It is with a heavy heart that I must kill you

He crushes a bunch of pills into a small heap of powder, transfers it to a glass, and pours some wine into it, all in plain view, as if wanting to show me the method of my own demise.I can’t afford to give him what he seems to want: the pleasure of seeing how scared I am. He swirls the wine about, then raises it to my nose, so I may smell its aroma. “I’m happy to hear you’re not expecting a baby.” He tone is loaded with sarcasm. “I wouldn’t want it to suffer any ill-effects, once you have your little drink.”I brace myself into being stubborn. “You can’t force me.”“You know I can.” He coughs up a sharp laugh. “And then, there would be no more need to have this prescription renewed.”What I want—even more than a chance to save myself—is to give the doctor a taste of his own medicine.In a heartbeat, my hands turn clammy. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this.” He growls, “Sure you do! You’ve been asking too many questions about me, about my trip to India years ago, and about the woman I married there. No one gets to do all that and live to tell the tale.”I hesitate to ask, “Not even your wife?”“Especially not her.”“What about me?” I ask, already knowing the answer. “Am I going to survive the night?”“Trust me, it is with a heavy heart that I must kill you.” He comes closer, strokes my chin. “Such a beauty.” For a second, his eyes seem sad, almost. “Such a waste.”
Excerpt from Overdose

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