Page 43 of Dark Room Junkie

Annoyed with myself, I shook my head. If he’d had offered some booze, I wouldn’t have been able to resist. And he was well aware of that.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Angry? Confused? Pissed off? Alone?”

“Are you saying that because you think that’s what I want to hear or because you really are?”

I just sighed and took a sip of water.

“I’ll be right back,” Tom said and left the kitchen.

Shortly afterward I heard him talking to Mia. Ever since I broke her younger sister’s heart and she made a huge scene about it in front of the entire family, I fell to the bottom of Mia’s list of favorite people.

“Is he staying here?” I heard her ask in a grumpy tone.

“I’m definitely not letting him go anywhere else,” Tom replied, just loud enough for me to hear—which I’m sure wasn’t his intention. “He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mia replied, not exactly happy. “But don’t take too long, okay? I’ll put out the blanket.”

“You’re the best, thank you, my love.”

Moments later, Tom came back into the kitchen.

“She still hates me,” I said in a monotone voice.

“For that one thing—yes.” Tom set a first-aid kit on the table and wet a cloth at the sink. “But she understands this.”

“Because you told her all my secrets. You know I hate pity.”

“It has nothing to do with pity,” Tom objected, dabbing the blood from the back of my hand. “She knows our situation. I’m very grateful to her and for much more than just the understanding she has for the promise I made to you.”

I flinched in pain and sharply sucked in air.

“You might want to stop taking your anger out on the walls.”

“They don’t deserve anything else.”

“They’re not made of cardboard! You’re hitting bricks here. At some point, you’ll break your hand.”

“I can’t hit them that hard,” I replied wearily.

Tom shook his head and wrapped a bandage on my hand. “I don’t think it’s broken, but you should give it a rest.”

I replied with a grumble.

“I’m serious! You were playing with the pick today.”

Dazed, I stroked my face and didn’t know what to say. Yes, I had played with the pick because my hand was already hurting and I couldn’t slap it.

“You look like shit.”

“That’s how I feel too.”

“Have you eaten anything warm today?”

I shook my head, and Tom headed toward the fridge. “I’ll make you something warm.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

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