Chapter 41
Cecilia
The room is dark—maybe early morning or late at night.
I lie awake in bed, waiting for another sleeping pill to kick in.
Somehow, I’m still here, even though I thought I wouldn’t be.
And there’s pain—so much of it, it almost doesn’t feel real.
It scurries up my veins like cyanide, killing more and more parts of me by the hour.
I open my eyes again, and Mikhail is here, lost in a shallow sleep. His face is tense, his wounded chest expanding faster at times, as if he’s never too asleep to get up and fight whatever new disaster might hit me.
Whatever happened to him…when he barged into the room, it looked bad.
He was bleeding, broken, and almost crawled to get to me in that state.
I couldn’t look at him without hating myself even more than I already do.
Maybe if he didn’t have to come rescue me, he wouldn’t be in this state.
But he didn’t seem to care. He wanted to die with me.
He put a gun to his head and hovered on the trigger.
I knew he’d pull it. I could almost picture the blood exploding from his head, smearing the walls of our bedroom and imprinting on my mind like a deadly tumor.
My eyes close again as I let out a trembling breath.
Nausea squeezes my throat, and I swallow, curling up on the other side.
He said he loves me…but how can anyone love someone like me?
My mother’s face flashes before my eyes again: long, curly brunette hair, beautiful sun-kissed skin.
Her smile was always bigger than you’d expect it to be—she had a wide, lush mouth that mesmerized people whenever she spoke, laughed, or sang.
Even when she fought with my father, she had a certain energy that kept you staring.
That’s how I remember her. It’s how she looked the morning that took her from this world.
She barged into my room and opened the windows.
A wave of light and ocean mist hit my eyes, making them flutter.
Then, she came running, jumping on the bed beside me, her head diving into the crook of my neck to kiss and tickle me.
I laughed, and her hair cascaded over her shoulder, smelling of her—of Madonna lilies.
My small hands wrapped around her neck, pulling her closer until her cheek was pressed against mine.
“What a good day to try to catch the sun.” She beamed, like every morning. “Come help me. Maybe we can do it this time.”
It was her way of spending time with me before the rest of the house woke up.
We went to the beach and swam, the sun floating on every small wave, impossible to be contained in my minuscule hand.
My mother loved the ocean and the music it made for us every day.
I loved her, and everything she loved found its way into my heart.
I can’t imagine wanting to hurt her.
Yet, I did.
Something must be seriously wrong with me. Maybe there always was.
The thought sends a shock of panic through my chest, and my hands reach for my phone hurriedly. I enter my messages with Ms. Donatello, noticing how empty our chat looks. I’ve barely talked to her since I arrived at the estate.
I start typing a few words then delete them.
I can’t.
The thought of her hating me for what I did is too terrifying. So, I swallow back my pain, sliding the phone back on the nightstand, and close my eyes. The scent of my mother’s perfume hits my memory—a bittersweet reminder that lulls me back to sleep as the medicine spreads through my system.