Page 35 of Reckoning

“Sofia,”

“Get out.” I can’t calm down, I can’t get a hold of my anger, it feels like an explosion that’s been building for so long that now that it’s gone off, now that it’s finally broken loose, it’s a tsunami threatening to destroy everything in its path.

Roman blinks back at me like I might just change my mind, like I might just apologise and say he’s right all along, and that this is all some misunderstanding. Silly me, drunkenly buying a car and forgetting all about it.

Only, that’s not what I think. Not how I feel. I grab the pillow hurling it at him, then the blanket, then anything I can get my hands on.

He might not have been the cause of my trauma, he might not have been responsible for how badly our plan turned out, but I did it for him. I sacrificed myself for him, for Rose too. And now that they have their happy ending, it feels like he doesn’t want to see the horrible truth of what it took to get it. What this world, and what Otto Blumenfeld in particular, extracted from me as the price.

When I’m alone, I sink onto the floor, yanking out the damned plastic needle thing that connects me to the drip – it’s not like it was doing anything anyway.

I huddle up in the corner, my head racing as I realisethey’vedone it again. They’ve set me up and this time, this time it’s way worse.

Will I go to prison? Will Hastings see this the same way Roman does, that I’m out of control, drunk, a true addict now? Will they send me back to rehab? Fuck, I hope not, last time I was there I considered ending it more because of the people around me. I’m trembling, shaking, fearing the worst and hating the fact that there’s nothing I can do, that whoever is behind this is winning a game I don’t even understand.

The door opens. I glance up, convinced it’s Roman and open my mouth to tell him exactly where he can shove it – only it’s not him.

“You look like shit.” Hastings says stepping inside, shutting the door behind him in a way that makes me wonder if there’s a throng of people jostling to get a glimpse of the ‘Heroin Heiress’ as the press likes to name me.

“I feel like shit.” I reply.

He draws in a deep breath, making a point of studying the strewn items as he raises his eyebrow. “I take it the bedding was not to your high standards?”

I narrow my eyes, waiting for the teasing tone to change. Hastings always seems to be wary of me, like he knows something I don’t, but whatever it is, whatever horrible thing he discovered, he doesn’t seem keen on divulging it. Maybe that’s why he pisses me off.

“Where’s your brother?” He asks.

“Hopefully he’s fucked off.” I snap.

He tilts his head, understanding registering. “You two had an argument, I take it.”

I draw myself up, force myself to stand, placing my feet wide enough apart that it feels like I’m about to do battle. “I don’t need him.”

“Yes, you do.”

I snarl, clenching my fists, “Whatever you think…”

“Sofia, you are not a child so do not act like one.”

That makes me pause. He thinks I’m the one being childish? That I’m simply having a temper tantrum like some errant teenager?

“Verona is not safe.” He says. “You of all people know that. Do you think losing Roman’s protection will do either of you any good?”

“What do you care?” I hiss.

His eyes soften, that stern, fatherly looks seems to ease just a little. “Not everything is a fight.”

“Maybe not for you.” I mutter. My entire life up until this moment has been exactly that. One bitter fight after another and I’m exhausted by it. I’m utterly drained.

He runs his eyes over me, in that same, careful, assessing manner and then he walks back to the door muttering to the officer just beyond.

When he comes back in, he waits for a moment, until someone appears with two coffee cups. He hands one to me, stating that he hopes I don’t decide to toss this at him.

I scowl, taking a sip, relishing the hit of caffeine before that voice whispers in my head that even this could be poisoned, that the very cops outside my door could be in on it. I gulp, staring down, refusing to take another mouthful.

Hastings leans against the wall, watching me in that silent judgey way and then Roman walks back in like I didn’t send him running with his tail between his legs.

“Get out.” I cry.

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