Page 56 of Requiem
I grab the water and set it within reach anyway, in case he needs something to chase the taste with.
He leans back after a second, eyes closing, jaw working as the medication dissolves. His breathing is still uneven, but it starts to slow just a little bit. “Feels like shit,” he mutters after a moment, voice rough.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “It’s going to.”
His eyes open again, irritation flashing immediately. “That’s helpful.”
I huff out a breath, not rising to it. “I’m not here to sugarcoat it, man.”
He scoffs. “My skin feels like it’s crawling off my body,” he says, words coming faster now. “I can’t sitstill. I can’t fuckingthink. Every time I close my eyes—” He cuts himself off abruptly, jaw clenching.
Nightmare.
I don’t push it.
“I fuckinghatethis,” he mutters, pushing up from the bed again like he can’t stand being still for more than a few seconds. The chain drags as he starts pacing again.
I stay where I am, watching him, letting him move. Good days and bad days. That’s what his life is going to be for a while.
“You’re coming off a lot at once,” I continue. “Your body’s trying to figure it out. It’s going to feel like hell at first.” A memory of one of my solo doses flashes into my mind, one from before I met Jude. I’ve been an IV addict for longer than him, and am able to function properly with Suboxone. Thank hell.
He laughs under his breath, but there’s nothing amused about it. “Feels like my brain’s trying to crawl out of my fucking skull.”
I don’t doubt that.
He stops suddenly again, this time closer to the wall, his hand bracing against it as his head dips forward. For a second, I think he might actually be getting sick.
“You gonna puke?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No.”
A beat passes.
Then, rougher, “I can’t fucking shut it off.”
I don’t ask whatitis. I think I already know. His thoughts, and memories. The leftover wiring Alexei carved into every inch of his mind and body.
“Itdoesn’tshut off. Even if I desperately fucking want it to.” His eyes flick toward the corner of the room, like he heard something. His entire body tenses for half a second before he forces himself to look away, shaking it off.
Yeah. He’s still half there. Still waiting for something that isn’t coming.
“You’rehere,”I say, not moving closer but making sure he hears me. “You’re not there anymore. You’re safe, with people who love you.”
His jaw tightens. “I know,” he snaps. But his body doesn’t agree. He’s still jittery, but it’s not as bad now. The Suboxone is kicking in.
I watch him for another minute before speaking again. “You eat anything?” I ask.
“Not hungry.”
I sigh. “You need to try.”
He shakes his head, already dismissing it. “I’ll throw it up.”
“Then we start small,” I push. “A few bites.”
“I said I’m fine,” he mutters, the irritation flaring again.
I let the silence sit for a second, then shrug. “You’re not,” I say simply. “But you will be.”
