case. What I don’t understand is why she didn’t just do the damn transplant on Jonathan in the first place. Why did she go to the effort of giving me Misha’s heart if she always intended it for Jonathan? “I wish you wouldn’t fight me,” she says with a sigh, removing her glasses and massaging the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, well, I want a unicorn, but I don’t see that happening.” “Don’t you see? We would be creating history. If this is a success—” “Alanna!” I cry, angered and confused she’s still convinced this will work. “This will not be a success. I can guarantee it. All that you’ll be creating is a huge f*****g mess for yourself because you’ll have two corpses to deal with.” “Why do you speak to me with such cruelty?” I blink once, my mouth agape. “Are you serious? I’m your prisoner. I’m tied to a f*****g bed in God knows where and the only person I ever gave a f**k about thinks I’m dead! How do you expect me to behave?” The mere mention of Luna has my heart skipping a beat. I wonder why Misha has been so quiet. Once upon a time, the asshole couldn’t shut up. Now it feels like he’s taken a vow of silence. I know the reason is because he misses her as much as I do. Luna was the tie that connected us, and now that she’s gone, so is he. I’ve never felt more alone than I do right now. To hear Misha, his heart had to be in danger, but something suddenly occurs to me. I thought it was his heart he cared about, but I’m beginning to suspect it was when my safety was in jeopardy that he spoke to me because he could see what Luna and I shared. He loved Luna so much—I can feel how much with every beat of this heart. So it’s no surprise he isn’t speaking. He lost her too. We’ll find her. I promise. This is what I think, hoping Misha can hear me. I got used to the annoying asshole. “You will see reason soon enough,” Alanna says like it’s a premonition. I don’t like it. She exits the room, leaving me alone with Jonathan—the corpse. His bandages are off. The macabre scene is too horrible to believe, but here I am, staring into the yellowed, decayed face of Alanna’s true love. He’s the key to all this. If his well-being was in danger, then I’m certain I could get Alanna to do anything. I need to be creative, however, because I’ll only have one shot at it. Alanna may be crazy, but she isn’t stupid. I have to be smart. But how, when I’m tied to this bed? “Stay away from me! I don’t know who you are! Your name is Jonathan?” Luna’s voice crashes into me, and it’s a flood of emotion. Happiness. Sadness. But at the forefront is love. I miss her so much every part of me aches. I need to get out of here and find her. I quash down the nostalgia and focus instead on why that particular sentence played over in my mind. Instead of Misha, do I now hear Luna? Doesn’t seem so peculiar considering the shitshow I find myself in. Luna asked if that was my name, meaning she must have heard Alanna call me that. So… Alanna must have thought I was Jonathan at one time or another, which means the line between reality and fiction blurs. I need to catch her when it does and hopefully trick her somehow long enough to free myself. My stomach drops at the thought, but I’m prepared to do anything. Alanna returns with a large white ceramic bowl. The steam rising from it reveals it’s time for a sponge bath. The pungent stench of lavender fills the room, a smell which I will forever associate with death. “It’s time for your bath,” Alanna says to me, but her pursed lips give away the fact that she’d rather me smell as bad as Jonathan. “Not that you deserve any kindness.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her to go f**k herself, but I remember Luna’s words. “You’re right. Sorry. I was out of line.” Her surprise is clear, but I don’t overdo it. I don’t want her to grow suspicious. She clears her throat and places the bowl on the bedside table. “Apology accepted.” She doesn’t meet my eyes as she reaches behind my neck and unties the string of my hospital gown. My long hair is tied back, but Alanna brushes a stray strand behind my ear. There’s tenderness to her touch. “I’m going to unfasten one hand so I can get your gown off,” she says. “Please don’t make me regret that decision.” This is the first step toward gaining her trust, so I nod. She unfastens the leather strap around my wrist with a small key, prepared for me to fight. But I simply stretch out my fingers. Truth be told, it does feel good to be freed. Alanna wets her lips and slowly removes my gown. As one of my wrists is still tied, she maneuvers the gown so it gathers by my hand. I’m naked underneath the sheet which rests just below my navel. Alanna inhales sharply as her eyes descend my chest. She reaches out and toys with the crucifix around my throat. The gesture is personal—too personal. “I didn’t take you for the religious type.” “Why not?” “I guess you seem more like the practical type,” she settles for after mulling over my question. “You were hardly accepting of when I told you about the heart memory transfer theory. You looked at me like I had lost my mind.” Been there, done that, but I simply nod, remembering the greater good. She releases the crucifix and reaches for the sponge in the bowl. The smell of lavender has me almost gagging as she wrings it out. She commences washing my chest. The warm water feels good against my skin. We’re quiet, the only thing filling the small space between us is her breathing which seems to heighten with each touch. “She likes you.” Luna’s voice is like a salve to a burn, and I can’t help but soften and harden at the same time. Alanna, however, believes the reaction is because of her. Is that what Luna wanted? “Tell me about Jonathan.” Alanna pauses. “What do you mean?” “Tell me how you met.” Alanna’s eyes narrow, as if attempting to decode whether there is some ulterior motive to my request. But in the end, her need to talk about her dead fiancé prevails. “We met when I was in college,” she says in a faraway voice. “He was playing at a recital. La Campanella. I fell in love the first moment I saw him. The moment we met, I knew I was going to marry him. Over the years, our love was tested. But no one was going to ruin what Jonathan and I shared.” A slanted grin plays on her lips and the image has me wondering what lengths Alanna went to, to ensure no one ruined her happily ever after. “Jonathan’s dream was playing music. He worked odd jobs, but his life was music. I wanted to do everything I could to support him, which is why I got into medicine. I had the brains and the stomach for it. I worked so hard for our future.” Being an artist isn’t easy. I know firsthand how tough it can be. Making a career out of your passion almost always means you’re struggling to pay the bills. Or skipping meals so you can make ends meet. I was one of the fortunate ones because Juilliard changed my life. I was sought out to play at many events—weddings, funerals, and everything in between. Word spread about my playing, and I was making more than enough to live comfortably. But for me, being able to play music was the greatest reward of all, which is why not being able to play has been a death sentence for me. “And Jonathan was okay with that?” Alanna’s lips instantly turn downward. “Why wouldn’t he be?” Most men are proud, alpha dickheads, that’s why, and they want to be the main breadwinner in the family. Alanna’s social standing and the money she makes might have made him feel less of a “man.” And when that happens, some men have to prove their masculinity in another woman’s arms. I don’t get it and it’s as f*****g stupid as it sounds, but it happens. I suddenly wonder how Jonathan died. “You’re a strong, independent woman,” I casually reply. “Most men would be intimidated by someone as beautiful and smart as you.” “You think I’m beautiful?” “Yes, I do.” That may be the truth, but that doesn’t mean I intend to go easy on her when I get the f**k out of here. She clears her throat before dipping the sponge into the water to continue bathing me. She lifts my arm and washes me thoroughly. When she descends to my ribs, I notice her fingers trembling. I hate what I have to do.