Page 44 of Alik

I’ll be lucky to find Vitaly before he escapes our clutches for good. If there’s one thing Nikita care’s about, it’s getting to Vitaly.

This will get me back on track. This is the only way I’ll ever be able to focus.

I grab my gun from my desk drawer and tuck it into my waistband before pulling on my jacket and heading to the door, my mind made up.

I have to solve this puzzle.

12

OLIVE

The underside of my skin itches.

My arms are red and inflamed, my nails cracked weapons aching from overuse, but still, I find no relief from the constant itch.

I sit in the middle of the hotel bed with my arms wrapped around my knees as tears run down my face. They aren’t sad tears. They’re terribly, terribly frustrated tears.

My cravings feel like they’re gnawing away at my brain bit by bit, and by morning, I’m afraid there will be nothing left. Just last night I told Alik my drug use was never about the drugs, that I only did it to turn off the noise.

Well, it’s loud. It’s so fucking loud.

And in this seedy hotel, I know for certain I could score.

Maybe that’s what’s making this so difficult. Or more likely, it’s coupled with the fact that I don’t have my medication, and I’m terrified of going to sleep. And that I don’t feel safe here. And thatnoneof my coping mechanisms are available.

My sketchbook is gone.

I don’t have the ability to bake.

The TV… Well, that’s useless.

I stare at the screen now while I rock back and forth, a low mewl pushing through my closed lips. There’s some nighttime, adult cartoon playing that I pay no attention to, but the high-pitched character’s cackle at least drowns out my tortured groans for the people trying to sleep in the rooms beside me, if there are any. A hotel like this isn’t designed for sleep. It’s designed for paid sex and discretion. Still…

I scratch at my raw arms one last time before grabbing my bottle of water off the nightstand and shaking the last few drops into my mouth. The vending machine down the hall comes into my mind, and I climb off my bed almost frantically to get to my wallet, as if M&Ms have any chance of taking away my hunger.

I need to be home. And medicated. And less stressed. And I need to get a sponsor, go to another meeting, see another doctor,something. I feel like I’m walking a tightrope, and it’s only a matter of time before I fall.

I clutch the bills as I hurry out of the room and scurry down the hall to the machines. I’m scanning the candy section, contemplating between peanut or caramel M&Ms, when two large, muscular men dressed in jeans and dark hoodies walk by.

“Three fifteen. This one,” one of the men says with a heavy accent.

I stiffen, the bills in my hand crumbling.

Three fifteen?Roomthree fifteen?

My heart pounding, I lean over to peek at the men pulling on ski masks before one holds up a key card to my door.

I jerk back, my eyes wide as I take quick, panicky breaths through my nostrils. The bills fall to the floor as I unclench my fist and pat my pockets for my phone, though I already know it’s in the room. There’s no calling my dad or the police to save me.

I need to run.

Maybe the front desk…

No, the guy gave them the key.

I could hide here and wait.

No. They could look. Theywilllook.