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I open my eyes to darkness again. Perpetual darkness. Bloating and urgency in my gut warns of the need to use the bathroom, but I’ll never make it. The pressure builds and builds, pressing against my belly. A deep cramping has me grunting and curling into myself, breathing through my nose. A sobbing outcry is all I can muster, as a needling pain, like knives twisting in my gut, sends a shock of agony spiraling through me. “Please!”
Blackness swallows me.
27
Céleste
“Minou, minou, I see you!” The voice rips me out of the blackness, and I open my eyes to a blinding light that has me lifting my arm as a shield. Water trickles over my skin, and soft cotton, smelling of clean lemon, drags over my temple. In spite of the warm spray against my chest, my body shivers and trembles, and the heat of warm skin and strong arms swallows me from behind. It’s then I realize I’m lying naked against Thierry, on the shower floor, while he washes me clean.
His bent knees at either side of me have me mindlessly running my hands down powerful thighs, to the boxer briefs he didn’t bother to remove. His arms envelope me, pulling me against him, and the weight across my chest is comforting. Settling. The misty edges fizzle into another dream.
* * *
Silk sheets glide over my skin.
The savory scent of food has my stomach twisting with nausea. Warm liquids fill my mouth. I turn to cough and gasp for breath. More food. Pushing it away, I turn over, shivering. So cold. And hungry, but not for food.
A vacuous emptiness begs to be filled, but with what, I can’t say. My body is weak. Limbs like ice. The blankets fail to warm me, as if my insides have frozen over.
Hot skin presses against mine, a blazing heat washing over me, through me, like intense beams of sunlight. A hard surface presses into my back at the same time as arms engulf me in a tight embrace. I let out a shaky breath and twist around, nuzzling my face into the smooth plains of his chest. The heat of his body is an inferno of warmth and comfort surrounding me. I don’t want to leave.
* * *
Sat upright in bed, I stare down at the proffered bowl in Thierry’s outstretched hand. Steam rises over top of it, and my stomach gurgles at the scent of steaming broth.
“How long was I … sick?”
“It’s been a week.”
“I haven’t eaten in a whole week?”
“I’ve been feeding you chicken broth and water, when you can tolerate it. You haven’t eaten much, though.”
A whole week.
My body feels cold and clammy, exhausted, like it’s suffered a persistent hangover. Mouth bone dry, I swallow back the lump in my throat and sip the broth from the bowl. The heat of it warms my belly and fills the ache of hunger. The intense flavor lingers on my tongue, and it’s then I notice everything is stronger. The light. The scents. The flavors. As though I’m just now experiencing the world that’s been dulled by a thin haze.
“You took care of me through that.” A burning humiliation clings to my cheeks in my not wanting to imagine what he’s dealt with in the last week.
“Yes.”
“It’s not going to get better, you know. The hallucinations are what made me take them in the first place.”
“What hallucinations?”
I shake my head. “Never mind.”
“I won’t prod now, chère. But you’re eventually going to tell me everything.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Instead of answering, he hands me a glass of water, which I gulp a little too exuberantly, dribbling it down my neck. A glance down shows a spanking white T-shirt, undoubtedly belonging to him, and the shift of my thighs confirms I’m not wearing any panties beneath. The smooth glide of skin tells me he must’ve shaved me, at some point, though I don’t remember any of it.
“Why did you do it?” I ask, not bothering to look at him, for fear I’ll see a hard truth in his eyes. A sincerity I can’t bear to face right now.
“Do what?”
“Take away the pills.”
