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"I'm not going to deal with you fighting me all the way to Italy. I have work to do."
"Too bad, because that's exactly what I plan on doing."
The jab pierces my skin without warning before the needle burns into my neck. I don’t have a chance to react.
"No, I think you’re going to take a very long nap."
My body grows weak and tired in his arms. The bastard drugged me. But it will do nothing to prevent me from fighting again the second I wake up. So unless he plans on keeping me sedated the entire time he has me, he better be prepared for a fight.
My head pounds as my eyelids flutter wide. I’m groggy, my entire body aches, and my mind can’t make sense of why I feel like I’ve been run over by a train.
I attempt to raise my head up, but the cloudiness is enough to knock me back down against the bed, my head hitting the soft pillow. My headache is so intense that even the pillow makes the thumping in my head worse.
Instead of raising my head up, I look around the fancy room with just my eyes. I'm lying in an oversized king-size bed made of shiny black wood, covered in a light gray comforter. The bed matches the dark dressers scattered throughout the room. I glance over to the expansive windows that are covered with opaque shades, giving me no clue to what time of day it is or where I am.
I glance over at the two picture frames sitting on the nightstand next to me. One of Matteo, Arlo, and what I assume is their sister, Gia. Nina has told me about her, but I’ve never met her. The other is a picture of Nina. I reach over and pick up the frame. My hand shakes as I struggle to hold onto the frame. She appears so happy in the photograph. I don’t know when it was taken or whose picture it is. Am I in Arlo's room or Matteo’s?
It would make sense if this were Arlo's room before he left. He loves her. But if this were to be Matteo's room, I don’t understand why he would have a photograph of Nina. Is it love or hatred he feels toward her?
I set the frame back on the nightstand with uneasy hands. Still lying on my back, I work my way to the edge of the bed, let my feet dangle off the end, and finally, I gradually push my body up into a sitting position.
My eyes flicker shut as the pain and dizziness overwhelm me. I rest on the edge of the bed for much longer than I want. I want to run. I want to find out what's going on and why my memories are so foggy.
I try to remember how I got here, but I can't. I try to recall why I feel so shitty, but I have no idea. Is Nina waiting for me in the next room? Or is something more sinister happening? The only way to find out the answers to my questions is to stand up and walk out of this room. A room that is more like a gloomy cave than an actual bedroom.
I lean forward, over the end of the bed, until my feet touch the floor. Then, I slowly get to my feet using my arms to help push me up. I grab a bedpost to maintain my balance as I take a few steps forward, ensuring my legs are strong enough to carry me before I let go. I walk cautiously and deliberately, focusing on the walnut wood door. When I
make it to the door, my body collapses against the doorknob and smooth finish.
I don't ever recall ever enduring such exhaustion in all my life. Not even after all the nights staying up studying to pass my board exams for law school. I've never felt this tired. I take a deep breath, trying to fill my body with oxygen and energy.
I force my body off the door enough to reach the doorknob. I expect to have to walk several more feet before I find another person on the other side of this door. But when I pull it ajar, Matteo is standing in the doorway looking at me.
"Surprised you were able to walk this far out of bed."
I narrow my eyes, scolding him. But then I get a whiff of what he is holding. Some type of soup. A delicious tomato-based broth I instantly want in my stomach. My stomach growls at the thought of food and my mouth waters, already able to taste it in my mouth from the smell alone.
"Sit down on the couch," he says, clearly noticing my hunger lust.
I glance behind me and see a living room on the other side of the bed, connected to a small kitchenette area by a door. I clumsily walk to the soft cushions, because I don't have any other options and because I seriously want that soup. My legs give out several feet before I make it to the couch, so I prepare myself for impact on the floor. Matteo grabs my arm at the last moment before my body hits the ground.
"Jesus, you’re one determined woman," he mutters under his breath as he pulls me upright again.
Determined, yes. Determined to get that soup into my stomach as fast as possible. He guides me to the couch where I plop down, my body giving out the moment it feels the cushions on the back of my legs.
"Here," he says, placing the bowl of soup into my hands. “Eat, and you’ll feel better."
I lift the spoon slowly to my lips and pour the creamy liquid down my throat. The soup is silky, creamy, with a hint of sweetness, and some flavor I can’t identify. It’s mainly a thick broth with a few soft noodles and tomatoes, but primarily liquid, as to make it easy to swallow. It’s simple, but the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.
My growling stomach eases a teeny, tiny bit, but it's going to take me a long time to eat this entire bowl of soup and give my stomach the satisfying, full feeling it’s seeking.
I lower my hand again to scoop another spoonful and lift it to my lips. This time, as the liquid goes down, my stomach burns. As mouthwatering as the soup tastes, my stomach no longer agrees.
"I'm going to be sick.”
Matteo jumps off the couch and races across the room for a trashcan, but I can't wait.
"I'm going to be – "
