Livestream Rehab: My Ex Regrets It All

In the third year that I've been diagnosed with late-stage bone cancer, Xenia Jensen, the ex-girlfriend whom I have "abandoned" back then, barges into my rented apartment with the rest of her team that she leads as a police captain.

Every day, I have to rely on large amounts of morphine just so I can force myself to stand like a regular human being.

I can only twitch violently as I try to grab a pill bottle on the table, my skin completely riddled with needle marks. Xenia chuckles icily as she savors how pathetic I look.

"Oh? It's been seven years since we last met, and yet I never thought you'd stoop so low as to become a drug addict.

"Where did your gusto to get a better, richer girlfriend go? I can't believe you're willing to humiliate yourself just for some so-called medicine!"

As soon as Xenia's words fall, I point at the pill bottle with a trembling finger.

"Please, officer… Can you please give me my medicine?"

Xenia chortles in response. She picks up the bottle before walking toward the bathroom, soon flushing it down the toilet.

"You want your medicine? Go ask the peeps at the rehab for it! It seems both your heart and your body are rotten to the core after you left me for another woman!"

I'm in so much pain that I'm convulsing violently right now.

"Oh… Then… Am I going to die?"

I curl up on the floor, hoping to tide over the latest wave of pain by using the method my doctor has taught me.

But Xenia merely gazes at me coldly from the side. In fact, she starts recording me, saying that she wants to make me a living negative example.

"Set up the cameras," Xenia Jensen ordered. "Keep them on him. Don't miss a single detail. This will be the most vivid lesson in our anti-drug campaign."

The lights flared on. Camera lenses locked onto my sweat-soaked face.

The pain in my bones felt like thousands of ants gnawing at my marrow. The itch was unbearable.

I couldn't stop myself from trying to scratch myself, but all I could manage was to scrape against the cold floor.

Xenia crouched down and lifted my chin with her black baton.

"Look at you. Even a stray dog has more dignity than this."

My vision blurred from the pain. All I could see was the sharp line of her jaw.

"Drugs," I choked with everything I had before reaching weakly for the hem of her pant leg.

Just then, someone in a white coat walked in.

It was Aaron Jilbert. He was the team's doctor, Xenia's right-hand man, and once—my best friend.

He glanced at me. His gaze paused on the marks left by years of implanted IV ports on my hand. "Ms. Jensen, look at his arm."

His voice carried exaggerated surprise.

"These are classic needle marks from long-term intravenous drug use. His veins are hardened. Just how bad does one's addiction have to be to get like this?"

I opened my mouth to protest. Those weren't needle marks, but ports from chemotherapy. But my throat was too dry to form words. All that came out was a broken rasp.

The last trace of hesitation in Xenia's eyes disappeared when she heard Aaron's expert conclusion. They were replaced with disgust.

She kicked my hand away from her leg. "Don't touch me!"

The force sent me rolling across the floor until I slammed into the wall. I hit the concrete with a dull thud.

Another wave of pain crashed over me.

"Make the announcement. Suspect Caleb Lawson will undergo a 24-hour compulsory detox live-stream," Xenia said, her voice echoing through the room. "The world needs to see how drugs can turn a once-glamorous man into something less than human."

"Ms. Jensen, that's against protocol!" a young officer reminded her.

Xenia turned to him. Her eyes were bloodshot as she tried to restrain her fury. "When you're dealing with a repeat offender who treats human life like nothing, you use whatever methods it takes.

"I want anyone who ever thinks of taking drugs to see that this is what awaits them! If anything goes wrong, I'll take the fall alone!"