Page 59 of Requiem
After a while, they finally stopped. Mom thought I was going to die. Told my dad I was going to.
I love themso fucking much.
Heather shifts in my arms, her hand coming up to rest over mine. “You okay?” she asks softly.
“Yeah,” I murmur against her skin. “I’m good.”
It’s an automatic response, and I think she can feel it. Her fingers lace with mine, squeezing gently.
I close my eyes, holding onto that small, quiet moment for as long as I can. I don’t know how long I lie there with my eyes closed, listening to Heather’s breathing even out again, feeling the slow rise and fall of her chest against my arm. Long enough that my body starts to relax. Long enough that my mind finally slips, and that memory I tried to push away earlier surges to the surface.
~ A memory ~
The cold ass air of Chicago fills my lungs the second I open the door, even in early fall. It’s probably going to be a shitty, freezing winter. Lovely.
I’m locking up the back door of the bar, keys jangling in my hand, the neon sign flickering behind me as the last of the staff trickles out. My shift ran late. It always does on a Friday night. Serving a bunch of drunk assholes at the bar.
“Hey, wait up.”
I glance over my shoulder to see Jenna jogging toward me, her brown hair pulled into a loose ponytail, cheeks flushed from the cold and the rush of closing. She’s smiling, like she always is. “Thought you already left,” I say, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets.
“Not without you,” she replies easily, falling into step beside me. “You still owe me for covering your tables last week.”
I huff out a laugh. “I bought you drinks.”
“Notthe same,” she counters, bumping her shoulder into mine.
I don’t argue.
We walk the few blocks back to my place, her talking about something that happened earlier in the night, some customer who tipped in coins and attitude. I listen just enough to respond at the right moments, but my mind is already somewhere else.
Counting the minutes.
By the time we reach my apartment, I’m already feeling it under my skin. That low, restless itch that starts in my veins and spreads outward, vibrating everything. I unlock the door and push it open, stepping into the dim, cramped space that smells faintly like stale smoke and takeout.
“Home sweet home,” I mutter.
Jenna laughs softly as she kicks off her shoes, already making herself comfortable. “Still better than my place,” she says, dropping onto the couch. “I feel like Sebastian is a serial killer. Having roommates can be cool and all sometimes. But boy, if you get a weird one, it sucksass.”
I snort at that, throwing my phone on the couch beside her. “Order some pizza,” I tell her, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her soft lips. “I’m gonna shower.”
She grins up at me, already reaching for the remote. “Take your time.”
“And hey,” I add, nodding toward the small stash on the table. “You can smoke if you want.”
Her brown eyes light up a little. “Don’t mind if I do.”
I give her a half-smile, then turn and head for the bathroom, closing the door behind me and sliding the lock into place. The second it clicks, everything shifts.
The quiet closes in.
The itch suddenly calms. It’s this weird thing that happens when you know you’re about to get your dose. Your body will relax, because your brain tells it,relief is coming.
I lean over the sink for a second, gripping the edge as I stare at my reflection. I look…fine. Tired, maybe. A little worn out. But as a bartender, always staying up late, it makes sense that I’d look this way. Nothing anyone would clock as falling apart.
A sigh leaves me. I told her I was attending meetings and trying to get clean. My jaw tightens as I look away. Then I move. My hands don’t shake as I pull everything out and set it up with ease.
Just enough.That’s the rule. Just enough to take the edge off. Just enough to smooth everything out so no one notices. So I can sit on that couch and laugh at whatever stupid show she’s watching and pretend I’m fucking okay. I tie off my arm, my breath already slowing as anticipation creeps in.
