I have to hold onto that.
He’ll be mad, but he will get over it. He will see I’ve only done this to help him—help us. Even if he turns around and buys more, at least he’ll know how serious I am about him stopping. At least now he won’t have any other option but to talk to me instead of avoiding the issue.
I sit on the couch looking at the TV without watching it. My mind is too busy running through endless scenarios inside my head.
When he finally comes home, I think my head might explode with worry. Yet, I’m somehow able to force a nervous smile when he appears in the doorframe.
“Hey, I’m taking a quick shower and then I’m all yours for the rest of the day.” He winks at me, but I know soon he won't be in a good mood anymore.
“Okay,” I say, my voice a little too high pitch but he doesn't seem to notice. He disappears back into the hallway; my pulse is races and it becomes harder for me to breathe. I reach for the remote and turn off the TV. Any second now he’s going to discover what I’ve done, and then he’s going to come for me...I hope this isn’t the end…
I can hear him stomping down the hallway not even a moment later, approaching quickly. I brace myself mentally for what’s to come, but when he actually enters the room, I realize nothing could have prepared me for the f-5 twister barreling toward me.
“What the fuck Sophie? Did you do something with my meds?” He starts yelling as soon as he sees me, his steps are deafening as he covers the space that separates us.
“Where are the pills? What the fuck did you do with them?” His questions overwhelm me.
“I flushed them down the toilet,” I admit, trying everything I can to keep my voice from trembling. I’m not sure why though...I know I’m not really scared of him. I probably should be, but I’m not. How could I be, when all he’s ever done is protect me, save me.
“WHAT?” I flinch at how loud his roar is. His features contort into a mask of pure rage. “What the fuck were you thinking? I fucking need those!”
“I don’t think you do Roman. I…”
“What are you, a fucking doctor now?” He interrupts me and throws the empty pill bottle across the room. I can see his chest heaving in anger, his hands balled into tight fists like he wants to beat the snot out of something. He turns around suddenly, pulls back his arms and swings his fist against the wall. With a loud bang his fist smashes into the wall, paint and pieces of drywall crumble around his fist while I sit on the couch watching in horror unable to move a muscle.
When he lifts his hand from the wall to reach for his phone, I see blood running down his knuckles. I almost jump up to ask him if he is okay, but decide to stay put. He pounds away at the keys before bringing the phone to his ear.
For a moment I think he might be calling someone to come pick me up. Regret fills my veins...at my decision to provoke him.
“Mike, I need you to come to my house.” There’s a long pause as the person on the other end talks. “I’m out so bring some…” Another pause, and Roman’s dark gaze seems to turn darker.
“What do you mean you don't have any right now? Find some and bring them to me…Now!” He doesn’t even give the person on the phone a chance to respond. He simply hangs up the phone, and slams it down on the liquor cabinet, before grabbing a bottle of whiskey. He's out of control, spiraling toward the ground and I don’t know how to help him, how to fix this.
Maybe I shouldn’t have flushed his pills, but I can’t envision him hurting himself anymore.
“Roman, can we please talk about this?” I move from the couch, feeling the need to soothe him.
“What is there to talk about? I took you in, kept you safe, let you stay in my house, and you rifled through my shit like it belonged to you.” The words sting, but he’s angry. He doesn't mean it.
“Do you have any idea how much money you flushed down the drain?” I shake my head, feeling his eyes roam over my body.
“I’m worried about you.” I try to keep my voice