But I let him go.
I walk past him. I walk away. The arguing behind me fades as I move through the dark alleys until I reach the street. I just keep going.
Soon, there are footsteps behind me. Those stop eventually, replaced by headlights.
I lose track of time. I have no idea where I am or how long I’ve been walking. I don’t like it. I feel untethered. I want …
I want back in my cell.
I know that’s not the reality I’m in right now, but I don’t care. I understand myself within that reality. I don’t understand myself here, walking down a street in Boston with Vitali and Quinn trailing me in the car.
Eventually, I become too aware of them and where I actually am. I stop. I close my eyes for a second, wishing everything would go away.
The car rolls forward until the rear door is right beside me. The car stays there, idling. I open the door and get in.
FOUR
Lucas
I’m already sitting on the porch steps when the headlights cut through the trees. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I do know that Isaac, the Constantines’ off-the-books doctor, is waiting inside. That’s half the reason my knee is bouncing. The other half is that Roman hasn’t responded to my text. I know he’s basically okay because I got a message from Vitali before Isaac even arrived, but I don’t like that Roman hasn’t replied to me.
As the headlights approach, my phone chimes on the brick step beside me. I check the message. It’s from Vitali telling me they’ll come through the garage.
Something tightens inside me. Normally, on a bad night, Roman would get out here to be with me whilethe others park. But they drive past Isaac’s car and around to the back.
I put my phone in my pocket and go inside to the kitchen. Sasha is at the island, flicking through camera views on her tablet. Isaac is sitting at the table with a glass of water and his medical bag.
I haven’t seen Isaac since the night I arrived at this house with Roman several months ago, after Roman collapsed from the epinephrine he’d been injected with before a fight, the night he got us away from our captors.
Isaac looks mid-forties, with gray at his temples and a weary look in his eyes. He glances at me but doesn’t engage. Part of me is inclined to distrust an off-the-books doctor. I sometimes think back on the doctor who initially tended Roman in his holding cell. I remember how dismissive he was, like he didn’t care or even see how Roman was being abused. But Vitali wouldn’t let just anyone in here.
When I hear the men moving through the house, I go out into the formal sitting room, which has turned halfway into a movie room. It’s kind of awkwardly incongruous in its transition, with beanbags and wingback chairs, a movie projector and old paintings. It strikes me as weirdly symbolic, that incongruity, when I see Roman enter it. He looks so handsome in his black pants and shirt, like he belongs in this elegant, rich, dangerous world of illegal drugs and guns and god knows what else. But then there are his eyes. They’re not part of that image. They’re nothere at all, not even when he looks at me. I know the difference.
My eyes drop to the blood on his left hand. It’s dripping from his fingers onto the hardwood floor.
Vitali walks around him, giving him a wide berth, and says, “Come on.”
Roman gets moving, walking my way. Quinn is behind him but keeping some distance. When Roman reaches me, I put out my hand for his, but he doesn’t take it. He walks past me. I swallow hard and cross my arms and follow him into the kitchen.
Vitali is brusque with Roman. He tells him to take off his shirt and sit. I guess he’s right to be brusque because Roman does what he says in an almost robotic fashion.
Removing his shirt exposes all the scars on his upper body and a new wound on his left forearm. My heart skips at the blood, but Issac just lays out a towel on the table as Roman sits.
Isaac glances warily at Roman before he starts cleaning the wound, but Roman is nonreactive. I’ve never seen him shut down like this, and it has me shaking slightly. I don’t know what to do.
Nothing, I guess.
Vitali goes to look at the tablet with Sasha, though he glances at his brother from time to time. Vitali’s expression is tight, kind of grim. Quinn goes to the refrigerator and gets a beer.Sasha doesn’t really react to the tense atmosphere, so she probably already knows what happened. I wish someone would tell me. I wish someone would speak. But everything is silent,except for the sounds of Isaac opening a suture kit and scooting closer to work on Roman’s arm.
I edge forward to see the wound. It’s too wide to be a knife, but it’s straight and clean. A bullet, I assume. It must hurt, but Roman never reacts much to pain. Right now, he looks like he’s not feeling anything at all. He looks like he’s barely here.
My eyes sting, but I widen them. I don’t want to cry, especially with everyone else so quiet.
I suppose I should be glad that Roman is letting Isaac work on him. Usually, Roman refuses any touch but mine. But for some reason, the fact that he’s allowing it, and so calmly, is scaring me as much as anything.
Isaac finishes stitching then covers the wound. As he’s gathering up the used supplies, Vitali says, “Roman, he’s done, go with Lucas.”
Roman gets up from his chair, still weirdly compliant. He doesn’t look at me as I approach, but we walk out of the kitchen together. We move through the house and upstairs to our room.
