Page 12 of Room 1017

“I can’t believe you. You scared the hell out of me!” Amy hissed, picking up the pill bottle and giving it a shake, then she looked at the label. She turned accusing eyes my way. “Is this already a refill of your prescription? Peter, you should be off these by now. Your doctor said plain Tylenol should be enough. And mixing it with booze? What were you thinking?!”

Feelings of guilt and failure reared up inside me, that lick of shame I’d tried to bury with the drugs in the first place making my insides hot. I gritted my teeth, fists balling at my sides as I glared at her. “Don’t ride in here on your high horse and think you can tell me what to do. You don’t have the first fucking clue what I’m going through, the pain I’ve been in.”

She reared back as though slapped, her face crumpling briefly before she could cover it up with her practiced placid agent expression. She nodded once, wordlessly, as she brushed a few stray tears away from beneath her eyes. “Fine. Do whatever you want, Peter. You obviously know what’s best. I’ll talk to you later.” She spun on her heel and stormed out of my room.

I wanted to call after her—should’vecalled after her—but I didn’t. I lay here, simmering in my own self-loathing, as she slammed the front door on her way out. In the sudden silence, I heard the distant rev of her engine as she drove off.

Casey, however, was still standing right where he was. Neither of us said a word. I couldn’t look at him, knowing the judgment that must’ve been written all over his face. I was an asshole, I deserved everything I got. I knew it, and he knew it. So why wouldn’t he just leave already?

“Well?” he asked after the pause had gone way beyond awkward.

“Well what?” I grunted, the lingering effects of the alcohol starting to make my head pound.

“Aren’t you going to get up? You can’t lie in bed all day. Come on, I’ll make you dinner. As long as you have something to eat in this place.” He held a hand out for me to take.

I stared at his long fingers and smooth skin. Was he seriously suggesting I should just take his hand, easy as that?

When I didn’t take it right away, he wiggled his fingers at me. “I promise I won’t bite.” His smile was confusing the hell out of me. Why wasn’t he mad at me like Amy? If anything, Casey looked determined, ready to take on a challenge, his eyes carrying the glint of a dare.

Sighing in frustrated defeat, I took his hand and let him ease me out of bed. He could no doubt see by the way I balanced myself gingerly that I hadn’t been moving as much as I was supposed to.

That familiar sense of failure that lived inside me was a private thing, and knowing he saw it kindled my anger. “Why are you here?” I snapped, the leash on my rage drawn taut, making my skin tingle with heat. “Didn’t you get the hint when I didn’t show up for my appointment? I don’t want your help.”

Casey merely smiled wider. “Uh-huh, sure you don’t.” Then he squeezed my hand, bringing attention to the fact I still hadn’t let go.

I jerked my hand back as though burned. I had no idea which of the many emotions I was currently feeling might’ve been winning control of my face, but Casey seemed to glean unlimited amusement from it. He snatched up my pill bottle and left the room, swaying his hips in a playful saunter.

“Hey! Give those back,” I shouted, a thread of panic making me dart after him without thinking. I needed those! The first step sent a zing of sharp pain straight through me, from my heel all the way up to my lower back. I recoiled on instinct, losing my footing and careening into the wall, my shoulder taking the brunt of the impact.

“Coming?” he called from the kitchen.

“Asshole,” I cursed as I limped after him, making sure to raise my voice enough for him to hear. He simply chuckled, the insult missing its mark entirely. I gritted my teeth, using my anger as fuel. He seemed determined to shine a spotlight on every one of my flaws.

When I finally managed to hobble my way down the hall to the kitchen, sliding myself along the wall to keep myself upright, I found Casey making himself at home in my kitchen. He’d found the dish soap and was currently adding hot water to the sink.

“I don’t need you to do my fucking dishes,” I growled.

“Of course you don’t,” he said, and while I would’ve expected the words to come out dripping with condescension, he actually seemed authentic, not a single hint that he was teasing me. “You are capable of doing all kinds of things, but I hate just standing around when I could be more efficient with my time. Makes me antsy. Have a seat,” he said, directing me to where my wheelchair sat in the corner.

I wanted to turn my nose up at the suggestion, but the only thing keeping me on my feet was the wall at my back. With a muttered curse, I dropped into the chair, hissing. Good thing the brakes were on, or I might’ve gone rolling into the living room instead. Actually… maybe that might not have been the worst thing. Being in the same room as him was a lot.

Casey dunked his hands into the soapy water, starting on the stack of dishes I’d been letting build up. The mess had long since spilled beyond the confines of the sink, and resentment itched at my insides. The counter was too high for my wheelchair, and it was impossible to stand on my feet for as long as it would take to do it myself. I hated to accept his charity—but not quite as much as I hated living in a sty, so I sat back and sulked instead.

“So, you wanna tell me about how things have been going for you?” Casey asked casually, glancing over at me.

I grunted in reply. He didn’t need me to tell him, when he was standing smack dab in the middle of all the evidence ofhow I wasdoing.

He raised one eyebrow, smirking hard enough for an adorable dimple to appear. “Oh, so it’s going to be like that, is it? The big tough alpha, refusing to talk about his feelings. Well, maybe I’ll just have to talk about my own feelings then, just to level the playing field, show you how it’s done.” He seemed to ponder that, going through a list in his head. “I could tell you about my recurring nightmare about being back in high school and finding out I haven’t attended a single math class all term, and now I have to write an exam. I don’t need a psychologist to tell me I have a fear of failure.”

I scowled at him, lip curling in a sneer. “What is wrong with you? I don’t care about your insecurities.” He was invading my personal space, and no matter how unwelcome I made him feel, no matter how rude I was, he just kept smiling. It was like water off a duck’s back.

He rinsed the pan he’d scrubbed clean and set it in the dish rack to dry. “You need to know that I’m a safe space, Peter. I won’t be scared off by a few swears and insults you don’t really mean. You can let it all out. However rude you think you are, I’ve seen worse. Lemme have it.”

I was surprised to find that part of me wanted to accept what he was offering. I thought I’d resigned myself to my fate. What he was promising was too good to be true, and I knew that letting myself believe that healing was an option would only lead to more heartache. The only relief I’d felt these last two weeks was when I took enough pills to blur the edges.

I scanned the kitchen for where Casey might’ve stashed my pills, and I saw the orange plastic bottle on the counter. I felt the itch to take the edge off the throbbing ache, but I couldn’t with Casey hovering. What if he decided I’d had enough and took them with him when he left? There was no way the pharmacy would delivery another refill so soon.

He didn’t seem bothered by my silence. He just kept talking, accompanied by the lap of water, the clunk of dishes in the sink. “I’m sure you’ve already heard about the stages of grief before, right? Because even though no one died, that is exactly what you’re going through—grief. You lost something that day, no doubt about it. Anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Right now, you’re slogging your way through the tough ones, but I promise, you’re almost there. You might not believe me, but you’re through the worst of it. You’re so close!” Casey’s eyes shone with a glistening fervor I couldn’t help but envy. “Peter, you’re one of the lucky ones. Once you realize that, you’ll be able to move on to acceptance.”

---