Page 57 of The Marriage

His friend even dared do swipe out at the piece of glass with the remnants of powder in Roman’s hand, but coke made him faster—better. Tossing it aside, he threw his arms out on either side of him, getting comfortable again.

“What is your problem, bro?” Roman asked, laughing even though he knew it would only piss his friend off more. He just didn’t understand why.

Who cared if Roman destroyed his life?

It was already gone.

“Why are you here and why won’t you leave me alone? I don’t remember telling you to come over.” Roman looked over at the door and the damage Marky had done by making his way through, pointing at it as he said, “And shit—you better fix that door before you fucking leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you answer my questions.”

Excuse me?

Roman cocked a brow. “I don’t have to do shit, actually.”

“No, you don’t have to do anything, at least nothing I ask. But your father isn’t too far behind. Everyone knows something is up with you, Rome. You’ve been out of the picture for over a week, man. Your parents are asking questions, and I’m running out of excuses here.”

“I was in a fucking car accident that nearly killed me. How about that? Maybe I just need some time to recover from it. Huh?”

That good feeling was settling in, the coke really getting to his brain and shutting off those overworked, overactive nerves. He wasn’t heavy or light, just weightless. Just there. He wasn’t angry or sad, he felt nothing.

He was finally numb.

Couldn’t they let him be numb?

Best of all—he didn’t have to worry about Karine when he was like this. She was a distant memory, and he wanted to keep her that way for the moment because otherwise—well, that hurt.

“That is not what this is about. You’re getting fucked up because of your wife—pretty pathetic you’re willing to lie about it, man.”

“I’m getting fucked up because I can,” Roman retorted.

Too hotly.

Not able to stand the scrutiny of his friend, Roman jumped up and went looking for a beer. He could feel Marky’s eyes on him, following his every move. Like a bug that needed squashed.

“And you need to get the fuck out of here before I kick your ass out myself.”

He popped a can open—one of the ones he’d left on the coffee table; it was still warm. Gulping the beer down, he didn’t even mind. It did nothing to quench his thirst, but he didn’t care.

“I’m starting to think us being friends fucks with your head,” Roman added. “You forget your place. Who are you and who am I—can you tell me that?”

Marky’s cheek twitched as he glared right back, while Roman felt nothing.

He couldn’t even remember why they were still friends, in fact. Who gave this guy the liberty to break down his door, run his fucking mouth, and call Roman out on anything?

“Okay, yeah, I’ll leave. I don’t give a shit,” Marky replied, pointing his finger like a gun at Roman. “I shouldn’t give a shit. I just wanted to ask you when was the last time you called Karine?”

Roman didn’t like the way he asked that—or maybe it was the answer in his mind that made him shout, “She won’t talk to me—what do you want me to do?”

Marky nodded. “But you haven’t called in a long time, so you don’t know if that’s still the case, Roman. You’ve been doing this for days—you’ve been up for days. Don’t you realize it?”

Roman swayed a little where he stood. The alcohol made him tired, brought him down from the floating feeling the coke had given him. The beer was a bad decision because all of a sudden—Roman could feel things. He could actually hear what Marky was saying, not just what his coke-addled brain wanted to hear.

He returned to the couch, and sat down again. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he avoided looking at Marky.

“You need to go and speak to your father,” his friend said quietly. “The two agents were there to see him a few days ago. Some shit is going down. You’re gonna miss it because you’re too busy numbing yourself to the world around you.”

Roman dragged in harsh exhales, letting the air out slower than he took it in. From under his lashes, he kept a firm glare on Marky.