"I know you don't see it, but he scares me."
Roman tried to shake those thoughts away as he stumbled down the hallway. His large, strong hands were too rough to shape the clay like Ryan did. Maybe his father was right, he was useless. Moving into the bathroom, he lifted his gaze to look back into his reflection, a ghastly smirk subconsciously sliding across his curved lips.
Who was that man in the mirror? His brow furrowed as he stared back at himself. Ex-convict. Dangerous. Frightening. His father's son.
He was scaring her…
Bringing up his right hook, Roman pulled it back and slammed it right into the center of the glass, his brown eyes widening in late realization when it shattered loudly into mismatched shards and fell to the floor. A couple of pieces were sticking out from his knuckles after the impact, but he didn't seem to notice. Not even as crimson splotches fell from his open wounds, decorating the colored tile almost methodically.
Did he feel better? Just a little. But maybe a little was enough.
Grabbing a small towel from the medicine cabinet, Roman carefully pulled out the pieces of glass with deep throaty grunts, pausing to stare into the fragments of his reflection in the palm of his hand, before letting them fall into the trash bin.
He could replace it before she noticed. He didn't need her asking him any questions. Especially not when she had called a psychiatrist or something to schedule an appointment for them.
Falling back into step in the hallway like he had before, he stopped mid-step when he was standing by her door. Peering through the small crack that had been left ajar, he lifted his good hand to push it open gently the rest of the way, a small creak leaving the aged wood startling him a bit. He half-expected her to run out of there screaming at him, balling her small hands into fists to flail and pound on his chest frantically. Instead, it was completely empty. Honestly, he wasn't sure which scenario was worse, her aforementioned outburst or her absence.
Taking a few steps inside, Roman caught on to her scent right away. It was faint, just a hint of lavender from the shampoo that she used. But it was enough to draw him in.
He knew that he shouldn't be there when she wasn't home, not that he was afraid of the petite blonde woman. He just couldn't help but cringe internally when she looked at him like that… like if he was a monster.
His good hand reached out to slide across her clean, crisp bedsheets, remembering the sounds of her cries every night because he was there instead of her beloved. Roman didn't ask to wake up. He didn't pray, or do good deeds, or believe that there was anything in him worth saving.
So why was he chosen instead of Ryan?
Moving to sit on the edge of her bed, Roman held the towel tightly against his hand as he glanced around. She was so independent, it was hard to believe that she ever allowed another person into her heart. Jess was always so busy…
No, Jessica, he mentally corrected himself.
Just sitting there now while enveloped in the lingering traces of her sweetly intoxicating scent, Roman suddenly felt his eyelids drooping slightly over his dark brown eyes. He was never the type to sleep much before, not if Casey had a say in things. He wasn't sure why she kept coming back to him, knowing that he would never be the man that she wanted. He couldn't, or maybe he just wouldn't be.
Roman wasn't good for her, and for whatever reason, Casey only drove the darkness inside of him even further out towards the surface.
He was using her, to get over whatever inadequacies kept him from being just as good as his brother; whatever kept Jess from loving him. But Jess couldn't even look at him. He felt her bittersweet anger when he was the one that woke up in the hospital instead of Ryan.
"Which one is my husband?"
He shut his eyes tightly, allowing himself to lean sideways against the pillow, still almost being able to taste the traces of her salty tears. Holding his battered hand up against his chest, his eyes opened slowly to focus on a small box on her nightstand. It was locked, just like the hearts in their chests, or like a diary that had never been read after it was written.
Sitting up slowly again, Roman reached out to take the small box of keepsakes into his hands. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small pocketknife. He never went anywhere without it, not after prison, or after being around his father. Picking the lock rather clumsily with his left hand, he heard a profound click sound as it snapped open, revealing pictures and letters addressed to her.
Moving to stand by her window, he picked up one of the letters and brushed the curtains aside to glance down at their mailbox outside by the garage. Their life was so normal; it was strange for someone who was just getting his first taste of this new lifestyle through the words of someone else… especially his brother, no less. He felt like he was on the outside of the glass looking in.
As Ryan's eloquently written words filled his mind, Roman could almost see Jess' petite figure moving down the pavement to collect her next letter, before looking up in his direction and giving him a bright smile that warmed his heart. She never looked at him like that.
It was in that single moment that he realized that she really wasn't there, disappearing from his view like a ghost the moment his realization sunk in. He wasn't Ryan. She had no reason to be happy that he was in their home.
He sat there for hours it seemed, going through old pictures and letters that exposed his brother's perfect relationship. Never once did his brother seem to complain about her, yet he couldn't find any letters written by her either. It was almost like Ryan didn't expect any. Ryan had written to Jess to express his love for her, something to keep her thinking of him, even when he wasn't around…
"Selfish bastard," Roman mumbled under his breath, not realizing that his eyes were glazed over lightly, his heart filled with a certain sadness that he couldn't quite place. His jealousy had taken such a firm grip on him that he wasn't sure who was the selfish one at this point: himself for wanting something that he couldn't have, or Ryan for never expecting anything more from anyone.
The more he read, the more he felt like a man who had recently lost his memory, willing himself to remember every little detail of the ink curved on the aging pieces of paper as if they were his own. With a deep intake of breath, his body relaxed completely and Roman suddenly greeted an epiphany, as if his body was finally merging with his soul…
"Relax. You hear nothing, but the sound of my voice. When your heart slows down, so will your thoughts. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… who are you?"
"Ryan."