[Summer's POV]
Moonlight spills across our bedroom like liquid silver, painting Scotty's sleeping face in gentle shadows. I watch him, memorizing every line, every curve, the steady rise and fall of his chest. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps. So trusting. The perfect day we shared, watching Grease, ordering takeout, making love twice, has left him in a deep, contented slumber.
I trace my fingertips across my still-flat stomach, a smile playing on my lips. He's been so eager lately, so willing to fill me up. No hesitation, no condoms, just pure, raw connection. It's only been a little over a week since I came back, but already he's falling into the rhythm of us again.
My poor, sweet addict husband.
He doesn't even know what I've discovered.
Since returning, I've meticulously combed through every inch of this apartment, checking behind picture frames, inside light fixtures, beneath loose floorboards. All the places an addict might hide their treasures. And my search paid off. Four small, unmarked pills hidden in various spots around our home. Pills he's honestly probably forgotten about. He's too lazy to look as hard as I did after all.
I know what they are without testing them. After years of watching Scott struggle, I could identify an oxy in my sleep.
I was hoping Jenna had been right, that he'd relapsed on his own. It would've made things so much easier. But clearly, he hasn't. She must have just been trying to bait me. Or maybe she's just an idiot.
I slide out of bed and shut the door quietly behind me, careful not to disturb him.
I pad silently through our darkened apartment, my bare feet barely making a sound against the cool floor. The camera system's tiny red light blinks steadily in the corner, watching, recording. I installed those cameras to make Scotty feel secure, to prove I wasn't going anywhere, but I made sure to know their blind spots too.
I slip into the perfect dead zone beneath the living room camera. I crouch down, feeling along the underside of the entertainment center until my fingers find the small plastic bag taped securely to the wood.
I peel it off carefully, holding the baggie up to the faint moonlight streaming through our blinds. Four small pills, so innocuous looking, yet powerful enough to bring my husband back to me completely.
"Perfect," I whisper, turning the bag over in my palm.
My plan is simple. Strategically and carefully, I will microdose bits of crushed pills into his drinks when we're spending the day together. Just enough to make his brain associate that warm, floating feeling with being near me.
When he's at work, he'll feel the subtle crash, that emptiness that only I can fill. The perfect conditioning.
I tuck the baggie into my pajama pocket, leaning against the wall as I consider the logistics. Four pills isn't much. Maybe a week's worth of microdosing if I'm careful. Then what?
A heavy sigh escapes me as I think about Taevion. He always has product. Always. Getting to them would be risky, though.
I slide down to sit on the floor, drawing my knees to my chest. Maybe it's time for step three of my master plan anyway. The pills will help loosen him up, make him more receptive, but I need something bigger to cement his feelings for me. But that will take time.
I close my eyes, remembering how he used to look at me before everything fell apart. Those warm brown eyes following me around the room, filled with such pure adoration, it almost hurt to witness. The way he'd sometimes just stop whatever he was doing to tell me he loved me, for no reason at all.
"God, I was such an idiot," I mutter into the darkness, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.
Every morning, I'd catch him watching me get ready, not even trying to hide it. Sometimes I'd turn around while brushing my hair and find him leaning against the doorframe, this dopey smile on his face like he couldn't believe his luck.
"What are you staring at?" I'd ask, pretending to be annoyed.
And he'd just shrug, those warm brown eyes never leaving mine. "Just the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
I'd roll my eyes back then, like his devotion was something ordinary, something guaranteed. I had no idea how rare it was to be loved like that, completely, without reservation or condition.
The memory makes my chest ache. I had everything and treated it like nothing.
I pull the baggie from my pocket again, rolling the pills between my fingers through the plastic. This is my second chance. My last chance, really.
Standing up, I make my way to the kitchen and grab the coffee grinder from the cabinet. It'll work perfectly for crushing these into a fine powder. I'll start tomorrow morning, just the tiniest amount in his orange juice. He won't taste it, won't notice anything except a subtle warmth spreading through him as we eat breakfast together.
By the time I'm done with these four pills, he'll associate that feeling exclusively with me. And then I'll figure out how to get more. I'll do whatever it takes.
I hide the grinder with the baggie taped inside to its underside in the back of the cabinet behind the blender we never use. Perfect. Then I wipe down every surface I've touched, making sure to leave no trace of my midnight activities.
As I slip back into bed beside Scott, he stirs slightly, his arm automatically reaching for me even in sleep. I curl against him, pressing my ear to his chest to hear the steady thump of his heart.
"I'm never letting you go again," I whisper, knowing he can't hear me. "I'll make you need me the way I need you."
His breathing changes slightly, and for a terrifying second, I think he might be awake. But then he settles, pulling me closer in his sleep. I exhale slowly, relaxing into his warmth.
Tomorrow is the beginning of our new life together. This time, I won't take a single moment of his love for granted. This time, I'll be the one watching him with desperate, hungry eyes.
I can't lose him again.
I won't survive it.