He Tasted His Own Medicine の小説・ストーリー

Francis held its hair and pinned it down to the ground where the drug fell a while ago. ''Have the taste of your own medicine.'' With that, the man lost his consciousness.

They were shoulder to shoulder, and Jack's hand was nonchalantly draped over her waist. Spotting me, Jack put on a dramatic grimace. "The medicine's too bitter. I just can't take it." Hannah looked puzzled as she took a spoonful of the concoction and tasted it. "It's actually not that bad," she remarked with a slight grimace. "Maybe it's just my illness messing with my taste buds," Jack mused before downing the rest of his medicine in one go.

I also learned that just because I know it doesn’t mean I am perfect at it, looking at my blistered hands from pounding leaves into paste and trying to start a fire, but thankfully after hours of trial and error I got the fire started, I probably should've waited till when the materials were dry. I noted that fact for later. Now to feed my maggot. I opened his mouth and places the medicine there, his expression crumpled and he spat the medicine out. I laughed hes so cute, he doesn’t like bitter things, noted I shoveled a handful of medicine in my mouth decided to take matters into my own hand. I used my hand to open his mouth and placed our lips together, using my tongue to shovel the medici

He pours the content into a small stainless cup before handing me the tonic. I down it all in one careful gulp. A little bit was enough, was what the theta had said. The content tasted… weird? It simply had no taste but was kind of slimy. I made a face at the feeling as it went down my throat before handing him back the cup. Soon after, I start to feel a lot better, the medicine working like a charm.

or was he the one who had done that to himself. "Damn you all!" He bellowed, stumping off towards the stool by his bedside and lifting it up in the air only to firecely let it down, watching as the glasses all came shattering down to the floor. That could have been satiable but it never was. "Truly, I feel like a total scum!" He fired at himself and struck a heavy blow unto the wall, his breath heightening by the ticking of each seconds. "Oliver, Hey!" Geneva ran down the hallway towards Oliver's retreating figure, his posture spelling being 'scared'

“The kind that doesn’t have a taste or smell.” He looked at me seriously. “Do you know who could have given it to you?” My face drew into blankness. I shook my head. “No… no one gave it to me,” I stuttered without thought, and the doctor frowned. “Then did you perhaps take it yourself?” he asked critically. I was quick to shake my head violently in denial. “No! Why would I give it to myself knowing it could hurt me? I didn’t—I did not!” I kept repeating it.

There he goes again—giving me a taste of my own medicine. Cocky bastard. And God help me, I didn’t hate it.

he said, turning his back to me as he walked toward his bed, his voice sounding like a rusted blade. "I find it tragic," I replied, my voice steady despite the hammering of my heart. I walked in, and shut the door behind me with a finality that made the room feel smaller. "Is this what it’s like to be you? To be surrounded by people who would rather ruin themselves than be ignored by you?" I held out the glass before him and he took it with a skeptical glance, but as soon as he tasted the blend, his eyes went wide. It was truly the taste of a memory he enjoyed. In a minute, he had downed the entire glass.

I do, I take small sips. “Good.” He sets the glass down feeding me the pills. I take the first one and wince at how bitter it is. “I’m not a child you know,” I mutter. “I’m more than capable of taking my medicine myself.” His jaw ticks. “Of course you aren’t,” he says. “You’re a grown woman who thought it was wise to jump in front of a knife.” I flinch, he always has a way of hurting me with his words. His eyes narrow on me, and then he does the unexpected. “Sorry.”

The strip club. Not here for lust. Not a dance. It is a trance. Forget it all. Inside smelled like liquor…not the cheap kind though. Men danced under the strobe lights with bodies moving to tease. I ignored them and made a beeline for the bar. "Whiskey," I muttered to the bartender. "Double." The first glass burned, the second dulled, and the third blurred the contours of my pain. I drank until my thoughts slowed and Adrian's voice was no longer echoing in my consciousness.