Illusions

25. fire

Amira's POV

He doesn't answer after my first call or my fourth... or my thirteenth.

Now I'm getting worried.

Which I shouldn't be because I shouldn't care about him.

My next idea is to go to The Medalion and see if he's there, even though I fucking hate that place.

Keeping myself calm and collected, I throw on a trenchcoat and grab a hat to disguise myself.

I head out and find a cab, and of course, it's fucking snowing.

Looking down at my slides, I sigh and try to ignore the wet sock feeling.

Fuck this.

Finally, a cab pulls over, I get in, tell the driver the address, and sit back, praying that Roman's there. 

Sometime later, the club comes into view and I pull out a bill, giving it to the driver before the car even stops and running to the entrance.

The security personnel recognize me and nod.

"Is he here?"

My heart beats in anticipation.

"Yes, but he doesn't want to see anyone," one of them explains, but when he sees my expression, he quickly adds, "we'll take you to the door."

I nod and they escort me to the door of his office above the club, thankfully avoiding the gross men. As soon as we arrive at the door, they all back away and stand at the stairs so that no one comes upstairs.

Hesitantly, I knock and remove my hat, realizing how stupid it looks.

When he doesn't open the door, I knock on the large dark wood door again and run a hand through my hair to tame it.

Not because I want to look pretty for him, but just because it's messy and I should look presentable.

I hear something fall inside and a groan.

Roman.

I let out a sigh of relief and try opening the door.

Thankfully it's open so I slowly open the door and see Roman sitting at his desk with several empty glasses and a half full one in his hand.

He's a mess.

His hair's a bit longer than usual, his shirt's unironed, and his socks don't match.

I watch as he attempts to write something, but the alcohol in his system and the drink in his hand make it near impossible.

"Roman?"

He lifts his head and as soon as his eyes meet mine, they soften.

Lifting himself off of his chair, he tries to come to me, but I beat him to it and speed walk to his desk.

I put my hands on the desk and lean towards him.

"Why are you giving everyone you love a heart attack, Roman," I ask, keeping my eyes on his, "everyone's worried about you."

He looks perplexed and I remember he's drunk.

"Honey, why are you here?"

He shrugs and takes a sip of his drink, which I pull out of his hands soon after.

"Give it back, Amira."

I wince at his tone and he frowns.

I take a sip of the drink in hopes of it calming me down.