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Just as he begins to walk down the hallway, I feel the sweet release begin its ascent towards the edge before I’m thrown from it mercilessly.
It’s far more intense than I imagined, and I let out a small whimper just as Dominik knocks on the door.
I toss the pillow to the floor, adjust myself, and take a deep breath.
18
DOMINIK
Mika has been dragging her ass for the entire morning, refusing to get out of bed until the last minute and hardly touching any of her food. She’s hardly said two words to me since she came downstairs, and though her greetings to me are typically insults, it still feels like something is missing.
My only duty for the day is making sure that Mika is happy, presentable, and out of the way while her father hosts another event for the Albanians. So far, she appears to be the opposite of happy or presentable, and I’m not sure how much a dress and some makeup are going to change that.
She’s sweating hard, her hair stuck to her forehead and neck as she rests her head in her hands. The signs of severe anxiety are painted all over her face, which is an alarming change for Mika. Usually, she projects so much confidence that she comes across as delusional and arrogant sometimes.
Remi has really been putting on a production for them, and I’ve been wondering what the fuck has him so horny for that goddamn Albanian boss. Is it really just money? Is that all it is?
He already has more than enough money. I’ve seen the way he spends it, especially when he’s drunk. I doubt very much that selling his daughter is going to be what saves him if he’s gambled himself into a hole.
For an endeavor that hardly stands to impact his life, Remi has been so preoccupied that he hasn’t noticed his daughter’s questionable health as she’s started to decline. She’s tried to get his attention a few times, begging not to be forced to go, but he barely acknowledges her recently.
Maybe she doesn’t think I notice, but I’ve seen her moving her food around her plate to make me believe that she’s eating it. Is it anorexia? Is she sick? She’s a thin girl, but not to the point that she intentionally restricts her food. I’ve seen her eat whole meals plenty of times.
“Mika, you need to eat your food. There isn’t going to be food at the event, and your father isn’t going to let us leave to get anything,” I say, uncertain of the truthfulness of my statement. If my lie gets her to eat something and feel better, so be it.
“No, I don’t want anything,” she replies, her skin ashy and sullen against the washed-out pink of her sweatshirt.
I sigh heavily, feeling my chronic tension headache beginning to rear its head again. And here I was, believing that I would get one singular day off.
“Mika, please, for the love of god, eat something. I don’t have the time or the patience to deal with your bullshit today, okay?” I say, raising my voice a bit more than I had intended.
“Whatever, Dominik.”
She continues to pick aimlessly at her breakfast, and at this point, it feels like she’s just taunting me. I wait for a moment to see if she’ll actually start eating, but all she does is put her fork across her plate in defiance.
“Listen, I realize that you’re going through a lot. I really do. But Remi is going to fucking hang me if we do anything that will give Izet and Amar a bad impression of you. Whatever it is you’re going through this morning, you need to get the fuck over it and choose to do better.”
She doesn’t even look up from her plate. There’s no catty remark, no scathing insults or threats to be seen. Someone stole Mika in the middle of the night and replaced her with a grey, defeated husk. I’m starting to feel more concerned about her than angry that she won’t comply, but Remi won’t give a shit if it still makes him look bad.
“Mika, please. Just do it. Finish one pancake and I’ll leave you alone.”
She doesn’t lift her head, but I do see her raise her eyes to glare at me before she exhales with frustration.
Her movements are half-hearted and a little annoying to watch, as if she’s an adolescent being punished for skipping her peas. She cuts the tiniest bite off the edge of a pancake, reluctantly lifting it to her lips and biting it off the fork.
“Okay, thank you. Now finish the rest of it so you can get ready to leave. No more bullshit for the rest of the day,” I say as I finish my coffee.
She cuts another piece from the pancake, but before she can chew and swallow it, her eyes widen, and her face turns white. Her plate clatters as she tosses it to the side, where it almost falls to the floor from her sudden liveliness.
I don’t even have time to ask her what’s happening before she sprints to the guest bathroom, falling in front of the toilet and projectile vomiting all over the back of it. She hasn’t even eaten enough to make her as sick as she is, but there’s no way I can tell Remi that she’s unable to make it to the event.
She retches for what feels like forever before I hear the toilet flush. Just when I think she’s done, another wave of dry heaves echoes off the tile into the kitchen. It sounds terrible, and I can remember the last time I was sick enough to puke that much. In my case, I was pretty fucking hammered, so I didn’t need to feel every retch like she does.
She’s suffering, and I don’t know what to do about it.
“Hey, I don’t know what’s going on in there, but you need to get it together. I’m not trying to be an asshole, but I like having my balls attached to my body,” I say as I watch her pick herself up off the floor.
If I thought she looked bad before, she looks ten times worse. There’s nothing she can do to fix this in the little time she has left to get ready. I hope nobody else notices, but I know I’m being extremely optimistic. She’ll be under the spotlight for most of the night, even if she’s more of a showcase item than a beloved guest.
