Beyond The Roses - Monica James Page 0,37

breast to breast, and peer up into his eyes. His mouth parts, and a breathy exhale leaves his lips. My entire body is a bundle of nerves, but I persevere. I stand on tippy toes and wrap my arms around him.

I press my ear to his chest, his heart beating with a strong but faltering rhythm. At first, he stands still, frozen to the spot, as my forwardness has caught him off guard. But with a sweet surrender, he yields. He wraps his strong arms around me, crushing me to his firm torso. I can scarcely breathe, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

His heartbeat is a sound I want to bottle and keep forever. I snuggle closer, closing my eyes. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?” The profound sound resonates through my body. I nod against him, unable to stop myself from rubbing my cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt. “For what?”

“For not giving up on me and believing in my life, even when I didn’t.”

He inhales deeply. “You just needed a reminder.”

He’s not taking any credit for his involvement, playing it off, but if it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t be here, standing in his office, hugging. The moment the thought crosses my mind, I realize that I’m still clinging to him like a baby koala. But what leaves me speechless is that he’s holding me just as strongly.

We appear to both need the comfort. But eventually, he loosens his hold, and my body protests the disconnection. I regrettably let go.

I’m not repentant for the hug, but his poker face has me wondering what he’s thinking. I suddenly get nervous.

“Sorry for invading your personal bubble. I’m pretty sure I left my shoe inside it,” I add, hoping to lighten the mood.

He smiles, but something hides beneath it, making me even jumpier.

I clear my throat, grabbing the bag of pills. “Thank you, Dr. Archibald.” I suddenly feel out of sorts calling him Roman.

An exit has never looked more appealing as I move toward it. However, I’m stopped in my tracks. “You didn’t.”

“Didn’t?” It’s the only word I squeeze out.

“You didn’t invade my space,” he clarifies while I lick my suddenly dry lips.

“Good to know,” I reply flippantly, playing off his response.

Inside, I’m squirming, but I try my best to keep cool. My back is turned, so I can’t see his face, but his deep voice alerts me to his sincerity.

“Yeah. Just for future reference,” he adds.

“Okay, duly noted.” I yank open the door. I’m afraid if I stay a second longer, I’ll say something I might regret.

The cool breeze feels wonderful on my flushed skin as I zip down the hallway, seeking the safety of my room. Once inside, I lean against the door, taking three deep breaths. My heart is racing, the adrenaline punch shooting live currents all the way to my toes.

The bag of pills is the furthest thing from my mind, which is a miracle. I just took my first step toward the unknown, and I don’t feel frightened—I feel alive, the reason being Roman. The thought makes me happier than I care to admit.

Pushing off the door, I walk over to my laptop and embrace life with both hands. Waiting for it to fire up, I pull out the bottle of pills and line them up neatly. Turning each label, I examine the medical names, which would leave most people tongue-tied.

Pulling out a notepad and pencil, I begin with the red tablet. Typing it into the search engine, I poise my pencil, ready to learn.

Side effects include:

Nausea, vomiting, loss of appetite

Headache, memory problems, fatigue

Dizziness, weakness, loss of coordination

Reaching for the yellow tablets I took this morning, I do a search on that also.

The side effects are similar, but may include:

Itchiness, difficulty breathing, swelling of the mouth, cold sweats.

I instantly feel parched, but I know my mind is just playing tricks on me. All in all, I will be in a medicated hell for the next few weeks. But these side effects aren’t any different than I’ve experienced before. The sickness comes with the territory.

I can do this.

A soft knock on the door interrupts my research.

Sweeping the evidence into my drawer, I slam the laptop closed and dash for the door. Hoping my face doesn’t betray my guilt, I open the door, surprised when I see Sadie. Her usually rosy cheeks are now a deathly white, and her eyes are sunken in.

“Sadie? Are you all right?” My high-pitched voice betrays my fears.

“Yes, I’m okay.” She bites

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