Page 118 of Deviant Need

Fuck. Here goes nothing.

“I—” I hesitate, the words hard to get out. “I’ve been refusing the pain meds because I’m an addict. But I need something for the withdrawals. I took something before the shooting, and now they’ve started.”

She studies me for a moment. “What are you taking?”

“Benzodiazepines.”

The nurse nods and sits down in the chair beside the bed. “How long and how much daily?”

I tell her, and she writes it down without judgment.

“Benzo withdrawal isn’t something you mess around with. It’s one of the only drugs where withdrawal can actually kill you because of seizure risk.” She looks at me directly. “What we’ll do is put you on a controlled taper. We’ll use a long-acting benzo, like diazepam, to keep you stable and prevent dangerous symptoms. Then we slowly reduce it over time. Could take weeks or a few months, but slow is safe.”

“Okay,” I manage.

She stands and taps at her tablet, already heading for the door. “I’m getting the orders written now. You made the right choice telling us.”

My mother waits until the nurse is out of earshot. “How long has it been going on? Between you two?”

“Nothing happened when we were kids, if that’s what you’re asking. We only got together recently.”

She nods slowly and leans back in the chair.

“I think I need to rest. Can you leave?” I say, irritated.

Her mouth opens like she wants to say something, then closes. “Da. Of course.”

Without another word, she gets up and closes the door behind her.

I need my bed and complete silence and zero human interaction for at least the next week. My social battery isn’t just drained, it’s completely gone, and if I have to talk to one more person today, I might lose it completely. I don’t want to listen to her right now, don’t want to hear about the past or explanations or anything. I just want to be alone with him.

Every time I close my eyes, I see it, see him collapsing, see the red spreading across his hoodie too fast to stop.

We both said it. If one of us goes then the other follows, and I mean it. The moment his machines stop beeping and keeping the life in him, I’ll follow after him the second I know he’s gone. There’s no version of my life that exists without him in it. There never has been.

Light from the hospital window falls across Daniil’s face, and I lay curled against him on my uninjured side, hand resting on his jaw. My thumb moves along the edge of it carefully. He’s so beautiful it hurts to look at him sometimes.

He hasn’t woken up yet, machines beeping their steady rhythm around us, tracking every function of his body.

I refuse to leave his side, can’t stomach the thought of him waking up alone without me there. I haven’t left this bed for more than a handful of minutes in the past few days, only moving when absolutely necessary for quick showers in the cramped hospital bathroom, forcing myself to eat the food the nurses keep bringing even though it all tastes like cardboard.

Every time I leave, even for those few minutes, I can’t shake the panic that something will go wrong while I’m not there. So I rush through whatever I need to do and get back as fast as possible, climbing right back into bed with him, pressing close and lacing my fingers with his.

The doctors and nurses have stopped trying to remove me. They just do their checks around me now, and I think they’ve figured out I’m here until he wakes up.

The door slams open so loudly, I jerk. Lev, Yulian, and Alexei walk into the room and stand there looking down at us with completely unreadable expressions. Yulian drives his elbow hard into Lev’s side, who coughs and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, staring down at the floor like it’s suddenly fascinating.

“Is he okay?” Yulian asks.

“I don’t fucking know. He still has to wake up.”

He nods and rubs the back of his head, looking uncomfortable. “And you? How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look okay.”

“I said I’m fine,” I snap, then take a breath and force myself to calm down. “Just… tired. I need him to wake up. That’s all.”