Page 100 of The Don's Virgin Obsession
The doctor sat across from me. “You need to stop smoking marijuana completely.”
I laughed dryly. “That’s not happening.”
He ignored me and kept talking. “You have Cannabinoid Hyperemesis Syndrome, which causes repeated vomiting episodes. Your body basically rejects the THC after long-term heavy use.”
I leaned back on the couch, half listening.
“We discussed this before, Nr. St. Clair.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re dehydrated. Malnourished. Your anxiety levels are high. Your body is under stress. You are also showing signs of high functional depression and are finally crashing. You need to let me come back and run an IV on you, and you need anti-depressants when you are feeling better.”
Stress.
That word sounded stupid at that point.
I couldn’t believe that I was sitting in a luxury penthouse getting lectured about weed.
The doctor kept talking while Vanessa sat next to me, looking worried.
“You need rest. Fluids. No smoking.”
“I hear you.”
As soon as they left, I lit another blunt.Stupid.
By day six, I stopped keeping track of time completely.
The suite stayed dark most of the day. I sat on the floor near the couch one night, scrolling through old pictures on my phone.
Family. Business launches. Cars. Women.
Sade.
I stopped on her picture longer than the others.
Her smiling at Crown Heights, holding fabric samples, smiling.
I stared at the picture until my eyes started burning.
“You don’t even know what you doing to me.”
I set the phone down after that and leaned my head back against the couch.
By day seven, I was too weak to even get mad at myself anymore. I took another hot shower and sat under the water until it turned cold against my skin. I stayed there anyway.
Afterward, I dragged myself back toward the couch, wrapped in a towel with another blunt in my hand.
I must’ve drifted off.
When I opened my eyes again, somebody was standing in front of me.
BBW figure. Pretty face. Long hair.
Soft perfume floating off her jacket.
I blinked hard, thinking my mind was playing tricks again.
