A Dark Romance

Francis Davis gave me the medicine. He said it would save me.

I swallowed it and sank into ten years of oblivion. Ten years of loving him.

Until one day, he decided he wanted to know whether the sober me still loved him.

So he took the medicine away.

I never expected hatred and pain to run deeper than addiction.

So I jumped from the 18th floor, returning my life to him, and my freedom to myself.

The moment the pill melted on my tongue, I knew something was off.

Instead of the usual bitter taste, there was a sharp, metallic flavor, like chewing on a mouthful of coins and dirt. I gulped it down and glanced at Francis Davis, the Don of the Davis mafia family. He was standing by the window, his back to me, looking all stiff and serious.

"This pill's not right," I said.

He spun around, and streaks of sunlight from the blinds sliced across his face, making him look like he was part of a black-and-white movie. "What's wrong with it?" he asked.

"It tastes weird," I said, sitting up despite the searing pain in my shoulder from a bullet wound. "And it's not doing its job."

I had noticed the change in the pill's flavor three months back, but kept it to myself until then.

Francis came over and sat on the edge of my bed. He reached out, and for a second, I thought he was going to touch my cheek, but he just picked up a shiny little bottle from the nightstand and started fiddling with it.

Then, in a solemn tone, he said, "Natalie, what would happen if the pill stopped working?"

"I'd be a goner," I said flatly. The Davis family called it the 'loyalty pill,' and a person had to take an antidote every month. If they did not, by the third day, it would feel as if ants were crawling through their bones; the pain would be so unbearable that it would drive anyone insane. A week later, death would follow.

The scariest part was that it tampered with the mind, forcing an obsession with the person who provided it.

I had been on that stuff for a decade.

Adrian Davis, Francis' dad, was the one who got me started on it. I would have done anything for Adrian. When he died, Francis took over, and for the last eight years, I have been head over heels for him.

All because of that pill.

"If you wouldn't actually die, just feel a bit under the weather?" Francis asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're tough as nails, Natalie."

I stared at him, the pieces clicking into place. "You switched up my meds."

He did not even try to hide it. "About three months back. I came up with a new mix. You won't kick the bucket, and you won't get hooked on me because of the stuff, but yeah, you'll still hurt."

Everything went dead silent for a heartbeat or two.

Then, I burst out laughing, a raspy, ugly sound bouncing off the sterile walls. "What's your game, Francis? Running a test on me? Want to see if I'll stay your ride-or-die without the meds, wagging my tail for you?"

Francis' face turned stormy. "Don't talk like that."

"How should I talk, then?" I flung the blankets aside and shakily stood up. My legs were jelly, but I held my ground. "Should I thank you then? For a decade under your drug-fueled thumb? And now you're curious what's left when you peel that away?"

He rose, a full head taller, casting a long shadow. "I'm after the real deal, Natalie, not some drug-induced fantasy."

"The real deal?" I laughed so hard I cried.

"Francis, your dad wiped out my family, drugged me up, and made me your personal hitman. He kept me alive after he bit the dust, thinking that as long as I was doped up, I'd be your sharpest blade. And now you're talking about being real? Are you sure you can handle the real me?"

He clamped onto my wrist, his grip iron-strong. "Haven't I treated you right all these years?"

"Treated me right?" I locked eyes with him. "You turned my hands into weapons, filled my nights with nightmares, and made me a slave to those pills. You call that treating me right?"

He growled, "I saved you! My old man wanted you gone, but I convinced him to let you be! Without me, you'd be six feet under!"

I shot back, saying, "Well, maybe I'd prefer that."

He let go of my hand and jerked back as if he had touched a hot stove. For just a second, I caught a glimpse of pain flickering across his face before it vanished behind his usual icy facade.

"The wedding's next month," he said. "Nora needs a bridesmaid."

Nora Hunter. The girl who had shown up out of the blue three months ago, 20 and all sunshine with her blonde hair and blue eyes, clueless about the shadows in the world. Francis had welcomed her into the mansion, showered her with jewels, and paraded her around at every high-society event.

Francis kept whispering sweet nothings to me, even as he was gearing up to marry someone else.

"I'm not going to be a bridesmaid," I said.

"You have to," Francis said, heading for the door. "That's an order."

The door clicked shut, and I slumped to the floor. The withdrawal hit me like a freight train, with pain lancing through me as if my bones were made of needles. I curled into a ball, biting my wrist to trap the cries inside.

It was agony. However, even worse than the pain was the sobering clarity that came with it, the kind that sharpened everything to a brutal reality.

Memories flooded back: Francis pleading with Adrian not to kill me ten years ago, the mix of pity and heartache in Francis' eyes when Adrian forced the first dose on me, the comfort Francis offered when I was scared and crying after my first mission, and the way he looked when I lay weakened in bed, swearing my loyalty after each dose.

I remembered it all.

However, the love I once felt for him was gone.