13. When I grow up, I want to be a tsunami
THIRTEEN
WHEN I GROW UP, I WANT TO BE A TSUNAMI
It makes sense that when I’m alone, I have a chance to process things. To think.
Maxim takes up so much space—not just mattress-wise, but life-wise. He’s an energy vortex. My man enters a room and the oxygen levels drop. But when he leaves you, you’re out in the cold and on your own.
Having seen Camille go through a panic attack, I know the signs and the protocol.
Shay wasn’t awake when I got back, so I don’t want to stumble through the house in search of a paper bag. It’s less about me caring that his wake-up call would be me sucking down air like it’s gone out of fashion and more that I know he’ll fuss.
He might, just might, judge.
And I’m not sure how to cope with that.
Which, of course, leads to more panicked mouthfuls of air that have zero effect on me.
I hurl myself to the edge of my bed, where I’d been messing around watching some dumb shit on my phone, and dunk my head between my knees.
I force myself to stay calm.
I can do this.
I can breathe.
I’m a big girl.
I’m a murderer.
Fuck you, tunnels!
“Won’t let. Steal. Vision.” I gasp.
Calm down.
Take it slow.
I can do anything I set my mind to.
Getting mad at myself only makes the damn attack linger, but eventually, I find a balance.
As quickly as I hurled myself to the edge of the bed, I return to the center and curl into the fetal position, grateful I switched out my dress for PJs earlier.
I let the tears flow.
The guilt hit.
And the fear blossom.
This time next week, you might be living in Montenegro…
My thoughts and fears coalesce into a big lump that blocks off my air again.
And that’s when I accept I have to cut it out. I can’t think about this. If I do, it’ll paralyze me, and I won’t allow that.
So, I shut it off like it’s a leaking faucet.
I’m under no illusions that a stray drop won’t fall from time to time, but anything is better than this deluge.
I close my eyes and fall asleep.
I don’t even care that I’ve missed a class when I next wake up.
Not only did I need the rest, I also needed to recalibrate the cerebral settings—a nap’s always good for that.
I hate that I’m relieved when I realize Shay’s not in the house.
I won’t be avoiding him again, but I feel better for having the room to grow into this new space where I’m not just a pampered mob princess… but someone with the capacity to end another’s life.
I nip the bridge of my nose, further relieved when my cell buzzes and distracts me.
Wynter: No pressure, but would you like to grab coffee?
She saw.
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek.
She knows.
I pinch my hand.
She could tell.
“Montenegro, Montenegro, Montenegro,” I chant as I type out:
Me: I don’t feel like leaving the house. But if you want to come to my place, Shay’s day is packed with classes and a session with the Oakwood College Council (he’s the treasurer) so we’d be alone.
Wynter: Oh, that’d be neat. Where do you live?
*Victoria sends live location*
Wynter: I’ll be there in five minutes
Me:
The last thing I feel like doing is rehashing yesterday evening’s events, but I need allies. Fuck, more than that, I need a friend.
“Stupid man,” I mutter. “Why did you have to return to NYC when I needed more hugs?”
And who the hell would have thought that Maxim’s hug game was strong enough to stave off a panic attack?
Tempted to text him and demand another, wondering if he’d make the return trip as he did tell me to message him if I needed to…
instead I set about brewing two espressos, finding comfort in grabbing the container from the fridge, from using the coffee measurer I have—a gift from Inessa that has an enamel Jesus on it which says, “I saw that.”
“You had something to see last night.” My thumb smoothes over the relief because she bought it to make me laugh.
I force one.
Spoiler: it doesn’t do shit.
But, thinking of my sister calms me some.
“She’ll visit me in Montenegro. I think. Eoghan will purchase a coastal property and—”
The doorbell buzzes.
I jerk in surprise, sending coffee beans careering across the marble counter.
My hands ball into fists and I fight the urge to scream.
I fight it.
I fight it—
I SCREAM.
Just to let out this goddamn internal tension that’s driving me crazy.
A banging sounds at the door and Wynter, terrified, shouts, “Oh, my god, Victoria! VICTORIA!”
The situation devolves quickly after that.
A Russian and an Irish guard come barging through the door, I assume Irish first because Conor would only give a code to them. Guns in one hand, knives in another, they immediately scope out the place until I yell, “I screamed because I dropped coffee beans everywhere!”
When they both look at me like I’m crazy, I scowl at them and shoo them out.
“Come in, Wynter,” I beckon.
“Sorry,” she rasps. “Maybe I overreacted?”
“I think I did too.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Been a long night, huh?”
When my phone rings, I see it’s Brennan. I cut it. My phone rings again. Maxim this time.
“You have two sets of guards,” Wynter comments, peering through the window that frames the door.
“Yeah. Just give me two secs?”
“Sure.”
“Kitchen’s down the hall.”
Because I can think of no faster way to accommodate both men before they send in their guards again, I start a group call.
“I’m fine. Had a little issue with the coffee. Your guards are trigger happy.”
“They shot you?” Maxim shouts.
“What? No. Jesus. I only meant they were quick to react.”
“You’re okay?”
Brennan is the grumpiest man on the planet, I swear. Even now, he sounds dour as fuck. It’s all a ruse, mind. Never seen love like when he stares at my sister.
“I’m fine. I have to go. Someone’s here. But I did just drop some coffee beans and scream.”
I can feel their disbelief down the line.
That’s the trouble with being a rational person. You do one irrational thing and nobody believes you.
I huff. “Going.”
And end the call.
Maxim: We’ll talk later
Me: You the boss of me now?
Maxim: Victoria
Me: Maxim
Maxim: Remember that spanking we talked about…
I refuse to squirm.
Me: I’m fine
Maxim: You freaked out, didn’t you? I knew you were too calm
Me: Look, I have a guest
Maxim: I know. Wynter Kinnock
Me: Fucking guards knowing everything. Do they know when I get my period?!
Maxim: I’m not sure they’re that dedicated
Me: That’s a relief
Maxim: Call me when you’re alone.
Me: I’m fine
Maxim: Frantic. Insecure. Neurotic. Emotional?
Me: Maybe. But I’m dealing with it
Maxim: You don’t deal with it alone. Not when I’m here
Me: You’re not here.
Maxim: Want me to come tonight?
I shutter my eyes.
Think about how when he wrapped me up in his arms, there was no room for thinking…
My throat bobs.
I want to be strong.
I want to be different than my sisters.
I don’t want him to think of me as being weak.
But I also realize how toxic that is. I’m not special. My sisters aren’t liabilities. And I can’t always be strong.
Me: Please
Maxim: See you tonight
Me: Can we stay here? Just this once, please?
Maxim: Ofc
I sag against the hallway wall, utterly relieved that he’ll be here tonight. Even if him maneuvering around Shay will be a nightmare.
Seeing Brennan’s texted me too, I tap into the message.
Brennan: You sounded stressed
Brennan: Did last night not go well?
So, the Irish truly don’t have an in with the Veronians.
That I could be useful to them both fills up a space inside me that’s always been empty before.
It’s why I went through with this at all, but the reminder’s welcome.
Me: It went fine.
Me: There are three rites of induction. Last night, I performed great. I’ll tell you when I receive the next invitation
Me: I promise all’s well Give my love to Camille and the sprout. GTG
That done, I head into the kitchen.
Just in time to see his:
Brennan: We love you too. And my kid is not a vegetable
I refuse to cry.
“Oh! You didn’t have to do that,” I fuss, finding Wynter sweeping up the beans that exploded everywhere.
“It helps me to keep busy,” she says in a rush.
“Yeah.” Maxim’s the definition of busy. “It does. You okay?”
She peeps at me from the corner of her eye. “Wondering what I got myself involved in.”
“I only did it because he was going to kill me first.”
“I can see that.” She rolls her top lip over her teeth. "He looked like a crazy serial killer from a movie.”
“Norman Bates wannabe. I was just waiting for the Psycho soundtrack to kick in. Make it a real party.” I shoo her aside and collect the dustpan loaded with coffee beans. “You want coffee, right?”
“Please. Espresso’s fine. Might as well drown in caffeine. It’s not like I’m going to sleep again.”
I suddenly feel guilty for how well I slept last night.
Once I’ve dealt with the trash, I wash my hands, dose out the coffee beans and put them in a grinder, then go through the motions of setting up the machine.
The noise and bustle of it is restful. I can’t deny it.
By the time I hand her a small cup, I’ve calmed down some.
“These are pretty.” Wynter rubs her thumb over the small relief on the cup. “Which Greek goddess?”
“Athena. For wisdom.” I shoot her a lopsided smile. “Not feeling so wise today. My sisters bought them for Shay and me as housewarming gifts. That’s why you have that one and I have this—” I tilt the cup so she can see the face.
Her brow furrows. “Hades?”
“You know your mythology.”
“Well, I always wanted a three-headed dog when I was a kid,” she teases.
“Who wouldn’t?”
“Why Hades? For a gift, I mean. Athena makes sense. College and all. But Hades?”
“It’s just a joke.” King of the Underworld. “The family has high expectations of him.”
“But Zeus is a dick?”
I laugh. “Something like that, and Shay’s not the fondest of the ocean.”
Hasn’t been since he and his mom were almost killed on a boardwalk when he was a teenager.
My smile dims. “So, you wanted to talk?”
Her gaze catches mine then drops. “Not really. I… guess I wanted to be with someone who understood last night and no way in fuck was I going to willingly put myself in Derek Dyers's presence.”
Figuring that maybe I underestimated this girl, I grunt. “He’s such an asshole.”