ROMAN
Roman gets home after a late shift and tries to set his keys on the console but misses. They clatter to the floor, the sound echoing through the house. He stares at the metal for longer than necessary before stepping over it to enter the kitchen. The sound of a lone car passing greets him as he rifles through the kitchen medicine cabinet.
She left.
He knocks most of the bottles over, notgiving a shituntil he finds the ibuprofen. He swings the fridge open, grabs a water bottle, twists the cap off.
Jahlani left.
He tips the bottle for two tablets but the entire container scatters across the island and the floor. He blinks slowly, watching the island freckle white with pills.
It’s over.
He reaches for two, turns for the water—misjudges—and backhands the bottle, sending it over the edge. He watches it tumble out like a waterfall before moving to the cabinet to grab a glass.
She left.
He flicks on the tap, fills a glass, shoves the pills in, and swallows. He doesn’t mean to, but he drops the glass into the sink harder than he realizes, and it shatters.
Jahlani left.
He pushes his palms into his eyes until his vision spots before he stumbles into the bedroom, yanks off his socks—tears a hole—then slams a finger in the drawer hunting for sleep shorts.
“Fuck.” He shakes his hand out and lowers onto the bed.
You’re supposed to hate me.
He falls back against his pillow, throwing his non-throbbing arm across his face, breathing evenly. He’d laugh if he didn’t feel so sick.
It’s his fault. She warned him.
What if I’m the villain?
As he stares at the ceiling, trying to empty his mind, he wonders how long this will take, because this is his first time.
Trying to sleep with a broken heart.
And it fucking sucks.
“Okay, this is just getting pathetic.”
Danica leans against the archway of his kitchen, arms folded across her chest.
“What?” He says, glancing her way when she drags out the stool across from him.
“Really, Ro? Look at you … you look terrible,” she says, looking around the house. “And the place is a mess.”
He scratches under chin, before folding his arms over his chest. “Gee, thanks.”
Her eyebrows raise to her hairline. “Seriously, we’re worried about you.”
He turns away from her, grabbing a Gatorade from the fridge. He finishes the whole bottle, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m fine. I’ve just been busy.”
She continues to look at him.
He blinks at her. “Danica, I'm fine. Really.”
She exhales, her eyes softening. “You’re not fine. Tell me what happened.”
