The next four days were torture. Excruciating pain pummeled Vanna in waves. Her legs buckled, and she couldn’t walk—even to the bathroom. At the peak, she thought her joints and muscles were going to explode. When the pain did recede, her fingers, arms, and legs felt lethargic and weak. Opening a drawer was impossible. So was twisting a doorknob, assuming it wasn’t locked, which, of course, it was. Then there were the cramps, which gnawed at her gut and radiated down to her crotch but were a thousand times worse than menstrual cramps. The bouts of diarrhea were so fierce she couldn’t control them, and full-body sweats left her wringing wet, except when they alternated with chills that couldn’t be controlled even with three blankets.
Zoya laid plastic sheets on the bed. She brought Vanna Imodium and vitamins, but Vanna’s lips were so swollen and cracked she could barely open her mouth wide enough to swallow. A sour taste in her throat slithered up to her tongue, making her mouth taste like clay.
Eating was out of the question, despite the toast and endless cups of tea that Zoya brought. She almost threw them in the woman’s face. After the first day, she didn’t see Jenny at all, but when she heard moans and screams coming from the other bedroom, she knew Jenny was going through withdrawal too.
There was no respite. Insomnia claimed her and she couldn’t sleep. Occasionally she dozed, but most of the time she lay in a semiconscious state of misery. Her legs had acquired what those late-night TV commercials called restless-leg syndrome, twitching and moving on their own. By the third day, she begged Zoya to kill her.
“I can’t do this anymore. I’m going to die. Just kill me now. Please.”
Zoya shot her a pitiless expression.
That night she was woken by the sound of a car crackling on the snow and gravel. It seemed to be heading past the house to the barn. She thought she heard a woman cry, but it was muffled, and she could have been dreaming. The next morning, the car had vanished, and everything was the way it had been.
By the fourth day, the symptoms were still there, but they didn’t seem as fierce. Vanna still felt like she had a bad case of flu, but she managed to get down half a piece of toast and a few sips of tea. On the fifth day, although she wasn’t sure how much time had passed, the diarrhea subsided, and she even took a full-fledged nap.
The next morning she actually got out of bed, unsteady, and was taken to the bathroom. She gazed at herself in the mirror. An ugly girl with ratty blond hair, a gaunt face, alabaster skin, and huge eyes stared back. Vanna turned away. She didn’t want to see the human wreck she’d become.