Page 213 of Bitter Poetry
The conversation feels normal, natural, and after the last twenty-four hours, I definitely need some of that.
He hands me the plastic zip-lock bag containing Christian’s prescription medication. I take it.
Christian is surly and curses all the way up the stairs.
“Fuck. I can’t believe I’m back in my old room,” he mutters as I follow him in. He goes to the nightstand, empties his pockets, and drops his cell phone on the huge California king bed.
The room is spacious and modern, and he has his own adjoining bathroom. A flat-screen TV is positioned on one wall, where it can be viewed from the bed or the low couch facing a console with a PlayStation.
I can’t imagine a younger version of Christian growing up here—I can’t imagineanyversion of him playing games like a regular teenager might. He only moved out after his father passed away and has been living in Dante’s city apartment ever since.
It strikes me as strange how much I know him, but also how I don’t.
His cursing draws my attention from my perusal of his room.
“Fuck, I need a pain pill.” His T-shirt lies discarded on the floor, and he is kicking off his shoes.
I should be helping him, not gawking at his room. “I’ll get you some water.”
“There should be a glass in the bathroom.”
When I return, he’s stripped down to his boxer briefs and is getting into bed. I pop out two of the pain pills and pass them to him with the water.
He takes them without a word and settles back with a grimace.
“Just going to rest my eyes for a bit.”
I want to laugh.
I want to cry.
This meek version of Christian won’t last for long, but he’s adorable.
And doesn’t that make me a bitch thinking him cute when he’s in terrible pain, and it’s all my fault.
He falls asleep almost instantly.
“I need to leave,” Dante says, appearing in the doorway. “Are you good to stay with him?”
“Of course,” I say. Where else would I go? He told me bluntly only yesterday that if I ever left him, he would hunt me down.
“The doctor will come by and see him later this evening. I’ll be back before then… hopefully.”
His phone rings in his pocket. He takes it out and lifts it to his ear. “I’ll come down now.” He slips it back into his pocket. “Your father and sister are here.”
“Here? Now?”
“Yes. They’ll be staying for a while. Just until things settle down.”
Until it’s safe, he means.
My eyes go to Christian. He hasn’t even stirred during our conversation.
“He’ll be fine. The pain medication is pretty strong. He’s better off sleeping if he can. Go on ahead. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
A shot of nerves and yet more guilt assail me as I head downstairs. I hear their voices before I reach the bottom and turn, following the sounds into an informal lounge area. My father’s wheelchair is between an overstuffed armchair and a couch where my sister is sitting.
I rush over to them. My sister meets me halfway, flinging her arms around me. “God, we’ve been so worried.”
