Chapter Ten #2
“Please leave me alone,” I said softly. “Please.”
“I was never there for you, Elio. You were always there for me; you never left me alone; why would I leave you now that you need me the most? Look at this place; it is empty. You’re so alone in this world. It saddens me to see you suffering; I want to be here for you.”
“No,” I croaked out. “You’re not real.”
“I am as real as you want me to be, Elio. You have no idea how long I have been waiting for you to let me see you like this,” she said, sounding so pleased. “There’s something I have always wanted to tell you.”
“Please go away.” I could barely hear my own voice.
“But you wanted me here.”
“Mamá, por favor, déjame en paz.” I breathed. “Por favor.”
“You called me here; I am the only one who answered.”
I was being tortured; her voice was torture; her presence was torture. This was so unfair.
“Elio, I am here.”
I pressed my eyelids tightly together. “I’m not crazy. It’s just in my head. I’m not crazy,” I chanted.
“Elio.”
“I’m not cra—”
I felt a shadow over me, her hand on my cheek, so soft, so cold, so tender.
“My love, open your eyes.”
When I did, I flinched sharply with a gasp at the melting face above me. Her face was burning; her smile was slipping, her skin was falling, eyes drooping. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t—
My eyes snapped open, my breathing hard, my phone gripped against my chest.
I had dozed off after trying to call Gemma … That was a dream.
I slowly looked around me. The living room was empty. Too empty. Too quiet. Too eerie. Too lonely.
For a sliver of a moment, I felt … scared.
Sinking farther into the couch, I brought my phone to my view again, and without thinking, I clicked Elia’s name, the last one on the list. It started ringing.
I knew he wouldn’t answer; he didn’t know the number after all, and it was careless to accept calls from unknown numbers; he should be—
“Hola.”
His voice filled my ear … It was carefree, like he had been laughing and picked it up while distracted. He sounded familiar and unfamiliar. There was a bit of noise in the background: water, music, laughter.
“Hello, who is this?” his voice came in again.
I swallowed, trying to clear my throat, but it felt like a brick was on my chest, stopping my airflow.
“Hey! Make your fucking shot!” a male voice yelled at him.
“Who’s that?” A female voice that sounded much like the one who’d rejected me hours ago came through.
“Don’t know, wrong number, I think, where were—” The line disconnected.
I drew in a breath, fighting to keep my eyes open as I dialed the number again.
It rang three times, and he picked up.
“Yes?” he drawled. Irritated.
I opened my mouth to speak, but his voice cut me off.
“Breathing at the end of the line is not on trend anymore, so whoever you are—”
“Elia.”
He went quiet. And all I could hear was the noise and music in the background.
After a good minute that felt like an hour, he spoke.
“Y-yeah? What do you want?”
“I’m sorry to bother you. I did not mean to call, but I—I don’t have anyone else.”
There was nothing from him in the first few seconds, but then he spoke. “What happened?” His voice had a new edge, one that sounded urgent, and the other end of the line was shaky like someone was running or walking fast with the phone. I was too disoriented to decipher it.
“I need … help.”
The line disconnected the moment I spoke.
I groaned out a sigh, giving up as my phone dropped from my hand. I relieved my eyes of their stress and closed them again, allowing my body to succumb to the tiredness.
I was brought back into mild consciousness when I felt a hand on my forehead. The hand was soft, small, and warm, and a familiar smell—like my pillow, but stronger, nearer—filled my senses.
“Fuck, get some ice, D. He’s burning up.”
The sound of fast-retreating footsteps was what I heard next.
“I thought you said he was okay.” A female voice cut into the silence, and I heard some other footsteps.
“He was when I left this morning. He was perfect, in fact.” The hand—Zahra’s hand came to my cheek. “Elio?” she called softly. “I think he can hear us; he’s frowning.”
“So, not dying then.” Another voice cut in.
Her finger stroked my cheek, a shadow over me. “Hey, can you hear me?” she asked like she didn’t want anyone else in the room to hear her.
“Well, do you think he took something?” the female voice asked again, soft, concerned.
“No, Milk, he had been drinking … whiskey, and he looked tired, too, but he wasn’t this hot.”
“He still looks hot to me.”
“Jesus, Dog, I didn’t mean that kind of hot—I meant hot as in sick hot—like, temperature over-the-roof hot—”
“I know what you meant; just messing with ya.”
Someone touched my feet like they were feeling for something. “I think he has a fever, a bloody strong one; he’s cold on his feet.”
Zahra’s hand covered mine. “His hands too.”
Someone clapped, and my head banged. “It’s nothing that can’t be cured with fever soup.”
“What’s fever soup?”
“It’s soup that cures fever; it goes without saying, Milk.”
“The way you put it sounded like it’s a soup that causes fever, not cures it,” Milk responded.
“Why the fuck would I imply that? He’s already playing catch with a fucking fever, so when I say fever soup, it should have automatically clicked in that pink brain of yours that I meant one that cures it.”
“Is there one for causing it?” the one with the British accent spoke.
“Fucking hell, I’m friends with idiots.”
“No, actually,” Zahra spoke up, “with the way you put it, it just sounded like you have one for curing fever and one for causing it…”
“You’re also a fucking idiot, Zahra; you just know how to package it.
” Dog groaned. “Anyway, it’s one of my father’s secret recipes; his grandfather passed it down to him.
It was created when my great-grans Olga was on the brink of death from fever, and he made a soup and brought her back to life, fever gone.
Then he made people from the church buy it for an outrageous amount of money. My great-grans died two weeks later.”
I didn’t hear anything else after that. The silence stretched into seconds, entering a minute before …
“I really hope Marino didn’t hear that,” Upper said.
“Me too,” Milk seconded.
I squeezed Zahra’s hand in mine, and she squeezed back before saying, “Nah, he didn’t; he’s passed out.”
“I found ice and a small towel.” Elia’s voice entered the room again.
“Permission to use the kitchen, Devil?”
“Why the fuck do you need my permission?” His voice was closer now, and right after he spoke, I heard a squeeze of water, and something cold and soothing was on my forehead.
“Uh, you’re the brother?”
“Dog, will the soup help?” Zahra spoke up, stroking my forearm through the hoodie sleeve.
“Guaranteed, tested, and five percent trusted, but he’s young, so … I don’t think he’ll die in two weeks.”
“What?” Elia snapped.
“You have Elio’s permission,” Zahra cut in.
There was a slight snorting sound. “Girlfriend speaks for boyfriend, I see.”
“It’s not like he can speak for himself; get to the fucking kitchen and stop fucking around.” Elia groaned.
“Or maybe I could just leave and fuck my way around this cruise because someone can’t seem to appreciate when a friend is doing something for their sudden brother who he doesn’t like, but has to help, because he doesn’t want him to die like my great-grans Olga, bless her soul,” Dog muttered.
There was a second of silence before Elia cleared his throat.
“Please. Dog. Help. Me.”
“Maybe a little less strained, something forthcoming, from the heart—”
“Dog, for the love of God,” Zahra gritted out.
“Fine, just because Zahra mentioned God, and I love God, so, yeah, I’ll help,” he said, and I could hear the smugness. “Milk, you want to be useful?”
“Yeah, coming.”
“What about ingredients?” Upper asked.
“I’m sure it’s all there. I checked the catalog for the platinum suite, and the stocked ingredients I saw will do the trick.”
“Good.”
Footsteps were retreating.
“Oh my God, there are cats!” That came from Milk. “Awww, he has cats?”
“Shit,” Zahra cursed.
Elia sighed with a small laugh. “Wanna get off the floor?”
“Yes, please, help me lift him.”
There were shuffles, shadows shifting, hands on my shoulders as half my body was lifted off the couch, but I was back down soon after, except this time, my head wasn’t on the pillow; it was on soft thighs—Zahra’s thighs.
“Thanks, the black cat almost clawed my eye out, and I’m not exaggerating. They hate me.”
“You give off anti-cat pheromones. And … they sense bad energy.”
“Well, thank you, Upper, that’s an accurate observation nobody needed.”
“I am delighted to have been the one to provide the observation,” Upper responded. “Anyway, I know a little about the kind of medicine one can take to ward off a fever, and the mad headache the poor lad must be experiencing.”
“You do?” Elia asked, hopeful.
“Yes, I took care of myself for a couple years before, uh … well, yeah, and there were some medicines left for me should I suffer a fever; I could stop by the medical wing and see if they have some of those things?”
“I’ll come with,” Elia said. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave—”
“It’s okay; I’m here,” Zahra reassured him.
A shuffling. “Okay, you’ll call me if anything happens or changes—”
“Sure, hurry before Dog is done in the kitchen.”
Footsteps were descending. A door opened and closed.
Zahra sighed, and the cloth left my head.
A moment later, it was back, but colder. Her fingers entered my hair, stroking softly.
I let out a much steadier breath.