He reaches into his desk and pulls out a bottle of pills. My stomach squirms as I read the label. It says, “Riona Griffin.” He got a prescription in my name. I tell him, “You’re not going to get away with the same trick twice.” “I don’t know about that . . . ” Oran says. “I don’t think anybody believes you’re happy, Riona. Not really. What do you have in your life besides work? Nothing.”
