Page 115 of The Wicked
I wouldn’t be surprised if he ignored me. We weren’t exactly friends. I mean—I’d seen him in a terrible state, and I’d talked him out of his head once, but I didn’t think that side of him was something he showed to people. I didn’t want it to seem like I was prying because I cared, and I knew I shouldn’t care about him because he tried to drown me, but—when you survive a shoot-out with someone, you tend to form a survivors’ bond with them.
I guess that’s what this was… and yeah, the unwanted physical attraction.
“I can’t be near those pills. I’m not in the proper state of mind,” he answered after the prolonged silence.
“How many people know that you—that you’re like this?”
“Hm,” he hummed. “No one aside from Angelo… and now you. If you’re thinking of spreading the word, don’t bother. No one would believe you.”
“I’m not,” I injected immediately. “Why doesn’t Casmiro know? You two are close, right?”
“I already have Angelo to worry about, therefore, I don’t need Cas on my throat too.”
“But I know…”
“I don’t have to worry about you since you hate me and want me to do it faster.”
My stomach dipped. “I d—”
“Why areyouhere?” He cut me off. “You shouldn’t be here; you shouldn’t even be out of the house.”
I looked away from him. “I couldn’t sleep either. I—” I cleared my throat. “Needed a break from… everyone.”
“Okay.”
I glanced at him. “You’re not gonna ask why?”
“I don’t care enough to.”
Right. So it was just me, then.
The silence stretched between us again, and I broke it with a prying question because, yes, I couldn’t help myself; sue me.
“So your sleeping problem, is it—where’s it from? Did something happen to you?”
This time, he turned his head and met my gaze with confusion. “There isn’t some grand story behind it if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said. “Christ, you sound like a book character, one of those prying, annoying ones. I have clinical depression, and the sleeping disorder is one of the hiccups that comes with it.”
“Oh…”
“I either sleep too much or don’t sleep at all. Often, I find myself not sleeping at all unless I take something and force it,” he said. “Tonight is one of those nights when I don’t want to force it. Does that answer your question?”
“Not really…”
“Should I interpret it in Spanish?” he asked.
“No, I—” I sighed. “That’s not what I meant. I’m just confused because you know what’s wrong with you, yet you won’t fix it. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“It’s good that it doesn’t. Because I’m not going to explain. I already told you the other day that I am undeserving of it. Now quit prying and being unnecessarily annoying.”
I rolled my eyes, fishing for the stash of white pills in my pocket. “If you’re trying to wear yourself out, the cheap beer won’t do the trick,” I said, dangling the stash in the space between us.
He eyed it and then me. “What are you insinuating?”
“You wanna get high?” I asked with a grin.
After a bit of silence, he spoke. “Does my brother do drugs too?” There was an edge to his voice that had me shaking my head.
“Nope, he doesn’t even know. It’s just Dog and me; we don’t do it often, but sometimes, we get high and smoke joints because life is shit, and you just gotta escape it for a few hours.”
