I lift my arm and wipe them away furiously. Don’t listen to him, just take them, you’ll feel better when you do.
“Please, baby.” His voice is so close but feels so far away at the same time.
My hands shake and the bottle rattles in my hand as I stare at it. What do I do? What do I do!
“Take them,” that voice whispers in my head, the same voice that tells me I need them.
“I have to,” I whisper, thinking that he hasn’t heard me, but he does because I can hear his huff of breath from through the door.
“You don’t have to, baby. You just think you do.”
“No!” I shout, standing up and clenching my hands into fists as I stare angrily at the door. “You don’t understand!”
“Make me understand,” he growls back, slamming what sounds like the palm of his hand on the door.
I rush toward the door, unlocking it and pulling it open, my heart racing so fast at how angry I am.
“You don’t understand!” I point, stepping forward and jabbing his chest.
“Tell me what I don’t understand,” he spits, grabbing my wrists and squeezing just enough to hurt. “How long?”
“How long, what?”
“Have you been taking them!” he roars and I wince at the loudness of his voice and try to pull back, but he doesn’t let go. “Tell me how long you’ve been taking them.”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, moving my eyes from him and looking anywhere but his eyes.
“You do,” he says, dropping his voice low. “Since you were shot?”
I nod in reply, my mouth not able to form an answer.
He blows out a breath and it fans across my face as he lets go of mine wrists and steps back. “You have to stop,” he tells me, holding his head in his hands.
“I know,” I reply, shuffling my feet on the floor. “I will, just after these.”
I hold up the bottle and try to smile but the look of horror on his face tells me that he doesn’t agree. I see the change in his muscles, the way they tense and I know that any second he’s going to pounce for the pills, his slight flick of his eyes to the bottle tells me that he’ll go for it, so I make a mad dash for the bathroom again, dumping some more pills into my hand and shoving them into my mouth just as he reaches me and takes the bottle from my hand.
I swallow the pills dry, wincing at how they taste and the feel of them as they go down my throat.
“Fuck!” he shouts, slamming his fist into the wall and spinning to face me. “What are you doing?”
“I need them,” I choke out.
His face collapses the longer he stares at me and he stumbles backward, his back hitting the wall before he slides down to the floor, bringing his knees up and resting his elbows on them.
“I can’t lose you too.”
“What?” I ask, not knowing whether I should step closer or stay exactly where I am.
“I lost Emmy. I can’t lose you too.”
His eyes meet mine and the sadness and heartbreak shining through them almost knocks me on my ass. My feet move of their own accord, the lump in my throat making a sob bubble up and break through.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, dropping to my knees and shuffling into the space between his legs.
I frame his face with my hands, swiping the tears away that run down his cheeks, the sight of him crying is almost enough to break me in two.
“I’m so sorry.” I kiss him softly and pull away, looking him dead in the eyes. “I’ll stop. I promise, I’ll stop.”