Stone comes in much later that night. Quietly.
Not because he doesn’t want to wake me. I’m pretty sure that’s just his natural setting. Lethal—it’s the only way he knows how to move.
He pauses in the doorway when he sees me, though. Probably because I’m sitting on his settee…with his overnight bag in my lap.
If I was hoping to see him actually looked surprised for once, I’m disappointed. His face stays completely expressionless, like always. But at least now I know why.
His emotionless eyes flicker down to the bag. Back up to me. Then he says, “Hey, Naima.”
“Hey,” I answer.
Casual, like he didn’t just come back from probably killing somebody, and I’m not sitting here with his secret in my lap.
Tension pounds thick as a rap bassline between us.
So much silence passes. Suddenly, I miss Queens. Miss the city and all its noise.
“How did things go with Lunetti?” I ask.
“A little more difficult than expected. But I’m taking care of it.”
“By taking care of it, you mean what exactly?”
“All a sudden after months and months you want to hear about my day-to-day?”
No, I didn’t. The few stories Rock had told me often left me with a sick feeling in my stomach. But for Talia’s and Cami’s sake I have to ask, “Are the girls in danger?”
“Not on my watch. I let the Lunetti family know they were under my protection.”
“And they just accepted that?”
Stone rolls his neck to one side, then the other. Like this scene is giving him a crimp in his neck. “You need wifeing?” he asks.
“No,” I answer quietly. Meaning it. I have never been less turned on in my life.
“Alright. Well, then, I’m hittin’ the shower—”
He stops talking when I take the bag and turn it over, sending all the pill bottles inside of it spilling out.
“I’m okay with you being, like, the worst communicator in the history of the entire world,” I tell him. “But I’m not okay with this.”
He stares at me for a hard, lethal second. “You shouldn’t be going through my things.”
“And you shouldn’t be taking meds that weren’t prescribed to you. I mean, there’s like six different kinds of anti-depressants in here.” I pick up one with a dark blue label. “And I’m pretty sure this one is an anti-psychotic…”
He yanks the bag and the pill bottle out of my hands. “You shouldn’t be looking through my stuff.”
“I should have guessed,” I say as I watch him pick up the bottles and start throwing them back into the leather bag. “Not crying at your brother’s funeral. The way your frustration tolerance dips at night. That cold fog that surrounds you like a wall. All the pieces are falling into place.”
“Not another fucking word, Naima,” he growls, snatching up the last three bottles in one beefy hand.
“Of course you don’t want me to say anything else. The meds that were totally not prescribed to you are wearing off. If I keep on talking, something dangerous might happen. Like you starting to actually feel something.”
His face hardens, and his whole body goes stiff, as if he’s trying to hold himself back from doing just that. “You shouldn’t be looking through my shit.”
“And you shouldn’t be taking unprescribed anti-depressants. I mean, have you ever actually seen a therapist? Even once in your entire life?”
“I don’t need to,” he answers. “These pills are enough to keep me right.”
“Right? That’s what you call how you act?” I shoot back, jumping to my feet. “As my North Carolina co-workers would say, ‘You is a lie.’ How you act, how you treat people. It isn’t right. It isn’t normal. I mean you refuse to communicate with me. You’re totally shut down.”
“You know what, I’m tired from spending all night solving your fucking problems. I’m done with this conversation.”
“Do you think I wouldn’t like to be done with this conversation, too? Be done with you? The answer to both those questions is yes! But I can’t be done with you, because as it turns out, you’re on something—like, a whole lot of somethings—that makes you think it’s okay to barge into my life and completely take it over.”
“Our life,” he growls. “The moment you got pregnant with my brother’s baby it became our life.”
“No, no it didn’t,” I yell right back. “And if you weren’t on a boat load of drugs, you’d see that. You say you’re doing this for Rock, but you’ve never even bothered to touch the daughter you claim to want to adopt so badly. I mean, what would he say if he knew you were doing all these drugs?”
“Who do you think gave them to me!” Stone suddenly roars. “He was the fucking nerd. Who do you think doctored all those prescriptions for me when we were in junior high? Because I couldn’t control my temper and nearly killed a kid after he fouled me in a game of basketball? My fucking brother. That was his way of trying to make me halfway normal.”
I gasp, covering my hand with my mouth.
I never would have guessed, but when I think about it, I can’t say I’m surprised. Rock valued normal. I remember how he assured me I ticked all his boxes. Not because I was funny or cute, but because I was a normal person with a normal job. And wasn’t that why he dumped me? Because I couldn’t just be perfectly standard, without a shade of gray?
“I’m…” I clamp my lips, then let them go to say, “I’m sorry, Stone. Rock shouldn’t have done that. Maybe he was trying to help, but self-diagnosis is dangerous. If you really think you need something to help you handle your emotions, you should see a psychiatrist for an appropriate prescription and seek out therapy. There are several people who take adult clients at the place we’re sending Talia. Maybe they could help you, too…”
I break off when Stone angrily zips up his bag. “I’ll sleep in the empty bedroom. Don’t ever go through my shit again.”
He raises a finger, puts it right in my face.
Old Naima would’ve back down. Would’ve cowered.
But new Naima stands her ground. Holds the monster’s gaze and asks, “Do you need husbanding? Would you like me to suck your dick?”
He doesn’t answer. And did I complain about him being an emotionless cypher before? My bad, he’s vibrating with rage now. I can practically feel it rolling off of him in waves.
But that still doesn’t stop me from pointing out, “You think these drugs are keeping you stable, but they’re ruining your life. You’re overdosing. That’s most likely why you can’t get it up. Can’t hold normal conversations. You need to see a real doctor before you kill yourself. Before Garnet loses both of her dads. And deny it all you want, but you and I both know she deserves so much better than that.”
He lowers his finger from my face. Balls his hand into a fist…then turns and leaves.
Slamming the door so hard behind him, I wonder if they heard it downstairs.