“What scares you?” His fingers pause from preparing my arm.
My question was very forward, and it was also very personal. I’m seconds away from apologizing but am surprised when Roman replies. “Not much scares me anymore.” His admission isn’t arrogant; it’s simply honest. “But in saying that, a few things still terrify me.”
The moment I feel the tourniquet being secured to my upper arm, I squeeze my eyes together tighter.
“Like what?” I ask through deep breaths.
“Like global warming, and whether or not a copycat One Direction band is waiting in the wings.” A wavering laugh escapes me.
He’s evasive on purpose, hiding behind his humor. I wonder why.
A small prick penetrates my skin before my arm feels heavy, and heat scores the tips of my ears. I bite my lip and tell myself to calm down.
“The things that scare me…are the invisible kind. What is seemingly harmless to most people is my worst nightmare come true,” he suddenly reveals.
His heartfelt admission is what I need to focus on, not the needle currently being jabbed into my arm.
“I can relate to that,” I divulge around a small intake of breath. “We all have our demons.”
The walls suddenly close in on me, and I’m finding it hard to breathe for another reason other than what’s going on in the crease of my elbow. There is silence—only our heavy breathing filling the still room—but the unspoken is deafening.
“The demons,” he declares softly, “they’re not out there, Lola. They’re in here…fighting to be free.” I hear two taps over what I’m guessing is his temple.
My eyes pop open, uncaring that I’ll see blood, and needles, and more blood.
This is the first time he’s confessed that something lurks beneath the surface. “What demons?”
He secures a cotton ball and tape over the small puncture wound, indicating he’s finished, which was astonishingly fast. He was right, he was gentle, but my phobia has suddenly taken a back seat because I need to know what he meant.
“Don’t you mean which?” he counters, snapping off his gloves.
I purse my lips, confused. Are these demons the reason he takes medication? It makes sense. And which? That makes me think there is more than one.
Roman is a conundrum.
“All done.” He labels two vials, completely composed, while my brain is racing a million miles a minute. “The results should be here in a couple of days. I’ll let you know as soon as they arrive.” Why the sudden change of pace? Did he reveal something he wishes no one to know?
But I couldn’t care less about the results. I want to talk more about him and his demons. “Roman…” He pauses, pen pressed to the white label. “I…if you ever need to talk, I’m here. No judgment. You’re doing me a huge favor. The least I can do is return it.” I’m extending an olive branch. I can only hope he takes it.
“Thank you.” He appears genuine, but I can tell by the hard press of his lips that his secrets will remain under lock and key…for now.
He turns his back and busies himself with cleaning up.
Am I being dismissed?
Just when I thought he was going to share a small piece of himself with me, he withdraws and leaves me wanting more.
I jump down from the table, reading his body language loud and clear. Roman is a closed book, but with each moment we spend together, he reveals a small part of himself. The problem is that the more I see…the more I like.
I want to ask so many questions, but I don’t. With his back still turned, I excuse myself.
As I walk toward my sports class, I can’t help but wonder what happens when Roman’s demons meet mine.
My insides warm.
This can only lead to trouble.
It’s been two days since I last saw Roman, and not a second has ticked by without him in my thoughts. I can’t stop thinking about his demons, and if they have anything to do with whomever Eleanor is.
“Good morning.”
His hoarse voice makes me forget everything but these inexplicable feelings I’m forming for him.
“Good morning, Dr. Archibald,” Zoe singsongs, smirking at my sudden internal dilemma.
He smiles before focusing his attention on Sadie. He turns tender. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better,” she replies softly, nervously toying with her Monopoly piece.
Their exchange piques my interest as her reply reveals that she’s been unwell—a fact I wasn’t even aware of.
“Are you all right?” I ask gently, stroking her arm. She nods but lowers