Page 51 of From Best To Bested

He wobbled, gripping the sink, and almost certain he’d fall face-first into it.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“Nothing,” Roman could barely force the word out.

“Who did this?” Levi approached. “Was it Ezra? That sick fuck has gone too far.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Roman tried to swallow the words. He couldn’t explain it to Levi, couldn’t explain he did this to himself, that he’d allowed it to happen. Levi wouldn’t understand.

“Who did this to you?” Levi stared, silently waiting for a reply.

Roman couldn’t answer. He wouldn’t answer. He was tired and ashamed and guilty of letting things get a little too fun.

Levi didn’t wait silently much longer. He continued badgering Roman with questions he didn’t have answers to.It kept stirring up memories, kept knocking Roman’s thoughts around in all the wrong ways, kept making the room spin, until finally, Roman couldn’t stand anymore.

He didn’t remember Levi catching him, but he’d fallen so much last night the pain was a familiar one. Someone had caught him, carried him, called out to him. But Roman was too tired to look, to answer.

When he’d finally rested enough, he woke up inside the infirmary with a nurse standing beside him and Levi sitting far off, eyes locked on Roman with this unblinking stare.

“Tox screen came back,” she said, and Roman couldn’t tell if she looked annoyed or offended or something else altogether. “Had quite a lot…”

As she trailed off, he couldn’t grasp the number of drugs he’d done. He remembered Jake’s kiss. He remembered the chalky pills he shared. He remembered Jake insisting he swallow. That might’ve been another memory, though. He didn’t remember any other drugs. Any other party favors. Just more kisses.

Levi’s puppy-dog blue eyes at the opposite end of the room hurt more than anything last night. More than any fight in the arena. More than any trauma Roman had long since buried. He felt like he’d betrayed Levi, partying it up and nearly overdosing after everything Levi had done to get clean, to fix his life. And Roman shouldn’t feel guilty when he didn’t even remember taking half of the drugs in his system, accepting them, but the nurse’s glower and warning lecture about overdosing made Roman believe he might actually have a problem.

“You’re pretty banged up. We did our best treating the cuts and scrapes.” She paused for a long minute, the longest minute of Roman’s life, as she looked down at him, on him. Both. “And tended to the tattoo.”

“Thank you,” Roman forced out.

“We’d also like to run…”

When the word of kits came up, internal injuries, bleeding, Roman shook his head in protest before clawing his way out of the bed. The nurse didn’t argue with him on the matter, didn’t ask again, didn’t fight a battle she’d probably been told ‘no’ to a million times before. And Roman didn’t need anything. Nothing had happened. He’d tried to have fun. He’d had too much fun. That was it.

Levi cut Roman off as he grabbed his things and got dressed.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Going back to my room,” Roman said. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

“You are not going back there,” Levi said with such demand in his voice Roman had to lower his head, sheepish and shaky, in order to respond.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

That fucking hit hard. It knocked the wind right out of Roman. Nearly dropped him to the floor. This all came back to the fact Roman had choices. Choices that led him here. Choices he had to live with. But he couldn’t remember the last time in his life he had a real choice. Every choice offered felt like a trap, another prison, a deceit waiting to watch him fall and beat him down harder than even last night. Roman hated his so-called choices. Hated his options. Hated his life.

“You have choices,” Roman snarled, resenting how free and healthy and strong and capable Levi had become. Roman kept wilting and withering, and Levi continued improving.

Roman wondered if he was the obstacle in his friend’s life, the thing holding Levi back. Maybe it had nothing to do with Ezra giving him a bit of protection, nothing to do with Roman’s sacrifice. Maybe Levi was just meant to do well, and Roman was destined to fail.

Burying the thoughts, Roman bolted ahead and made his way into the hallway, away from ears and watchful eyes.

“We can get your room changed,” Levi insisted, following Roman out of the infirmary. “Get you sent to my cellblock, room with me. My cellmate hates me. Old guy. Hates everyone. He’s funny, though.”

“Yeah, the warden’s definitely gonna sign off on a room change,” Roman said with a bit more sarcasm than he believed he had left in him. “And what happens if I move?”

Roman didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to point out how last night would just happen again and again, only it’d be worse. It wouldn’t be fun. Christ, how he clung to last night being fun gone a bit too far. It was the only thing that held the band to his sanity. If what he thought had happened actually happened, happened under Ezra’s protection, happened after so many months of service, of loyalty, of commitment—no! Ezra wouldn’t have allowed it. Ezra protected Roman, and Roman served Ezra. It was a balance. It kept Roman safe. It was the only thing that kept Roman safe now. What happened last night was Roman’s idea. Roman encouraged it, suggested it, said yes to it. Roman caused this.

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