Vitali sees that I’m stuck. I can see in his eyes that he thinks I’ll get up and leave. But I don’t.
Vitali is the one who gets up but not to leave. He goes over to the minibar and pours a drink. Now that I don’t drink, it worries me to see how much he does it. He’s stressed. I’m stressing him. Because he … cares about me.
I know that he does. I’ve known that from the start. But knowing and feeling are different things, and I feel it now, a little, for the first time. It’s supposed to feel good. It does, kind of. But it hurts too.
Everything was so much easier when I wasn’t human. But being in that cell with Lucas last night made very clear to me that there’s no going back. But I don’t know how to go forward either.
Vitali gives me time. He’s getting more patient. He’s starting to adjust to how I am. He was so shocked at first. Of course he was. But he’s starting to let me be myself. I’m the one who can’t figure shit out.
Vitali rests back against the minibar. He sips his drink but doesn’t look at me. It helps me breathe. It helps me speak again.
“You would take care of Lucas,” I say. “If anything happened to me.”
I know he would, but I want to hear him say it. He doesn’t hesitate.
“Yes. Of course.”
I close my eyes, relieved.
“But, Roman—he wouldn’t be the same. You know that, right? He wouldn’t do well.”
When Vitali says that, in that careful tone, I know that he knows why we’re talking about this.
If I were dead, I wouldn’t have to figure any of this out. It would just go away. I wouldn’t be a danger to Lucas or a source of worry or stress.
It’s not that I plan to do anything or even directly want to. It’s just … a thought.
I think Quinn thinks like this sometimes. I think that’s the understanding I sensed when he was driving me and Lucas home. Recognizing it now, actually looking at it for the first time, I see it in him too. These kinds of thoughts.
I suppose Vitali has also seen it in Quinn. Maybe that’s why he can see it in me. And I feel really relieved that he’s letting me deal with it right now, with him, without getting upset with me.
I don’t blame Lucas for getting upset, but I really need to talk to someone, just for a second, who doesn’t.
I swallow hard. “I want better for him.”
“He loves you.”
“I know.”
“I’m not sure you do, Roman. I think you only see the generous part of his love, the part that he gives. And it’s real. It’s big. I see it every fucking day. But there’s a selfish part of his love too. A possessive and hungry part. He needs you as much as you need him.”
My vision blurs, smudging Vitali and the room together until it’s just a swirl of light and color. Vaguely, I see Vitali moving through it. I hear him. When I blink and the tears fall, he’s sitting on the coffee table. He’s facing me but not right across from me. He’s just close enough to be with me.
He’s leaning forward, his forearms on his knees, his glass held between. He’s looking down. Something about it makes me feel like I can tell him the truth.
“Everything’s so fucking hard,” I confess.
Vitali’s eyes squeeze shut. “I know.”
“I don’t know how to do this.” The way Vitali receives my words, listening, accepting, makes more of them spill out. “I don’t know how to be here. I wear my old clothes and live in my old room, but it all feels wrong. Like I’m supposed to be who I used to be, but I can’t. And I don’t even actually want to. And yet, I can’t stop feeling …”
“What?” Vitali asks quietly when I don’t finish the sentence.
I don’t know if I can tell him. I don’t know if I can say it. I try to get around it.
I ask, “Do you remember when you told me that Nonna Maria had died and I said how that was good?”
Vitali was so angry when I said that. I didn’t really react to his anger, didn’t think I even cared about it, but it’s stuck with me. It’s obviously stuck with him too because he answers almost at once.
