This fucking hurts like a bitch.
It doesn’t just stay in the shoulder, my whole damn arm hurts, my fingers fucking hurt, and why the fuck does it hurt to breathe!? I stare at the bottle of pills on the counter, beckoning sweet relief, but they’re so damn strong. I know the moment I take them, I’ll be out like a light, just like Lily currently is with Sloane.
“Fuck,” I groan as I attempt to move, the pain shooting down my spine, and my whole arm tingles with it.
“Dean?” Sloane’s voice travels from the living room, and then her steps sound, coming toward me. She stops in the doorway, my daughter still resting in her arms, and a look of concern on her face. “Take the pills, Dean.”
“I can’t,” There’s a shake in my voice that makes me feel fucking weak. I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t a stranger to pain. I’ve known it my whole life, it haunts my dreams always.
“Why not?” She asks gently.
A breath stutters from me, “I just can’t.”
Her eyes flick around my face as if reading every unspoken word there. “I’m not going to leave.” She walks into the room slowly, “I’ll still be here.”
“I can’t even fucking open them, Sloane.” I snap at her.
She flinches at the sudden burst of anger but schools her features pretty quickly. I open my mouth to apologize, but before I can, she turns her back on me, leaving the room. I listen to her steps as she ascends the stairs and hang my head, shame and guilt warring inside me. When I hear her return, I can barely bring my eyes up to look at her. The bottle scrapes across the counter before the sound of the cap popping off has my eyes flicking up. She empties two pills into her palm and lays them on the counter.
“I’ll get you some water.”
She opens a fresh bottle for me and places it next to the pills.
“There’s no harm in asking for help, Dean.”
My teeth grind painfully together as I stare at her pretty fucking face, the freckles I want to count, the pillowy lips that look so damn tempting and yet can spit venom at a moment’s notice. Layers upon layers make up Sloane, and all I want to do is take her apart. Strip her back to see all those dark secrets beneath.
“You stubborn fool,” She snaps at me and shakes her head, leaving the pills and the water where they are before she storms out the room, leaving me to my self-pity.
She’s barely gone a few seconds when she returns, her arms folded across her chest. “What’ll make you take them?”
My shoulders shake as a laugh rumbles from me, but it’s cut off quick with a sharp burst of pain. I watch her flinch, as if my pain resonates with her.
“Are you trying to bargain with me?” I manage to get out through the pain.
“If that’s what it’ll take,” She dips her chin, “So what?”
“Don’t leave,” I watch her face for a reaction, but she keeps it blank.
“There’s still five hours left of the day,” She retorts, “I wasn’t leaving anyway.”
“I mean, stay,” I finger the pills on the side, knowing exactly what’ll happen once I take them. I drink, but I never get drunk. I don’t do drugs, prescribed or otherwise. They make me too vulnerable, too weak.
When I was younger, when I still lived in the house with my father, who beat both Killian and me mercilessly, he used to slip pills into my drinks. They made me weak enough that I couldn’t overpower him when he’d come for me to punish Killian. Because Killian stopped fighting back, he stopped screaming. He hid his pain, but with me, he couldn’t hide it. But my father knew Killian would kill him if he left him free, so he was locked in a closet and forced to listen.
I was weak then. The pain was too much. The unhealed fractures and the mottled bruising left my body in a constant state of agony, and with every beating I took, it got worse, and I could do nothing. The drugs made it so my limbs didn’t work, made it so all I could do was cry out. A lot has changed since then, and I refuse to be in that position again.
These pain meds leave me too foggy. They make it feel like I’m back there.
But if she’ll stay? If she’ll watch Lily, then I’ll take them.
“Stay here for the night and help me take care of Lily.”
Her throat works on a swallow, and then she runs her finger along her bottom lip, pressing down on the pillowy flesh as she searches my face.
“One night,” She agrees. “It’s the least I could do.”
“What do you mean?”
