Page 189 of Dance of Defiance

Stabbing, slicing, screaming for a fuckingdropof sweet relief.

I’m crying on the floor again, puking into the trashcan clutched to my chest, when firm, tattooed hands push my damp hair backfrom my face. Then they lift me, settling my head back onto warm, muscled thighs as they stroke my face.

“You’re going to be okay, wreckage,” Val murmurs as he holds me in his arms, rocking us back and forth as I cling to him and shake and sweat and puke.

I can see a second Val walking across the floor, though, looking at me with disdain, and I don’t know if the one giving me comfort is real or not.

I don’t even know if he’s here.

Truthfully, I wouldn’t blame him if he wasn't.

The Val giving me reproachful looks from across the room sneers at me and turns, grabbing Evelina in his arms. I shudder, crying pathetically for him to stop as he buries his face in her neck, making her moan as he pins her to the wall.

“Stop it!” I hear myself scream. “Get the fuck away from her!”

Hands still stroke my face. Strong thighs still shift under my head.

“Stay with me, wreckage. Stay with me, Roman.”

Right now, I don’t care if he’s real or just a detox hallucination, my consciousness fucking with me and punishing me.

I just cling to him with everything I have, crying, shaking, letting my veins bleed out poison as I beg for release, or death.

Please, don’t let me be like this.

I don’t want to be like this.

35

VAL

Brooklyn

Dude, are you okay??

Brooklyn

1 day, I’m thinking hangover. 2, a BAD hangover. But missing four days of rehearsal in a row??? Srsly worried.

Brooklyn

PS Kuzmina is going to murder you

I grin,shoving a hand through my hair and pushing it back from my face. The city hums and honks and clamors below me as I sit on Roman’s veranda high above. Before I text Brooklyn back, my hand reflexively reaches for my cigarettes.

Goddammit.

It’s day four of my own detox. If I was going to make Roman go through hell, I figured I might as well join him. Like, if my whole thing is making sure he doesn’t die of cirrhosis of the liver,or heart failure, or whatever other horrible shit alcoholism can bring, thenIcan do my best not to die of lung cancer.

Also, if I’m going to be an agitated, edgy fuck, snapping at everything around me as I go through nicotine withdrawal, it might as well be at the same time thathe’sgoing through alcohol withdrawal.

We can be miserable, angry fuckers together, right?

I scowl as I pat my empty pocket, feeling the phantom bulk of a pack of cigarettes that isn't there.

I’ll be honest, quittingmyvice is nothing close to what Roman’s been going through. Nicotine withdrawal makes you angry and short-tempered and a grumpy shit to be around, but that’s it. After four or five days, the cravings are no longer physical, they’re psychological. Also, I quit once before when I first started dancing professionally, so I knew what to expect.

Acute alcohol withdrawal, though, is a hell I don’t ever want to experience. And after taking care of Roman these last few days, I’m not sure if it’s something I’d survive.