For Years To Come

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

— Tobias

"Why is she shaking?" I demand, walking into the doctor's office.

"Four, her leg is bad. I— I'm not sure what to do at this point. I want to readdress tomorrow once some of the swelling goes down and see if surgery is even an option at this point because—"

"Why is my wife shaking like a leaf, Dr. Scott?" My voice turns to a growl.

She exhales, clearly stressed, leaning her head in her hands.

"Marie." I insist, my voice still low.

"I was hoping I was wrong six years ago when I made the assumption about her being forced under the influence of drugs when being part of the New York Program, Four. God, I wished, prayed that I was wrong."

I take note of her showing age. When I first met Marie, she was a young doctor, but it is clear that the stress of her job has taken a toll on her body.
But not her brain.
She is just as intelligent now as she was then.
She didn't do this.

"I had it in her file," she shakes her head in disbelief, looking up at me. "It was too late by the time she got here. She already was given a full dose, and now her body wants more."

"Which opioid was she given?" I demand, my heart in my throat.

.
"Tobias, I was so high. I couldn't see, I couldn't even feel my fingers touch my own skin." She shakes, sharing the memory with me.

I hold her tight under the comforter of our bed, her head on my chest, her tears staining my shirt.

"There was eight of us. Four pairs each received a different colored bag, I don't know how often. They— They would—" her sob cuts off her sentence and I squeeze her tighter.

"I'm here," I tell her. "It's alright."

"We were chained to the hospital beds so we couldn't take the IVs out. Tha— That's why I cant resist t-to take out the IVs at the hospital b—"

"Because you never could." I finish her sentence as she sobs, nodding to confirm my continuation of her sentence.

I shake my head.
I wish I could kill all of them.
Each person that caused her this pain.
Kill David again and again.
Watch Derrick slowly and painfully bleed out for hours.

"After the bags were basically empty, we were thrown in the fighting ring," she lightly shakes as she speaks. "Out opponent was not under the forced influence, and we had to fight. Unable to see, feel, hear or have really any senses from being so fucking high, and we didn't ask for it Tobias!" She sobs again and I feel myself resist the urge to vomit.

"It wasn't enough for them. The fights were boring, because half the time the person who was given the opioids would just fall over and be unable to stand. They would just be beaten to death by the sober opponent, and being so numb there was no pain to be screaming about," she exhales.

I stay quiet, giving her the time to compose herself.
I've told her over and over again that she doesn't have to tell me anything, and if she chooses to, she always can stop. It helps her sometimes, just telling what happened, even though it is extremely difficult for her to relive.

"Most of them died," she says abruptly. "They continued to increase everyone's milligram dose: seeing how high they could get until either seizing, ending up in a coma, or just the stress of standing to get to the fighting ring caused some to drop dead out of nowhere."