Chapter Text
Tabitha makes a bit of small talk with people at the wake. It’s a stuffy and uncomfortable affair.
She wasn’t close to Logan, she wouldn’t care much about his death if it weren’t for the way it affects Roman. She sees his pain, and it’s disconcerting to see how well-adjusted he’s acting. She knows the grief is gonna catch up to him and all hell will break loose. She’s tried to get him to talk about it but he keeps insisting he’s fine.
What she wasn’t expecting was that he’d be nominated co-CEO during this, which incidentally is what happens. She congratulates him and he smiles at her. It’s a precious moment, she likes seeing it.
Roman boasts and laughs and then gets whisked away with Kendall to discuss matters relating to their new position. She watches him walk out the room with a small smile on her face.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Shiv says behind her. Tabitha turns to find her sitting on the armrest of the couch. She wonders what that might mean. “He’s acting all high and mighty because won the baby dick measuring contest, but it’s not gonna last.”
Tabitha lets her smile widen, turning her body fully to face her sister-in-law.
“As long as it makes him happy, we’ll take that.”
Shiv laughs. Something bitter and vicious. “‘We’? You know, women in Roy men’s lives sooner or later end up getting the short end of the stick. I don’t know what you think you are getting out of this, but I’d think twice about it if I were you.”
Tabitha doesn’t give her words much weight. She’s obviously bitter about being sidelined. She’s allowed to feel cynical, that’s none of Tabitha’s business, but she’s having none of that.
“I’m not in it for the money, Shiv. I have no stakes in this. I just know how important it is for him, and I care about him.” She pauses, she takes in Shiv’s skeptical expression, and she decides to throw a jab at her and their whole family. “I mean, someone has to. Right?”
Shiv scoffs, but she looks mildly amused.
“Be my guest. Just watch out not to end up stuck mothering him.”
She will be. Shiv’s words stick with her, but she doesn’t show it.
“Thanks for the advice. A little sisters-in-law bonding, how nice is that?”
*
The day after - two mere days after his dad died - Roman, his siblings, and the whole crew are shipped to Norway to see the fucker who pretty much killed their dad.
Roman is less than enthused about this. He’s stressed as hell. The last thing he needs now is more problems, but wouldn’t you know it! Tabitha’s got him.
They are taking a little walk, their arms locked together, as they gossip about the Swedes. And then she drops the question.
“Rome. Look. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
“What? The deal?”
“No, I mean us.”
He stops and looks at her like she’s gone insane. Which maybe she has, because what the fuck.
“The fuck– are you breaking up with me two days after my father died?!”
“No! God, Rome,” she is quick to roll it back, “I was just thinking about the wedding. You’ve seemed so distracted lately… I don’t mean we have to break up. We can stay together even without a set of rings.”
He cannot believe her. Is she serious?
“Oh, I’ve been distracted? Sorry, did you fail to notice what the fuck is happening around us?”
She gives him a patient smile. “I was just saying. In case you feel pressured to go through with it, and are having second thoughts-”
“I’m not. Who’s having second thoughts? Are you?”
He acts like the answer should obviously be ‘no’. But what if she is? He doesn’t think he could deal with that right now. He feels this lump in his throat that won’t go down no matter how hard he swallows. If she says yes, he swears to god–
“I’m not. It’s just, you know. I wonder what purpose this serves. It was all for your father, and now he’s gone, so… I’m struggling to see what the point is. For you.”
He feels like he’s going to pass out or maybe puke, or punch a tree. All he does instead is mouth wordlessly for a moment, struggling to form a sentence, and huff a small laugh out of unease.
“You are- and you’re bringing this up now? Is today not an important enough day for me, that you- you feel like you have to add some excitement to it? Jesus, Tabs.”
He starts walking away. He’s not even entertaining this nonsense. Except… no, wait, he is actually. He has things to say. He’s so upset.
He turns to face her. “The ‘point’ is that I–” what? Love her? He does, but he’s not saying that. “I care about you. I want this, and dad wanted it. It’s the last thing I’ve ever done that has made him even in the vicinity of being proud of me. I’m not fucking letting you go. Unless you want to, but– I’m not forcing you, to be clear. Just saying. That would be such a dick move. Can’t you let me have this?”
She looks stunned. They have wandered far enough from where most people are standing around, so he knows nobody can hear what they are saying, but if he continues to talk so loudly, someone is going to start a rumor that they are having a fight and that’s gonna fuck him up. Shit.
“I get that.”
“Okay. Good.”
“I care about you too. That’s why I asked.”
“Okay, well. Bad timing. Fuck.”
She catches up with him and they start heading back together.
*
He fucked up. He fucked up so incredibly bad.
He yelled at Matsson. He told him that he and Ken don’t want the deal. He called him a dog? He thinks? Who knows, he said a lot of things. He accused him of killing their father, he’s pretty sure. He shouldn’t have walked down that mountain, he should have just jumped off the first cliff he saw. God, what a mess.
But the thing is, he meant what he said. And he’s not changing his mind. He needs to keep ATN. His dad’s wish was to keep ATN. He won’t give it up, and he won’t give up Tabitha, because dad approved of his decision and he wanted ATN.
He walks into their room and he can still hear Ken’s voice telling him he fucked it. He sees Tabitha standing up and walking up to him, and he can’t hold back the frustration.
“How did it go?”
“It was a shitshow. I fucked up.”
She walks closer to initiate an embrace, but he stops her.
“You did this. You made me do this.”
“Excuse me?” she retreats, looking at him like he’s radioactive.
“You fucking- you freaked me out with that wedding bullshit. I was freaking out and I blew up at Matsson. It’s your damn fault.”
“Okay? I don’t think I’m the one who killed your dad and tossed you into this weird spiral you’ve been falling into.” She takes a breath to calm herself down. “You are grieving. You haven’t had the time to process it at all with all this going on, and that is in no way my fault, Roman.”
He makes a noise of disbelief - half a snort, half a scoff.
She continues. “You are the one who asked me to come here today to be with you. And you’re the one who lost his shit when I mentioned, god forbid, calling off the wedding. Sorry I brought it up, I guess, and sorry my concern wasn’t conveniently timed. By the way, are you sure that the shadow of making your dead father proud is a good enough reason to marry someone? Because I’ve been turning it inside my head, and I don’t see it.”
He stares, his brow creased and his limbs stiff. He wants to scream.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? So I shouldn’t, I guess, marry the first woman I’ve dated who my father - a known asshole, by the way - actually told me he thought was good for me?!”
She's the one to scoff now. “That’s not what I said. Babe, come on. It’s great if that’s a nice little cherry on top, but there has to be something else.”
“Like what? Like being madly in love like in the movies? That shit isn’t real, Tabs.”
He laughs, and it’s cruel to do, he knows, but he can’t stop himself.
“We both knew what we were agreeing to when you proposed. That’s why I accepted. But you know, yelling at me like that– I thought– I just brought up a concern. I was asking for your sake. It didn’t have to be a whole ordeal. I didn’t expect you to have such an explosive reaction. I thought I was talking to a fellow adult.”
That, huh, that leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He knows, if he tries, that he’s being an unreasonable dick. He’s the one who wants to marry her at all costs. He hasn’t shown enough… affection? Attention? Intention? One of those, probably. And he knows he can’t keep using the fact that his father died to justify being a dick. She’s too good for him, she doesn’t deserve that shit. She’s willing to take him as he is, in all his inherited ugliness and the ugliness that’s just his. So, the least he can do is do the same for her. It was shitty to bring up such a delicate topic today of all days, but she’s allowed to make mistakes too. He needs her.
He can’t admit any of this to her. It’s too much vulnerability. So he cuts the argument short.
“You’re not. I’m a baby.” he says sarcastically, “Goo goo ga ga. I’m gonna go throw up in a puddle of my own piss.”
With that extremely mature response, he walks out.
*
The brief conversation he had with Gerri at the bar left him rattled. He was hoping to offer an olive branch, to get things to be at least a little bit like they used to be, at least a little bit okay. Her reaction wasn’t completely unexpected, but god, what the fuck.
Now he’s angry. Nothing is going his way. Gerri wants nothing to do with him and Connor is being an asshole, and– fuck Connor.
Roman comes at him with all the bravado his body can contain and Connor- fucking Connor isn’t having it. Well, Roman isn’t having his bullshit either.
“Everyone in this room thinks you’re a fucking joke. So tell your ‘wife’ to shut the fuck up, covers her shoulders, and pack a fucking bag for Oman. Okay?”
“Rome. Rome.” Ken tries to get him to back down, but he’s fired up now, he’s not backing down. Fuck Connor’s feelings.
“I’m talking here. It’s okay.”
Connor stands up.
“There’s one person here who doesn’t think I’m a joke. So that’s who I’m gonna listen to, okay?”
That would be funny if it weren’t infuriating.
“That’s smart. Yeah. Listen to her.”
Connor takes Willa and leaves. Roman barely restrains himself from punching something. He decides to go back to the couch where Tabitha is sitting. He drops next to her, with crossed legs, and she gives him a look.
“That didn’t go great.”
“No shit it didn’t. That fucking moron… Fuck Connor, what the fuck.”
She gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
“You’ll get ‘em next time.” She jokes. He’s not in the mood for jokes. He barely responds.
Some might see calling his brother a joke, especially in front of people, as cruel. But Con fucking knows. He’s dumb but not that dumb, he knows what people think of him.
What he said about Willa stands out to Roman, though. It’s bullshit and it pisses him off, but it might as well be true. It must be nice, huh? To finally meet one person who doesn’t think you are a ridiculous excuse of a human being. Except, honestly, he isn’t even that sure Willa truly believes in Connor. She sure believes in his money. What’s that she said? Anything could happen? They are gonna write a book? That’s funny.
Roman doesn’t like it one bit, but the next connection his brain makes is that perhaps something along those lines could be true about him and Tabitha.
Nobody has ever taken him seriously. Not even dad, even though he gave him little assignments, he never saw him as a real person worth something. Ken is Ken, and Shiv is Shiv, and Roman is- he’s just a convenient guy to have around. That’s about it. Dad never believed he’d ever amount to anything, and honestly neither do his siblings. Like, sure, he’s not as useless as Connor. And yet Connor just fucked him. That’s humiliating.
Gerri seemed to think she could get him somewhere, but deep down they both know she couldn’t. Their alliance was good. It was powerful. It was something good, it really was, but there was so much wrong with it. To Gerri, he was a means to an end. In the end, he didn’t have what it takes.
Then there’s Tabitha. For some godforsaken reason she seems to believe in him. Or whatever version of that they can afford. At the very least she doesn’t consider him such a lost cause that he’s not worth trying to salvage. Which is more than can be said about most people. And he knows she’s not in it just for the money, unlike Willa. Fuck, even Tom was always in it for the money. Possibly Rava too, who knows. But Tabitha really doesn’t seem to give a shit. She just takes things as they come, she’s unbothered. There’s probably something wrong with her, or he’s being delusional, but fuck–
His train of thought is interrupted when he hears muffled shouting. Oh, that’s hilarious. Shiv and Tom are shouting their feelings at each other on the balcony. Yikes. Are they aware everyone can see them? And partly hear them? So embarrassing for them.
“Fuck Tom.” Says Shiv after all that is done and Tom is heading to bed, cutting the party short.
“Yeah, fuck Tom.” Ken agrees.
Sure. “Fuck Tom.” He joins in. But there’s something else on his mind. He needs a win. “So guys, um… funeral. If nobody wants to grab it I’m happy to take the big-energy spot.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh…”
“Yeah, I mean. It seemed like nobody wanted it. So I got it.”
They let him have this. Thank fuck. At least he has something to look forward to. He’s weirdly excited. It’s a big speech in front of many people. It’s also a eulogy at his father’s funeral. He doesn’t need to think about that. It’s going to be the best eulogy anyone has ever given.
“I got the speech, by the way.” He tells Tabitha once they are alone, back to their apartment.
“The eulogy?” He nods. “Congrats!” She smiles. She looks thoughtful for a moment, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
He scoffs. “Of course I’m sure. It’s a speech. I’ve given speeches before.”
“I know, babe… but it’s your dad.”
He huffs in frustration, giving her an exasperated look. “Yeah. I know it’s my fucking dad.”
She stares at him for a long moment. “Right. Well, that’s gonna be fun. Hooray for eulogies!”
He rolls his eyes and heads to the bedroom to change into something comfortable for the night. She follows a minute later.
She undresses and puts on a short nightgown. He barely looks at her, too focused on the myriad of thoughts bouncing in his brain as he undresses on autopilot.
She seems to doubt that he can do it. It’s nonsense, right? She has no right to insinuate doubt into his mind- does she even- is he wrong? Is she like everyone else? He always liked that about her, that she’s not a- a bitch, or a leech. But he guesses people reveal their true colors when you corner them and force them to put on an engagement ring.
“Do you think I’m a joke?” he asks almost casually as he sits down on the bed to take off his socks.
His back is to her, he can’t see her face. Maybe it’s on purpose. Maybe he doesn’t want to see it. She stays silent for a bit too long, though, so he decides to toss a look over his shoulder.
“Do you believe I’m too stupid to make my own decisions?” She asks lightly.
He frowns. That doesn’t answer his question at all. What the fuck is she talking about?
“I generally don’t think you are stupid, no.” He fully turns to face her, “And you are not answering my question.”
“You are my favorite joke.” She says with an air of whimsy in her eyes. He groans. He wishes she cut through the bullshit and gave him a serious answer. He guesses that’s answer enough. But then she continues, “That one you heard a million times but you never get tired of it and it still makes you laugh every time like it’s the first.”
He stares at her, incapable of parsing the meaning for a long while. She is smiling like she thinks she just said something sweet. He understands, he thinks. It is kind of sweet, he supposes, but it’s not the answer he was looking for. He was hoping more for a straight ‘yes’ or ‘no’.
“Sure. At least I keep you entertained.”
“Is that not what it’s all about? If I were bored I would have already left.” That causes him to crease his brow, ever so slightly, with concern. She notices and helps smooth it out. “Thankfully it’s never a boring day with you.”
That sounds more like it. It’s as genuine an answer as he thinks he’s going to get out of her right now. Good enough, he has to tell himself, or he thinks he might lose it.
“What was that, about me thinking you’re stupid?” he asks after a moment.
“It’s just that– insinuating I’m betting on the wrong horse does neither of us any favors.”
He moves a little closer, slouching a bit, allowing her to extend her arm to reach for his face and play with his hair.
“You think this horse is a winner?” He’s co-CEO, that is true. But if they don’t block this deal, he’ll be fucking nothing.
“I think I don’t care if the horse wins the race. I want the horse to be happy.” She smiles sweetly. He softly shakes his head, but he closes his eyes and allows himself to rest his head on her open palm. “I need it to be overwhelmingly clear that then I ask you if you are okay, it’s because I want to know. It’s not a trick question, or a test, there’s no wrong answer. I want to be here for you. I’m not a pretty thing to bring to parties to show how manly and gender-conforming you are.”
“Right. No, of course. You are real, you’re not a fucking– I know that.”
She strokes his cheek. He opens his eyes and meets hers.
“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
At that he pulls back. “There’s nothing wrong.”
“Okay…” she sees right through him and doesn’t believe that one bit. “But just so you know, I’m not here to play ‘mommy’.”
“What?” he straightens himself, frowning at her. “What the fuck?”
“Just saying. I’m going to be your wife. We are best friends. But I’m not your mom, I’m not here to wipe your snot.” That’s a funny thing to say. If she knew his mother a little better she’d know she’s never been the type to wipe snot either. “You can treat me as your lawyer if you have to. Nothing you tell me will ever be used against you, but I need to know the truth about your shit if I intend to defend you publicly. Makes sense?”
It feels like they keep having this conversation. He just can’t help himself. She gets him to open up a little, and by next time he’s closed up again. He doesn’t mean to shut her out, it’s just incredibly hard to openly admit to weakness.
“Sure.” He allows himself to smile a bit, “You’re my lawyer-wife-bestie.”
She reaches for his face again, stroking his hair, and he lets her. This time he doesn’t close his eyes, and lets himself look at her.
He’s either the luckiest man on earth or the biggest delusional idiot.
“Hey.” Her voice is soft like she’s talking to a spooked horse. “Do you want to give stuff a try?”
He’s not sure what she means at first. “What- with the– the stuff? With the thing? Oh, I’m not…” He’s not sure he’s in the mood. A lot has happened tonight. But the way she’s looking at him is making him melt a little. Right now he’d give her anything.
“Not sure? We don’t have to.”
“No, it’s fine. We can try.”
“Okay. So the humiliation stuff?”
He nods, unsure how this is going to go. She might be onto something, he might need that type of release to blow off some steam. He always feels kind of gross after an orgasm, but it still feels fucking good.
*
Roman is still riding the high of calling the election. As disappointing as it was to discover his sister was conspiring behind their backs, it wasn’t surprising. In the end he got Ken on his side, and that’s what matters. They are going to block this deal. Matsson can get fucked. Shiv will cope.
So yeah, one could say Roman is in good spirits for someone who’s about to deliver a eulogy at his own father’s funeral. But he’s got this. He’s prepared this speech he’s rehearsed ad nauseam to the point even Tabitha could repeat it back to him. He goes through his cards one last time before heading out to meet up with the siblings. Tabitha will catch up with him later.
He’s ready. He’s never been readier, he’s ready to impress. He’s pre-grieved, it’s gonna be fine.
He still believes this even as Greg fails to stop his grandpa from getting to the podium. His conviction begins faltering as he listens to the speech, though. He’s never known this much about his father’s childhood, he always refused to talk about it. And now he's in a box.
Roman knows it’s his turn, but by now all bravado has left his body, leaving him small and scared. He makes it to the podium, but he already knows something is wrong. He shuffles through his cards, he can’t bear to look at people, and he’s painfully aware that all eyes are on him.
And he is, you know, small and scared. He can’t stop looking at that box. His father is in there. The floodgate opens and the reality of it all crushes him violently. His father died. He needs him to know who he is, who he is supposed to be. He was never the son his father wanted and even though he might have never been, even if his dad were alive, he sure as fuck will never be now.
He’s shaking. When he tries to speak, his voice breaks. He calls his siblings, he needs them there with him. When he tries to speak again, sobs come out.
He’s escorted back to his seat, where Tabitha takes his hand. The moment she touches him, any attempt at pulling himself together fails and he starts sobbing again, leaning heavily into her shoulder, all but curling up against her as if trying to hide from the world, as if she can protect him. As if everyone can’t see the pitiful scene playing out for their greedy eyes.
Ken takes his place, then Shiv gets a turn. The whole time Roman can’t stop feeling the embarrassment for his display clinging to him like a sticky film. He can’t shake it off.
He manages to calm down by the time they are supposed to leave the church, but the turmoil inside him hasn’t stopped.
Seeing that fucking mausoleum doesn’t help. He refuses to go inside, he thinks he might not walk out if he goes in there. He stays behind, by the entrance. Tabitha stays by his side the whole time after what happened earlier. He can see the others side-eyeing her, but her ability to ignore them is uncanny and she’s unwavering. No doubt they consider this a private moment to be shared among siblings only. Take Willa, she knows her place and she’s waiting outside. But not Tabitha.
He hates that it’s so clear that he needs her right now. And he hates that he’s letting her stay. She’s sure is taking this wife shit seriously - or maybe it’s just something a friend is supposed to do. She says they are best friends. Who knows. Roman isn’t sure he’s ever had one - a real one.
He lets her take his hand while he listens to the banter going on in there. They discuss, half-jokingly, the possibility of spending the rest of eternity in that claustrophobic granite trap with dad, and he feels a little sick.
“I couldn’t finish a scotch with him.” Ken muses.
“He made me breathe funny,” Roman admits. Without a word, Tabs squeezes his hand, and it’s comforting and damning at the same time.
*
Roman is not having a good time. Being around people right now isn’t good for him, he’s not fit for consumption at the moment, he’s an unpalatable sight among perfectly composed dicks standing around with a perfectly straight back in their tuxedos, exchanging pleasantries and platitudes like a man didn’t just die. But who gives a fuck, right? It wasn’t their father.
Tabitha, the angel that she is, is giving him some space. He almost wishes she’d stayed glued to his side, suffocating him, then he’d feel justified in blowing up at her. Not because she is doing anything wrong, it’s just him who’s wrong. He feels like screaming endlessly, he feels fucking– remember how numb he felt right after he got the news? When it settled in and they passed around his phone trying to talk to a dead man? He misses that. Because whatever he was on back then wore off and all that’s left to replace it is the most lacerating pain he’s ever experienced. It even makes him long for his dad’s violence. That hurt less than this.
Then Ken corners him and tells him plainly and simply that he fucked it. It’s so blunt and cold it’s almost reminiscent of dad, and yet not enough to feel good. And what can he say to defend himself? It’s true, he did. Crying at his father’s funeral isn’t allowed, not if one is planning on retaining a certain image. Maybe a single tear rolling down a stoic face would have been acceptable, but not whatever that was. Videos are already circulating, he heard it distantly somewhere, someone is watching it, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s all worn out. To be upset about being ridiculed would require holding some love for himself, something he currently lacks.
Mencken mocks him. He barely looks at him. This is the same man who had him on speed dial and texted him at all hours and always picked up for him. Someone who Roman thought held him in great esteem, but it appears all that was flushed down the fucking toilet the moment he started stuttering on that podium.
He isn’t sure when, he just knows he decides to leave. He doesn’t even bother to look for Tabitha to let her know he’s leaving, he just heads for the door.
The truth is he doesn’t know where he is going until he’s outside. Suddenly going home doesn’t sound good because there Tabitha will be able to find him. He turns down a car and decides to walk. He can hear the protests happening in the distance and a thought starts to form in his mind. He wants to see them. He wants to see those fuckers who spit on everything his family has built. He wants to yell at someone, get it out, piss someone off, maybe. Maybe get someone to get pissed enough to beat him up.
That’s what he’s thinking as he climbs over the railing, away from safety and right into the tiger pit. He hopes they eat him alive.
The first blow hurts, but that’s exactly why it feels so good. He yells and cusses and shoves people until someone shoves him and he ends up facing the asphalt. People kick him, walk over him, stomp, kick, push. It hurts and he wants to cry like a child and it’s exhilarating. If they end up stomping his lungs to death so be it. This is his lowest moment, there’s nowhere else to go for him. A fitting end for Roman Roy.
He tasted blood. His ears are ringing. His vision remains unfocused no matter how hard he tries, he feels hands on him and for a moment he thinks it’s going to be more pain and he welcomes it, but then he realizes he’s being pulled away. He hears Tabitha’s voice, somewhere in the distance. It’s not her hands on him. He’s being manhandled by someone else, but she’s there, somewhere.
*
He refuses to go to a hospital, so they have a nurse come in to their apartment. His head has stopped spinning and started pounding instead. Everything is awfully still and awfully quiet. He sits on their bed and he avoids looking at her. His savior. She saw him jump the fence and ran to call someone to fetch him. He wishes she hadn’t.
He hears muffled voices coming from the living-room. She’s telling the nurse she can leave now, the door clicks closed. There’s footsteps and then she appears on the doorstep. She walks closer, slowly as if not to scare him off, and she sits next to him, letting their knees touch.
She takes what she needs to finish disinfecting his wounds from the kit. He was the one who insisted the nurse should leave. He couldn’t stand fussy hands on him, especially from a stranger. The last thing he needs is random people touching him. He will allow Tabitha to do it though, more because he knows she would be upset if he didn’t, than because he actually wants to be taken care of.
The damp cotton ball touches his temple and he represses a hiss. It feels cold on his skin.
“Are we going to talk about how you just tried to get yourself killed?” she suddenly asks, and yet it doesn’t feel sudden. He knew this was coming. She just held back until they could be alone.
“That’s not what I was doing.”
It’s a weak defense, if it’s one at all.
“Then what were you doing?”
He doesn’t quite answer, just sort of shrugs and makes a vague sound.
“Rome.” She pauses and he knows she’s trying to get him to look at her, but he won’t. When that becomes clear, she continues with a slight vein of frustration in her voice. “I’ve tied myself to you. You need to stay afloat, okay? If you go down, you’re taking me down with you.”
“Psh. As if you wouldn’t be better off without me.” He mumbles. Anybody would - he doesn’t say.
She puts down her hand, staring at him with a slight frown.
“What are you talking about?”
“Never mind.”
But she does. “No, I’m serious. What are you talking about?” She looks so genuinely worried. It hurts to see. He doesn’t deserve or want that kindness.
The thought just comes to him. He can just do this, no one can stop him.
“I’m cutting you loose. Okay? I’m calling it off. You’re free.”
He glances at her to see just how shocked she looks. Is she hurt? Part of him still hopes she will miss him, but this is for the best. Whatever is going to happen to him now is not going to be nice and she doesn’t need to be there for that. Besides, where’s that edge she used to have? She’s gotten too soft around him. When she looks at him like that, with all that disgusting pity in her eyes, he wants to scream.
“Roman. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“I am. I am! I know what I’m saying.”
She turns her body to face him, pressing their thighs together, leaning closer. He can’t look directly at her.
“You were the one who was so adamant that this wedding needs to happen. What happened to-”
“Exactly!” His voice raises slightly. “It was all me. It’s not like you ever gave a shit.” That’s cruel and he knows it. She’s given him plenty of evidence that she cares. “I’m doing both of us a favor.”
“The wedding is in a month. You can’t just call it off. We’ve been-”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want. Fucking watch.” He takes his phone from the nightstand and quickly taps at the screen.
“Stop.” She reaches for his phone but he pulls away. “Ro, stop. Don’t be stupid.”
“Hello? Yes, so uh, it’s canceled. Cancel everything. It’s not happening. Yeah, I know, right? Oh how sad, how quickly love dies blah blah, I’ll get over it. I don’t fucking care, figure it out.”
He hangs up and tosses his phone on the bed. He stares ahead.
“Let’s talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. We are done.” He can’t look at her. Please just leave, please. “Leave me alone now, thank you.”
He refuses to meet her eyes even when she stands. She waits for a moment to see if there’s going to be anything else, but he doesn’t have anything left for her. Then, to his relief, she finally walks out.