Chapter 4His Regret After Live Streaming My Detox

They took me to the city’s central plaza.

Overnight, a massive, transparent glass box had been erected there. A cage for displaying a monster.

And I was the monster.

I was shoved inside, and a ring of powerful spotlights flared to life, so bright they hurt my eyes.

Outside the glass, a huge crowd had gathered, their faces a mixture of morbid curiosity, contempt, and excitement. A forest of phones and cameras was pointed at me, broadcasting my agony twenty-four hours a day.

Without the morphine to dull the pain, the cancer was finally unleashed. It exploded through my body with a terrifying, exponential force.

Pain.

So much pain I couldn’t breathe.

So much pain I thought I could hear the sound of my own bones cracking, splinter by splinter.

I began to writhe on the floor, thrashing, curling into a ball, trying anything to escape the inhuman torment. I slammed my head against the hard glass walls, the dull thuds echoing in my cage. I just wanted to pass out. I just wanted to die.

The crowd outside roared with a mix of shock and laughter.

“Look! Look! She’s going into withdrawal!”

“Tsk, tsk. Serves her right. What a pathetic display.”

Vincent stood just outside the box, a microphone in his hand.

“Look closely, everyone,” he announced, his amplified voice booming across the plaza. “This is what drugs do to a human being. Once you’re hooked, you lose all your dignity. You become nothing more than an animal, begging for its next fix. This is the price of throwing your life away.”

His words pierced through my pain-fogged mind.

My consciousness began to fray. I started to hallucinate.

The Vincent outside the glass was no longer a cold-hearted detective. He was the Vincent from seven years ago, wearing a white shirt, smiling at me under a warm sun, holding out his hand.

“Clara, don’t be afraid. I’m here to take you home.”

“Vincent…” I sobbed, reaching for the phantom. I used the last of my strength to call his name.

“Vincent… save me…”

My desperate plea was just another part of the show for the audience.

Sophia immediately grabbed the microphone. “As you can see,” she explained with a tone of clinical pity, “the suspect is now experiencing severe hallucinations. This is a clear sign that the drugs have completely destroyed her mind.”

The live stream chat exploded with mockery and abuse.

[This chick is a lost cause.]

The beautiful illusion shattered, and the endless ocean of pain swallowed me once more.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. The world went black.

A bucket of ice-cold water shocked me back to consciousness. The public execution continued.

I don’t know how much time passed. At the peak of another wave of agony, my body betrayed me completely.

A warm liquid spread from my lower abdomen, soaking through my pants.

I had lost control of my bladder.

In front of the entire country.

In that moment, the pain, the shame, the rage—it all vanished. All that was left was a profound, hollow numbness.

My last shred of dignity had just been ground into dust.

As my vision tunneled, I felt the glass door being thrown open. Someone stormed in and grabbed me by the collar. It was Vincent, his face contorted in rage.

“Clara! Get up! Stop playing dead for sympathy!”

He was so furious, he didn’t know his own strength. He shook me hard.

A sickening snap echoed in the small space.

It was my collarbone. Already eaten away by cancer, it had broken under his grip.