The Giuoco Piano

Chapter 42 - Una Línia Fràgil

      "He felt as though he were wandering in the forests of the sea bottom, lost in a monstrous world where he himself was the monster. He was alone. The past was dead, the future was unimaginable"

George Orwell - 1984

Roman wakes, tired and aching, to find himself alone in the twin room. His ever-present shadow, Reggie Johnson seems to have gone walkabout, a fact that Roman is extremely grateful for. He doesn't need Johnson to ask him if Marlena came back, or what happened when she did.

He hasn't slept well. He had eventually fallen asleep around 3 am, after picking over his memories of the previous couple of hours, trying to convince himself he hadn't misread Marlena's signals. That she really had wanted the physical intimacy, that she had silently encouraged him.

He knows she did, that she wanted it, if not as much as he did, still she wanted it. She wanted his touch, his lips on her. But her tears afterward have unsettled him to his core. He's not sure he's ever seen her cry so piteously. She's usually so composed, so sure of herself. He knows she's cracked and broken right now. He knows she needs him to be strong, but to see her like that... it tears him apart and it scares him deeply. Her pain feels visceral, and he feels it in the depths of his heart.

It feels like she's lost all hope. Like she's given up.

"Oh Doc," he wipes his hand over his forehead and stares at the ceiling, trying to figure out what to do next. Shane, Kim, Bo and Hope will be here at some point, and he needs to make sure they can find him, without interference from Johnson. But he also needs to make sure Marlena doesn't do anything crazy in the meantime. Assuming she hasn't already.

He groans as he pushes himself into a sitting position. In the haze of lust he'd felt last night as he made love to his wife, he had forgotten his pain. The adrenaline had kicked in and it had all receded, only the feeling of her skin on his, her mouth, and her surrounding him was at the forefront of his awareness.

But he feels it this morning. His body is complaining, everything aches, his bruises and his fractured rib throb and his head is swimming, making the room wobble unsteadily. Marlena was right, of course. He needs to take care of himself. He's of no use to her if he can't deal with a brutal thug like Johnson. His agility is negligible, and his reflexes are dull. And he's so tired and scared witless, he's not even thinking clearly.

He looks at his watch and sees that it is half past eight. Pushing the covers back, he swings his legs out of the bed and places his feet on the short carpet, feeling the acrylic fibers harsh against his bare soles. With his elbows on his thighs, he drops his head into his hands and tries to gain his bearings. He can't afford to be off his game. A shower before he straps up his wounded ribs, and then breakfast and a couple of black coffees to wake him up is in order.

But on the way to the bathroom, he sees a key card sitting on the desk. He picks it up and stares at it. Johnson wouldn't have gone out without the key to this room. So, is this...?

There's only one way to find out.

He quickly pulls on a clean t-shirt and jeans, and ignoring that his feet are still bare, he grabs his own keycard and leaves the room, heading straight for the elevator.

When he reaches the fifth floor, he locates Marlena's room and knocks softly.

"Doc? Doc, honey, are you there? We need to talk." He leans his forehead against the door. "Marlena? Please, baby."