Chapter 6 Megan #3
Will it make him sick?
Panic swells inside my stomach as the enormity of what I’m doing to Gio hits me. What if he dies? He hasn’t even drunk a full glass of wine, and I only crushed two pills, but what if he has some underlying medical condition that I don’t know about?
“Hey.” Gio is right there, and my cheeks are so hot he’s bound to notice. But I’m too panic-stricken to protest when he takes the glass from my hand and downs what’s left of his wine. “You shouldn’t be drinking with all the medication you’re on.”
The kindness in his eyes as he kneels in front of me and strokes my arm is too much.
I’ve given him meds without his permission.
I’m going to meet Amber’s father without telling anyone.
When Gio, and everyone else involved in this horrible situation, has been nothing but kind and generous and protective.
“I can’t…”
I stand abruptly, and limp towards the bathroom, tuning out Gio’s worried voice. “Meggie? What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
I manage to get inside and lock the door behind me without meeting Gio’s gaze. I barely reach the toilet before I empty the contents of my stomach into the bowl.
“Meggie?” Gio knocks on the door. “Meggie, let me in. I want to help.”
“I’m fine.” I’m shaking violently as I kneel on the cold tiled floor, and my voice doesn’t even sound like my own. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
I need to get a grip, but nausea keeps bowling me over, and I retch until there’s nothing left to come out of me.
Gio is quiet outside the room. I wait until my trembling subsides and then haul myself onto my feet, knees still wobbly, and splash my face with cold water.
Peering at my reflection in the mirror above the basin, I realize how pale I am.
I can’t even remember the last time I washed my hair, and there are dark smudges beneath my eyes.
Not exactly the vacation I planned when Nikki’s parents booked our flights.
More tears well at the thought of my friend. So much pain and loss because of one man.
Gio knocks, and I limp back across the bathroom and open the door. I practically fall into his arms when I see him.
He scoops me up and carries me into the bedroom where he undresses me, settles me underneath the comforter like a child, and climbs in beside me.
“You’re shivering.” He presses his body against mine, wrapping his arms around me from behind, sharing his warmth with me. “I’m here, fiore. I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together. Always.”
Dry-eyed and flooded with guilt, I listen to his soothing voice, praying that I haven’t caused him any permanent harm.
I’ll make it up to him, I promise myself. When this is all over, I’ll tell him what I did and pray that he will forgive me for trying to find Amber.
I’m so consumed by macabre images of Gio overdosing on pain meds and red wine, that I don’t register the silence in the room, until he twitches in his sleep.
“Gio?” I whisper.
Nothing.
Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, I move his arm from around my chest and roll him away from me.
He doesn’t even stir. His mouth is slack with sleep, his breathing deep and even.
For a few moments, I stare at his beautiful face, and then, kissing his lips gently, I slide across the bed away from him, and stand up.
That was the easy part.
My clothes are still draped across the back of a chair where Gio left them. I drag them on, pull a sweater over the top, and cross the room. With one last glance at him, I close the door behind me with a click and make my way to the guest room that overlooks the rear of the cabin.
Inside, I open the window, peer outside to make sure there’s no one around, and swing my able leg over the sill. It’s a small drop to the ground below, and I lower myself carefully, landing on my good leg.
It’s like deja-vu, sneaking through the foliage in the dark to get away. Only this time I’m alone, and I’m hobbling painfully towards the killer rather than running away from him.
As predicted, there are men guarding the front of the cabin.
One peers into the trees and brush surrounding me, and I hold my breath, my heartbeat erratic with fear in case he should shoot first and speak later.
Did he spot me? But then he resumes his original position, and I lean against a trunk while I regulate my breathing.
The pain in my foot gets worse the further I walk. Limping doesn’t help, and after a while, I have to shove my fist inside my mouth to stop myself from crying out with each agonizing step. When the cabin at the bottom of the slope comes into view, I feel dizzy and nauseous again.
“Keep going,” I whisper to myself. “Think of Amber.”
I take shelter behind some thick shrubs and scope out the cabin. Should I knock? Should I wait for him to make himself visible? I didn’t think this through. What if he shoots me before I even get close to him?
But while I’m planning my next move, the prickly shrubs making my face itch, I glimpse movement and freeze.
Someone weaves stealthily through the shadows behind the cabin and peers along the slope the way I would’ve come if I were meeting someone I could trust.
They’re wearing black to blend in with the night, but I know instantly that it isn’t him.
It’s a woman.
The fear evaporates as I leave my hiding place on impulse. I can’t see her face, but it’s enough to know that it isn’t him. A woman I can talk to. A woman will, hopefully, show compassion for Amber. A woman will be someone’s daughter, sister, mom, auntie, friend.
My heart reaches out to her, whoever she is, for help as I stumble closer, waiting for her to turn around and notice me.
Closer.
It feels as though she is deliberately avoiding looking at me, guarding her identity until it’s too late for me to change my mind.
When she finally turns around, I gasp.
Lucia!