Devonne Brown

“Take me, you know you want me.” Cynthia’s anxiety, her fear, her emotional wounds, her guard dropped with my soothing voice.

“I want you; I do,” Cynthia agreed with my every word, mostly.

I knew from the start it was a match made in heaven. I had no purpose without her. “We belong together, Cynthia. I’ll be gentle with you forever. I will keep you safe even in your dreams.”

She listened, but I saw a flicker of doubt as she held  me in her hand, took me to the kitchen, reached out for her glass of wine, and raised it to her perfect lips. She only chose pretty glasses with etching on them. “Cynthia, I need water, not wine. I’m very simple.” She sighed, put her wine on the counter, and pulled the tap toward her for cold water. I got a dirty look, but she did what she was told. She wasn’t happy.

“It’s late enough to have wine,” Cynthia said. She could whinge with the best of them.

I could have been nice about it, but I let her have it, “Whining makes you ugly inside and out. You know better. It’s like swimming. Wait half an hour or you’ll lose me. You’ll be debilitated by your tears.” I could tell she knew I was right by the stink eye she gave me. Cynthia hated me in that moment with everything she had, no matter how much I helped her. 

I was her best prescription ever, Captain Vraylar, here to quell her anxiety and paranoia, if she followed her doctor’s orders and took me as directed, with food.