This has to stop.
I have to stop it.
“Aaron?” I try the door knob; it’s locked. “Are you all right in there?”
“Fine,” comes the reply. The lie. If he were fine, he wouldn’t need all the prescriptions. If he were fine, he wouldn’t hide them from me, or take them behind closed doors.
I try one last time. “Aaron—“
The door flies open, almost dumping me into the bathroom. He stands there, eyes livid, face flushed, angry. “Will you leave me the fuck alone? Jesus Christ.”
The anger surprises me. “I’m just—”
“Let me wake the fuck up, will you?” He pushes past me and I catch a glimpse at the counter—his bag is gone, tucked away under the sink, I’m sure, out of sight, out of mind. As he dresses, he mutters at me, berating me. “Damn it, Chris. Can’t a man have a moment to himself anymore? You’re like some nagging bitch girlfriend, always breathing down my neck. I can’t deal with that right now.”
His words make my blood run cold. “What are you saying?”