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Still…
I snarled a curse and hauled myself off the bathroom floor. Dizziness assaulted me at once. The room canted and tilted under me, like a ship tossed at sea. I braced myself on the counter, while my fear poured in and tried to sink me.
It passed.You sat up too quickly and you haven’t eaten. Nothing tragic about that.
I had to eat. I felt weak as hell, and I couldn’t venture out to do the laundry, much less anything else, until I’d had some food. I felt for the phone on the nightstand, and my fingers trailed over the buttons hoping for one that felt more prominent than the rest. They all felt the goddamn same. I pushed one at random and heard a recording, in Spanish, of what I presumed was an ad for the hotel itself. One of those informational things that are constantly playing with soft music behind them.
I slammed the phone down and picked it up again. I felt at the numeric keypad and was relieved to find that 0 was still alone, at the bottom, where it should be. I pushed it, hoping for an operator. I got one. A young woman answered.
“Buenos días, recepción. ¿Cómo puedo ayudarte?”
“Yeah, do you speak English?” I asked roughly.
A pause. “Sí, señor. How may I assist you?”
“I want to order some breakfast. Room service.”
“Very good, sir. What will you have?”
“I don’t know.” I rubbed my forehead and my eyes that felt tired, even though they’d had the last two years off. “Food. Breakfast. I don’t care.”
“Do you need a menu, sir?”
“I have a menu,” I said through gritted teeth. “I can’t read it. Can you please just tell me what you have?”
“You…wish for me to read to you the whole menu, sir?”
“Yes…no, just…” I thought I was there, at the breaking point. I sucked down a deep breath. “Eggs. Do you have fucking eggs?”
The woman cleared her throat, obviously trying her damndest to maintain her cool with the American dickhead barking at her over the phone.
“We have eggs, sir.”
“Fine. Good. Eggs, coffee, toast…whatever. Just bring it. Room 42.”
I slammed the receiver down, and a second later I swept the phone and everything else that was on the side table onto the floor. My hands were shaking. My breath came in harsh gasps.What is happening to me?
I took several deep breaths, concentrating only on the in and out until the urge to scream or smash something else faded. I stood on trembling legs and felt my way to the bathroom where I splashed cold water on my face. I lifted my face to the mirror. On the other side of the black curtain was a haggard man, pale and sickly, with bags under his dark-circled eyes. And the eyes themselves—that Charlotte found so attractive—were haunted and dull. Their useless stare more blank and empty than ever before.
I didn’t have to see to know that. If Charlotte saw me now, she’d cry. Ava would yell andthencry. My mother would weep, and my father would curse me for hurting her again. And Lucien…
I stumbled back into the bedroom, stubbing my toe on the lamp I’d knocked off the table. I found my phone on the bed, buried under the covers. I nearly called Lucien, telling myself it was just to hear his voice. To talk to someone who knew me so I didn’t feel so goddamn trapped. But I knew if I called him, it wouldn’t be to chit-chat. I’d tell him to book me a flight home that very night.
Do it,said the voice of reason that so often sounded like Ava in my mind.You’re done.She was right. I couldn’t survive another migraine without the medicine. Not now.
“Charlotte, I’m sorry,” I croaked and started to push the button on my phone when a knock came at the door.
“Room service, señor.”
I held the phone in my hand, my head dropping from exhaustion.
Another knock. The button on my phone was smooth under my thumb.
“Señor?”
I drew in a breath, as if I could suck in strength and fortitude and courage from the air around me.Charlotte…
“Come in.”
