Monday, May 15
Marco pulls me from a deep, dead, jet-lagged sleep with his mouth on my bare shoulder and a gentle hand coaxing my knees open
underneath the crisp sheets. The sounds of traffic drift up toward us, rising off the Lungotevere, as we’d fallen asleep with the balcony doors open. I don’t do anything to resist or protest. Instead, I blossom
to his touch, purring like a content cat.
When Marco pulls the sheet down over my hips, I don’t stop him. When his mouth skims my stomach and his hands slip underneath
me, I don’t suggest we close the doors.
I slip into the bathroom and unzip the pouch that contains all my medicine—a series of loose, chalky pills floating around
in a bag. I shake out what I need, my hand trembling slightly as the pills slide out one by one. They seem to grow every time
I dole them out.
Fuck, I need water .
I shoot a furtive glance at the door, which I’ve left ajar. Marco’s on the balcony taking a phone call, his voice waxing and
waning as he paces from one end to the other.
I spin around toward the sink, and just as I’m about to turn on the tap, his voice fades completely. I stay perfectly still,
even holding my breath, listening for the sound of his sneakers on the stone floors.
But there’s nothing.
Stillness.
I tighten my grip on the pills, turning more and more powdery in my sweaty palm.
Then, Marco laughs—a big, booming noise that makes my stomach and shoulders lurch. Suddenly, a burst of air whips through
the room, tossing the balcony doors open, throwing around the hand towel. I cringe as everything clatters and bangs around
me, sun streaming out from behind a cloud and falling over me and my mess, throwing us into harsh relief—even the spinning,
shining particles of dust in the air look, suddenly, like jagged bits of glass. I tighten my fingers around my medicine.
“Nadia?” Marco calls out to me. “You okay?”
I must have made a sound.
My chest tightens, my breath catches. I throw the handful of pills into the toilet and flush.
Then, I spin around.
But Marco’s not behind me.
It was just a gust of wind. That’s it. A gust of wind.
I press a hand into my chest, willing my heart to still.
The toilet drains with an immense amount of noise. My pills swirl away, and my eyes turn dry as I stare on in horror.
Anxious heat prickles down my neck, every exposed inch of my skin coming alive with dread. How much of my medicine had I been
holding? Not all of it. No way. I wouldn’t have—couldn’t possibly have—
“Nadia?” He raps at the bathroom door with his knuckles. “Everything okay?”
I press my lips together until they stop trembling. I’m okay, I tell myself. I will be okay.
“Yep,” I call out finally. “All good.”