Chapter 34
ROMAN
It starts with agitation. A mental itch I can’t scratch. A persistent whine in my head, like I’ve forgotten to do something.
At first, I think maybe I just didn’t sleep well. Or my vitamin levels are off. Or any other excuse I can come up with that doesn’t involve me fully acknowledging the obvious.
Doesn't involve me recognizing the cancer slithering through me that I’ve spent years pretending wasn’t there, while also feeding it. Nurturing it, leaning on it until I don’t know how to even walk without its support anymore.
But as the mask begins to drop, and that black hole inside that I’ve covered with smiles and “good times” begins to reveal its true malice and cruelty, the excuses shatter like glass.
It’s not my vitamin levels, or a bad night's sleep.
It’s that it's ten p.m., and I haven’t had a drink in twenty-four hours.
The world dulls around me as I prowl around my apartment, feeling as though reality has turned to molasses and I’m struggling to move through it. I snap at Val, then immediately feel like shit. I turn to him, face haggard, eyes pleading.
He just smiles.
“I’m here,” he murmurs, walking over to me. “I’m not going anywhere.”
But in my agitation, I shake him off and stalk back to my bedroom—then hate myself the instant the door slams shut between us.
By three a.m., the headache feels like a railroad spike being driven through my skull.
My skin is clammy, and the sheets are soaked as I twist and turn, gritting my teeth and pushing my face into the pillow.
I feel Val curl against me from behind, wrapping his arms around me—sweaty or not—and holding me tight.
For a second, I bask in the calming sensation that brings me: slowing my heart rate and making the pain in my head abate just a little.
Then the tremors start an hour later, and that’s when I truly realize how bad things are going to get.
The first full day was a chore.
The second day, as the withdrawal demons begin to dig their claws deeper into me, I realize I’m in hell.
A madness slides under my skin, clawing at my sanity as I writhe and twist in bed: a torturous punishment that squeezes my chest until I can’t breathe, and then laughs in my face.
I yell to Val for a drink—just one, to take the edge off this nightmare.
Even as I scream it again, twisting in the sweat-soaked sheets, I know how pathetic I sound.
Begging for a drink. Near tears. Knowing damn well that the list of things I would do right now for a single glass of vodka is humiliating and beyond pathetic.
I also don’t care, and find myself screaming for him again to bring me one.
He doesn’t answer.
“You said you weren’t going anywhere!” I choke, tears running down my cheeks as I squeeze my eyes shut and bury my face in my hands. “Please!”
The tremors start bad and just get worse.
The hours drag by as I claw at my soaked sheets, clinging to them for dear life as the shakes try to break me in half.
My teeth chatter, my muscles spasming and cramping viciously as the alcohol leaves my body in a scorched earth campaign, burning everything in its path.
I see my mother’s face—soft and sympathetic at first, then sneering and cold, disgusted with the man I’ve become, crying like a child just because I can’t have a fucking beer.
Evie’s face appears next, her head slowly shaking side to side as she mouths “what a weak brother. What a weak boy.”
After she goes, it’s my father’s face leering at me, sneering at my disgusting display and telling me what a disappointment I am.
How I’ll never lead the Bratva.
How no one would ever follow the leadership of someone so fucking pathetic.
The tremors get worse, until all I know is the agonizing pain of my muscles trying to rip themselves apart.
At some point, Val returns; holding me tight, telling me he’s there for me, that this is all eventually going to be okay. Holding my face to his chest as I sob like a fucking baby, torn between the desire for a drink and the desire to just die.
When the demons start raging inside me, and there’s no holding them back, I find myself lashing out at him, even though I hate myself when I do.
I tell him if he gave a shit about me, he’d get me a fucking drink. I tell him he’s the worst thing that ever happened to me. When he walks out of the room after that one, I collapse to the floor in a shaking, sweating, sobbing mess.
"Hell is empty, and all the devils are here."
I don’t sleep that night. Knowing it’s only the second fucking night makes it even more of a nightmare. Reality blurs in and out. Sometimes I’m in bed, twisting in the sheets and writhing in agony. Other times I’m on the floor, clinging to it, wondering if this could get any worse.
It can.
The third morning is when the vomiting starts—violent, unstoppable, gut-wrenching. The tremors are worse, too, and as the day creeps on, I start to see colors drifting through my vision, and have full-on visual hallucinations. I also hear sounds that may or may not be there.
And the demons inside me roar.
Claw.
Bite.
Stabbing, slicing, screaming for a fucking drop of sweet relief.
I’m crying on the floor again, puking into the trashcan clutched to my chest, when firm, tattooed hands push my damp hair back from my face. Then they lift me, settling my head back onto warm, muscled thighs as they stroke my face.
“You’re going to be okay, wreckage,” Val murmurs as he holds me in his arms, rocking us back and forth as I cling to him and shake and sweat and puke.
I can see a second Val walking across the floor, though, looking at me with disdain, and I don’t know if the one giving me comfort is real or not.
I don’t even know if he’s here.
Truthfully, I wouldn’t blame him if he wasn't.
The Val giving me reproachful looks from across the room sneers at me and turns, grabbing Evelina in his arms. I shudder, crying pathetically for him to stop as he buries his face in her neck, making her moan as he pins her to the wall.
“Stop it!” I hear myself scream. “Get the fuck away from her!”
Hands still stroke my face. Strong thighs still shift under my head.
“Stay with me, wreckage. Stay with me, Roman.”
Right now, I don’t care if he’s real or just a detox hallucination, my consciousness fucking with me and punishing me.
I just cling to him with everything I have, crying, shaking, letting my veins bleed out poison as I beg for release, or death.
Please, don’t let me be like this.
I don’t want to be like this.