Tangled In Strings

Chapter Twenty-Four

"What do you want in your omelet?" Giovanni asks, peering at me over his shoulder, a master in the kitchen. I pull on my sneaker, lowering the bottom of the pajama pants I arrived in and stand from the couch.

"I'll eat anything you make. You know that."

He turns back to the stove with a smirk, and begins pulling out items from the fridge. Since I offered my help and he turned me down flat, I begin to set the table. It's before dawn; the sun is still under the horizon. There's no counter space, decorated with the countless blossoming roses. I appraise them, wishing I could take every single one with me.

When the table is set, I head to the bedroom to take my antibiotics. Every room in this place is loaded with memories now, intense ones. When I enter the bathroom, taking one look at the shower Giovanni held me in while I was sick, I force myself to look away, reaching for the pills. I place the dosages into my palm and screw the caps shut, preparing to scoop them up to throw them in my purse.

I take each, gulping them down with a sip of water from the faucet.

"Do you really need to take so many?"

I turn at the sound of his voice. "The valium is only for the anxiety."

"Have you ever taken that before?"

"No."

The pause before he answers me speaks volumes. "It is addictive, Scarlett."

"I have no intention on relying on it, Giovanni," I counter, stuffing the bottles into my purse. He follows me into the bedroom and out into the living room. I'm tense, which means the air has thickened, the space around us is full of the unsaid questions we still haven't discussed. And it's about to come out now.

"Scarlett."

I spin to face him, crossing my arms. "Giovanni, I know that I'm pregnant. I know I won't allow myself to rely on these pills...but they help me. They help me when I'm unable to think clearly."

I hear his swallow, from across the room. Finding that he's already put out the breakfast, I head for the table. My movements are fumbling as I reach for the silver wear, due to his unrelenting gaze from the same place he was before. I'm reaching for the squeezed orange juice when he finally breaks from his stone-like stance and approaches the table. I meet his gaze, my arm extended over the table, with the intent on asking him if he wants juice as well. He nods, his index finger rubbing against his bottom lip in frustration.

After I pour the juice, I set down the carton, and exhale. "Gio, I'm sorry." He stares at me, not saying a word. My tongue darts onto my dry lips, sucking in the skin under his scrutiny. I continue, hating his silence. "I'm trying. I swear, I am trying."

"I know you are."

"I know what it's like to grow up with an addict. You know I wouldn't be taking this if I didn't need it. I'm trying to handle this all by myself. I thought I'd have Monica to help. I thought he'd still be okay for a while longer, but he's not. The work never ends, and somehow I still have to find time to be there for Norman, all the while constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for Dixon to show up."

"He hasn't even spoken to you since the police station, Scarlett. Maybe he's not watching—"

His chin tilts, his eyes slanting at the flash of uncertainty I cannot hide from him. I have a hard time uttering the next words, knowing I just fucked up royally in letting that look slip.

"He's found me once, and left me a note in Norman's mailbox."

His eyes harden, his pupils dominating any color in them. "Are you fucking kidding me?"