Chapter 35
VAL
Brooklyn
Dude, are you okay??
Brooklyn
1 day, I’m thinking hangover. 2, a BAD hangover. But missing four days of rehearsal in a row??? Srsly worried.
Brooklyn
PS Kuzmina is going to murder you
I grin, shoving a hand through my hair and pushing it back from my face. The city hums and honks and clamors below me as I sit on Roman’s veranda high above. Before I text Brooklyn back, my hand reflexively reaches for my cigarettes.
Goddammit.
It’s day four of my own detox. If I was going to make Roman go through hell, I figured I might as well join him.
Like, if my whole thing is making sure he doesn’t die of cirrhosis of the liver, or heart failure, or whatever other horrible shit alcoholism can bring, then I can do my best not to die of lung cancer.
Also, if I’m going to be an agitated, edgy fuck, snapping at everything around me as I go through nicotine withdrawal, it might as well be at the same time that he’s going through alcohol withdrawal.
We can be miserable, angry fuckers together, right?
I scowl as I pat my empty pocket, feeling the phantom bulk of a pack of cigarettes that isn't there.
I’ll be honest, quitting my vice is nothing close to what Roman’s been going through.
Nicotine withdrawal makes you angry and short-tempered and a grumpy shit to be around, but that’s it.
After four or five days, the cravings are no longer physical, they’re psychological.
Also, I quit once before when I first started dancing professionally, so I knew what to expect.
Acute alcohol withdrawal, though, is a hell I don’t ever want to experience. And after taking care of Roman these last few days, I’m not sure if it’s something I’d survive.
In hindsight, I may have bitten off more than I was ready to chew when I decided he should quit drinking cold turkey.
And after that first day and a half, when he started to get worse, and the tremors started, together with the hallucinations and the vomiting, I called a nurse friend of mine for help.
Carla used to date Miguel a few years ago, and I knew she would be discreet.
Luckily, after she took his vitals and got a rundown of his drinking history—well, to the best of my knowledge—she told me he was going to be okay here, and wouldn't have to go to the hospital.
I exhale, patting my empty pocket again as I glance out over the city. Earlier today was bad, but he’s been dozing for the last few hours—and, for the first time in days, not screaming in terror while he's asleep.
That’s gotta be a good sign?
Me: We talking hiring a hit squad or is Kuzmina going to go lone wolf on my ass and take me out from a grassy knoll
Brooklyn: I’m suggesting you avoid driving around in open-top cars for a while. Maybe stay away from windows in tall buildings, too. I mean, she’s Russian.
Me: lol
Brooklyn: Seriously, what the fuck is going on with you?
I pause before I type a reply.
Me: Just had to deal with some stuff. I’ll be back tomorrow, promise.
Brooklyn: Define stuff.
Me: I quit smoking
Brooklyn: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Brooklyn: R u fucking serious?!? :D :D :D
I grin at the screen.
Me: Please don’t hold back your thoughts regarding the situation
Brooklyn: I am SO PROUD OF YOU!!!
I smile, but then Roman’s phone vibrates next to me. I turn to see a new text from Evelina.
Evie: Heeeeey!! Just wanted to check in on Mr. Sickypants! :( :(
Evie: How’s the covid??
Yes, I’ve been using Roman’s phone and pretending to be him to cover for what’s really going on.
No, I don't feel bad about it. As far as anyone who’s texted him knows—Evelina, Bane, Laz, Nico Barone, and some cunt named Chloe who sent him a late-night nude and a “WYD?”—Roman is out with a bout of Covid.
Well, the first four are under that impression. Chloe got the first forty images that came up on Google when I searched for “very graphic roadkill”, then got her naked ass blocked and her contact info deleted from his phone.
Me: Think I’m on the other side of it. Another few days and I’ll be good.
Evie: U sure I can’t bring u over some soup??
Me: I don’t want you coming over here and catching anything. I’m good.
Me: UberEats FTW
Evie: OK! Well I’m thinking about you! Hope you’re feeling better! :)
Evie: Oh and Stepan says hi.
Me: Hi Stepan.
Evie: Also…want to do dinner sometime after you’re feeling better?
Me: I’d love that
Evie: Me 2! :)
Evie: Feel better!! Call anytime!
Me: Thanks girl
Evie: lol??
Fuck. I’ve lapsed into the way I text Evie.
Me: Sry, Covid brain. Going back to sleep now.
Then it’s my phone dinging again. Jesus.
Brooklyn: So, you’ll be at rehearsal tomorrow? Joking aside, missing five days would be bad.
Me: I know. I’ll be there.
Me: Clingy much?
Brooklyn: Asshole :P
I finally put both phones down and sit back in the lounge chair, looking out over the city.
“Hey.”
I whip my head around and then smile when my eyes land on him. Roman looks like hell, but I don’t give a fuck.
“Hey.”
I jump up from the lounger and walk over to where he’s leaning against the doorframe out to the veranda with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, a haggard expression on his unshaven face.
Fuck. The guy looks like he’s lost ten pounds.
He's leaner, especially in his face and jawline, and when I wrap my arms around him, I feel a noticeable lack of padding over his muscles.
“How’re you feeling?” I murmur, letting him sink against me a little.
Roman snorts into my shoulder. “About as good as I probably look.”
“Well, you look fucking hot, so…”
He grins weakly as he pulls back, flashing me a half-smile.
“You hitting on me?”
“Duh.”
He grins again. “I don’t look hot. I look like shit, and we both know it.”
“Agree to disagree,” I grin. “You’ve got this delicious early 00’s Brad Pitt thing going on. Like, lean, dirty Fight Club Brad. Ooo, or greasy Snatch Brad.”
“All I heard was dirty and greasy.”
I chuckle, wrapping an arm around his back as I help him out onto the veranda. I guide him over to the lounge chair and sit down before I ease him between my spread thighs, his back to my chest as I wrap my arms around him.
“Do you need anything?” I ask gently.
He shakes his head. “Still no appetite. None.”
“Still, you should eat something.”
“Actually… I’d love a fucking cigarette.”
I make a face. “You…don’t smoke.”
“I know.”
“And you hate the smell of them.”
He sighs, twisting to look at me. “It just sounds… I dunno. Good right now?”
“No fucking kidding,” I grumble darkly.
He cocks a brow. “So, can I bum one?”
I shake my head. “No.”
Roman frowns. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
His frown deepens into a glare. “Look, I know you’re trying to help, but I can only deal with one denied vice at a fucking time. So please—”
“I literally don’t have any, Roman. Not anymore.”
He looks puzzled for a second, then blinks. “Wait, did you…?”
I nod.
“Quit,” I shrug. “Figured I’d join team healthy.”
A smile creeps over his face as he presses his forehead to mine. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs. “Really.”
“What can I say. You inspired me.”
“Val, I…” He closes his eyes. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I think I do,” he murmurs. “Pretty sure it’s fair to say you saved my life.”
I smirk. “Oh my God, when did you become such a drama queen?”
He winces a little as he lifts a hand to flip me off.
“Seriously, though, how are you?” I frown as I cup his face.
“I…” He sighs and looks away. “I feel like shit. Like, actual shit.” He shakes his head before he drags his gaze back to me. “I…I don’t want to ever do that again,” he says quietly. “I don’t think I could.”
I nod, wrapping my arms around him a little tighter. He shifts, twisting in my arms and resting his face against my chest.
It occurs to me that I’ve never had this.
I mean, I’ve held people before. But I’ve never had actual intimacy. As I hold Roman, I’m not doing it just because I want to fuck him, or am counting down the seconds after fucking him until I can extricate myself from the situation and leave.
I’m holding him because I care about him. A lot.
I’m fucking crazy about him.
“I…” He swallows heavily, breathing against my chest. “I know this is just the first step…the last few days, I mean. I need therapy. Or AA. Something. Anything.”
I nod. “Whatever you need, baby. I’ll be there.”
I don’t realize he’s crying until I feel the wet heat of his tears against my shirt.
“I don’t want to be like this,” he chokes.
“I know, wreckage,” I murmur softly as I wrap him in my arms. “I know.”