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“Why did you do it?”
“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that. Apparently, if you ask everyone else, I’m a fuck up, and I’ve done a lot of shit.”
“Why’d you fuck O?”
Of course he wants to know this again. “Shit. This again? Just let it go.”
“No. Fuck you.” He steps on the catheter again.
My hands fly to my dick in pain. I scream, and the nurse comes running. “What’s wrong?”
“None of you goddamn concern.” Roan turns to face her. “Get the fuck out.” And then the motherfucker gets in my face, grabs my neck and squeezes. I can’t do a goddamn thing because well, I’m handcuffed, remember? “Why did you do it? You know what she means to me.”
I can barely get the words out, what with his hands around my throat, but I croak out, “You fucked that reporter, so she was looking for payback and I was a willing participant.” He lets go, stands up and glares. “Don’t over think it. It wasn’t planned. It just happened.”
“How would you feel if I fucked Amberly and took her virginity?”
I stare him in the eye. I breathe slowly, clench my jaw and say, “I already did, so too late.”
“I had my chance a year ago. I could have.” He’s lying, or is he? “How the fuck would you have felt then?”
And then I do think about it. I think about it longer than I want to and the idea of someone else touching her, like that, it sends my blood boiling and my pulse racing.
He looks at my face but not my eyes. He lets go of my throat, then says, “I kissed her.”
I take a sharp breath, an inhale I don’t deserve and grit my teeth. My cuffs clank against hard plastic and I’d give anything to destroy him for touching her. “When?”
His smiles degrading. “Does it matter?”
“Yes, itfuckingmatters.” I’m unsteady, weak, and vulnerable. It’s why he’s doing it. “I swear to God, Roan, if you tell me recently, I’m going to kill you.”
“Paybacks are a bitch, aren’t they?”
“That’s fucked up, and it’s not the same thing.”
“Yeah, asshole, itisthe same exact thing. Amberly’s been yours since we were kids and Ophelia has been mine. It was unspoken, but shit, it shouldn’t have had to be said.”
He has a point. But I can’t agree with him.
“Look, I don’t know what you want me to say,” I admit, sighing. “It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t something I did to hurt you or her. It justhappened. It was one time and it’ll never ever happen again.”
He nods, stares at the floor. “I know it won’t.” He’s confident, but in me, he’s faithless. “I don’t want you to die, ya dumb motherfucker.”
“I hear you. Let’s leave it at that.”
We leave it at that.
He leaves.
Willa comes in next with a nurse. She gives me detoxification drugs and medicine to stabilize my blood pressure to ease me through the withdrawal.
The nurse leaves. I’m alone with another set of disappointed eyes. I look at her, the bright fluorescent lights blinding me. She touches my cheek. I try to slow my breathing, the nerves, my heart, but I can’t, so I wait for what she’s going to say to me.
She hands me an envelope. “You’re her father.”
I don’t look. I didn’t need the test to know. I examine at my body. My torso’s covered in cuts and bruises underneath the ink. I’m worn and beaten. Dead and withdrawn. I didn’t always look this way. To the one beside me, the one who took in a lonely four-year-old boy who’d just lost his father, she’s been there with Ricky, raising me if not professionally, but mentally.
The thought slams my heart. I’ve let her down too. I feel myself preparing for what she’s going to say next. I tense up, clench my jaw, and stare straight ahead, eyes fixed, focused, and unblinking at the wall.