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Roman…
He was the only one who ever cared enough to reach out to me, to make sure I was still holding on. Even if I didn’t know I was white-knuckling my way through life, he did.
I slide my hand into his, and a relieved breath whooshes from him. He brings it to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to the back of it before unbuckling my seat belt and helping me out of the car.
My knees are wobbly as I walk through the parking lot and hospital. Everyone rushes around me. Voices blur together. People are faceless. Everything’s hazy as we check in, and I’m vaguely aware of telling someone what’s happened. They double, then triple check I’m fine with this, and I am.
I am.
I have to be.
But I don’t want to be. Who wants to be seen, be touched, after something like that?
Roman leads me to a waiting room and helps me into a seat. Nothingness calls to me and I let it.
It feels like I’m floating, like I’m in a dream.
Nothing feels real.
Nothing except Roman’s hand around mine.
“Are you ready?” I blink a few times, everything suddenly crashing around me. “Miss?”
“What?”
“Are you ready to come with me?” The nurse is an older woman, her graying brown hair picked up in a bun, and her face soft with pity. It makes my stomach revolt.
“Go with you where?” I croak. Roman’s hand is still around mine, still holding me in reality.
“To the examination room,” she says softly, glancing at Roman. “Would you like him to come too?”
I glance at him, trying to read his expression. But I can’t. He’s carefully blank.
“No,” I whisper. Tears burn the backs of my eyes as his face shudders, his body tensing. “I want to do it alone.”
I know I have to let go of his hand, but I don’t want to.
I don’t want to do this.
But I can’t let him see me like that. I don’t want him to know what happened in my bedroom. I don’t want him to know what his father did, what he’s capable of.
I don’t want anyone to know.
Maybe I’m trying to protect Roman from the truth that’ll inevitably kill him—the truth of what, who, his father really is. Maybe if he asks, I can say I wanted it. Maybe if he asks, I can say it was my fault.
Maybe it was my fault.
My throat threatens to close at the memories that flash through my mind like still images. Phantom pain shoots through my body, and I squeeze his hand tighter.
“Will you please come with me?” the nurse asks softly. Gently.
“Go, Goldie,” Roman croaks, his eyes glossing over. I can see how tightly he’s holding his body, how badly he wants to come, to protect me, even from this. But he doesn’t. He’s trusting me to make my own choices. He’s supporting me, even as it kills him. “I’ll be here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”
I nod, but still, I can’t let go.
What if he does leave?
What if when I come out of that room, he’s gone and I’m all alone again? What if I have to pick up the pieces without him? I’ve done it before, but this time, I don’t think I can do it again.
