Page 38 of Requiem
Eventually, I reach for the water bottle with my free hand and press it against his side. “Take a sip.”
He doesn’t respond at first. Then, slowly, he does what I ask. His hand is trembling, so I help him hold onto it. Once he’s finished, his dark eyes study my face. “Give it to me,” he mumbles.
I raise a brow. “Suboxone?”
He nods. “Please, I need this pain to go away. I want to die.”
I swallow hard, remembering all of the times I’ve heard him say that. And the time that we both almost died together in a hotel room after overdosing. Sometimes, I wonder if I’ve died and this is just a hell I’m forced to live. Maybe he’s not actually suffering like this. Maybe he’s okay and at peace.
Probably not.
“Okay.” I reach into my pocket to retrieve the Suboxone. “Okay,” I repeat quietly, more to steady myself than anything else.
Jude’s forehead brushes my collarbone with every uneven breath. He’s shaking just as hard as before, maybe worse now that he’s let himself feel it.
“Hey,” I murmur, shifting just enough so he can see the pill in my hand. “Look at me for a second.”
He doesn’t. His eyes stay squeezed shut, jaw tight.
“Jude.”
His eyes finally crack open, watery and unfocused at first, before they land on the pill in my hand. “It’s not going to make it worse?”
“No,” I tell him. “It’ll help.”
He stares at it like it might bite him.
“Hey,” I say again. “You’re okay. No one’s stopping you. You can take it, or not.”
His shoulders sag just slightly, like something in him finally gives. “Okay,” he whispers.
I shift carefully, guiding him back just enough so he’s sitting instead of half-collapsed into me. He sways, his body struggling to cooperate.
“Easy,” I murmur, keeping one hand firm at his back.
His hand lifts. Or…triesto. It trembles so badly it barely makes it halfway before dropping uselessly back to his lap.
“Fuck,” he breathes, frustration flashing across his face. “I can’t—”
“I’ve got you.”
I don’t make a big deal out of it. I just take his hand in mine and press the pill gently into his palm.
His fingers twitch and shake, refusing to close around it.
“You can do this, Jude,” I cut in, firmer now. “Look at me.”
He does. Barely holding it together. I guide his hand back up, steadying his wrist as he brings the pill to his mouth. His lips part, but his hand shakes so badly that it bumps against his teeth.
“Jesus,” he mutters, frustration bleeding through.
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “Take your time. Let it dissolve under your tongue first. Then you can drink.”
He tries again. This time, the pill makes it in.
I let out a breath, relief surging through my chest. “You did it,” I say quietly, tears threatening to spill over. But I clamp them down.
He just sits there, staring at nothing. After a few seconds, he collapses into me again. “Stay,” he mumbles against my shoulder. “Please, Micah.”
