Page 68 of Requiem
He offers a half-shrug, like a full one takes more effort than he's willing to give. “Better. Still…off.”
“Withdrawal?”
“Yeah. Even with the medicine, my body is missing heroin. Especially when it starts wearing off.” He drags a hand over the back of his neck. “And just…everything else.”
I nod.
We sit there in silence for a few seconds, but it’s different now. He still seems tired and quiet, but no longer as scared of his own movements. His gaze flicks toward me briefly. It lingers longer than it did last time. Then it’s gone.
But at least it happened.
***
The second time, he’s pacing slowly near the edge of the bed. When I walk in, his shoulders tense automatically. It’s not in a violent way…it’s more instinctual. I hate it so much. He stops pacing, and I stop moving. We both hold there for a few seconds.
“Hey. I’m not going to hurt you.”
His jaw locks. “I know.” But his body doesn’t fully believe it yet. And that’s okay, because we’re teaching it.
“I can leave if you want,” I add. “If you’re having a hard day.”
He shakes his head once. “No. Just…don’t come too close.”
“Okay.”
I stay where I am, a few feet away.
We exist like that for a while, talking in bits rather than full conversations. He asks what day it is. I tell him. He asks how Micah and Heather are doing. I tell him they’re in love.
He smiles then. It’s the first hint of something so familiar it makes my heart soar. “I knew they’d be.”
***
The third time, he sits on the bed when I come in. And this time…helooksat me. It’s not for long, but it’s long enough for me to see the conflict clearly now.
A muscle jumps in his jaw. His fingers twitch against his thigh. His breathing shifts a little, as if something inside him is trying to react, and he’s holding it back. But he doesn’t look away immediately.
Hefightsit.
“I’m proud of you,” I say softly.
His gaze drops after that, like the words really hit him. “It isn’t enough,” he mutters.
“Why?”
He shakes his head. “Because I don’t feel like I’m doing anything.”
“You are,” I say. “You’re choosing not to react. Or hurt me.”
He exhales slowly. “Feels like I’m just sitting here trying not to lose my mind. It’s fucking annoying, because Iknowyou’re not a threat. I know I…” he trails off, his gaze falling to the floor.
“I know,” I tell him.
That earns me a glance. It’s brief, but real. “I…I can't tell if I do anymore. Or if I'm just permanently broken.”
***
There’s a moment the next day where everything almost goes wrong. He’s pacing again. His hands rung through his hair, then drop, then clench at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. His breathing is ragged.
