Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Tatiana
When I come to my senses, I’m staggering down a sidewalk.
Disorientated, I look around. I have no idea where I am or where I’m going.
The sight I catch of myself in the reflection of a shop window jerks me to a standstill.
My clothes are streaked with dirt. My hair is disheveled, and a trickle of blood runs down my temple.
But what surprises me even more is the heavy, smudged make-up on my face, maybe because it’s so not me. It’s like looking at a stranger.
How did I get here?
What happened?
When my brain doesn’t deliver answers, panic claws a hole in my chest.
I sway on my feet, feeling sick. Shivers rack my aching body. My vision goes in and out of focus. Barely managing to keep my balance, I stumble into the nearest store.
The sales lady takes one look at me and grabs a phone that lies behind the counter.
“Please,” I say. “I need help. I need a phone.”
She unlocks the screen and hands me the phone without arguing.
“Thanks.” I grab it with both hands and dial the only number I know by heart. Or rather, the only number I remember. “Thank you so much.”
The phone rings for a while before our housekeeper’s voice comes onto the line. Emily rambles off the number, followed by, “How may I help you?”
“Emily.” I almost cry with relief. “It’s Tatiana.”
A second ticks past. She repeats my name as if she hasn’t heard right. “Tiana?”
“Emily, listen to me. Put my mom on the line.”
An even longer silence stretches.
“Emily, please. You have to call my mom to the phone. Now.”
She replies in a high-pitched tone. “Your, um, mom is not available right now. Why don’t you tell me where you are, and I’ll get Dante to fetch you?”
“Tell him to hurry.” I’m close to tears, looking over my shoulder without knowing what I expect to see. “Please, Emily.”
“Where are you? Is there someone with you?”
“I—A saleslady. I’m using her phone.”
Emily speaks slowly like when addressing a child. “Give the phone back to her, honey.”
I hand the lady her phone.
She listens to something Emily says before reciting a number and an address. “Yes, sure. I’ll keep her here. Do you want me to call an ambulance?” She glances at me. “Fine. Sure. I get that.”
When she hangs up, she gives me a compassionate look. “Don’t worry. Your husband is on his way to get you.” She grips my shoulders and leads me to a chair. “Come. Sit down. Can I get you something to drink?”
Thirsty. I’m thirsty.
My answer is so greedy, my tongue trips over the word. “Water.”
Patting my shoulder, she goes to the counter and fetches a reusable water bottle that she carries back to me.
I’m shaking too much to unscrew the cap, so she does it for me.
I drink until my stomach aches and the water pushes up in my throat, until there’s nothing left in the bottle.
“Sorry.” I return her bottle. “I finished it.”
“That’s all right,” she says with an uncertain smile.
Then it hits me.
Wait.
When did Dante and I get married?