Page 21 of Reckoning

Roman stares back at me and I can’t tell what he’s thinking in this moment.

I’m huddled up in the bed with the blankets pulled around me like some sort of shield. They put me in a flimsy gown that doesn’t feel nearly covering enough. The bed seems to squeak every few seconds from how much I’m shaking and it’s not doing my nerves any good.

“We can give her something to calm her.” The medic murmurs to Roman as if he doesn’t want me to hear.

I shake my head snarling. I don’t want that. I won’t have that. No way are they going to drug me now.

“Roman…” I plead.

He looks at me before shaking his head. “No.” He says. “That won’t help.”

“You’re sure?” The medic repeats, like he’s all for strapping me in some straight jacket and throwing me into a padded cell.

Roman snarls, pushing him back. “Get the fuck out.” He says.

Beyond the door I can see Ben pacing back and forth. Every few seconds he passes the glass window obscuring the light with his face all contorted into one of concern.

Roman sinks onto the edge of the bed and I steal my breath ready for whatever this conversation is about to be.

“Tell me what happened.” He says gently. Calmly.

I shut my eyes, talking slowly, explaining how I came back, how everything was fine and then it really wasn’t.

He frowns when I finish. “Why did you order food when you had dinner with us?”

I wince, not wanting to admit the truth, but if I lie now, if I withhold anything, he’ll only see it as more evidence of me being duplicitous, me being the addict my family is starting to convince themselves that I’ve become.

“I didn’t eat.” I mutter. “Not properly. I don’t like eating in front of people. I hate it.”

His eyes react, he lets out a deep sigh like he’s only just realising how truly broken I am. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

My tears start falling before I can stop them. I let out a sob that sounds half choked. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

He grabs me, wrapping me into one his big bear hugs and though on some level it’s so comforting the contact still makes my heart race, still makes me panic.

“You’ve never disappointed me, Sofia.”

His words are meant to be soothing, reassuring, but all they do is make me cry even harder.

“Tell me what I can do to help.” He says.

I reply the same thing I say every time. The awful truth that I know he hates. “There’s nothing you can do.”

I feel his shoulders slump. I feel the way he physically deflates. He’s so used to fixing everything, only he’s starting to realise he can’t fix me. No one can fix me.

“You do believe me, don’t you?” I whisper it.

He looks at me nodding. “Yes.”

“You didn’t last time.”

I see the flash of pain, of regret, but it’s clear he still thinks last time was my doing. That I intentionally relapsed. That I went on some massive drug binge like I was a crack-whore.

“Sofia…”

“I didn’t do it.” I hiss. “I wouldn’t do it.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say…”

---