Chapter Twenty-Two
Tulya
My throat was as dry and barren as the desert, and my skin felt as if bedbugs had lodged in there permanently—I wanted to claw it off.
I should drink, but I couldn’t stand the thought.
My stomach hurt, but I couldn’t tell if that was because I had to pee or I was hungry, or it was part of the overall sickness I was experiencing.
My dress stuck to my legs, and I rubbed my thighs together, using it to scratch the welts I assumed were there.
I was a writhing mess on the couch and not for a good reason.
Clearly, Donovan had stayed to care for me.
I wondered at what expense as he made his way out of the room, leaving me on the phone with Caro.
He looked like he hadn’t showered, shaved, or eaten in a day or two, not to mention he smelled as if he took a deep dive into a bottle of scotch.
Judging by the nearly empty bottle on the end table, he had.
“What? The medic won’t come?” I couldn’t fully grasp what Caro was saying.
“I told you, he was only allowed to come if Donovan fulfilled the task.”
“We did the transfer.” I argued with my sister as if she had any control. “We did the task. Blake is back in Rubia.”
“With the human woman,” Caro added.
“That’s her daughter… I mean, not every mother is as heartless as ours. I need help,” I finally screeched out. I was pretty certain I was going to throw up again, and I focused on the ceiling fan, watching it whir around, willing my stomach to keep it together.
“I know. But you know Ezza, and let’s not forget the Minister. They play by the rule book, especially Mom. She so desperately wants to be the Minister.”
“Can you talk to the medic? Ask him what to do?”
“He won’t. I tried. He says this needs to run its course…as if they knew this was a risk.”
“What the heck? Car—they knew? They sent me, thinking this might happen?”
Caro didn’t have a chance to answer because I heard my mother in the background. Is that your sister? I envisioned her glaring at Caro.
“Mom, she’s really not doing well.” Caro defended me.
Give me the phone.
“Hello, Tulya. The medic says you’ll be fine…eventually.”
“What? When is eventually? Mother, I am covered in a rash—”
“Listen, it’s imperative that Donovan returns and takes the human back. Every minute she is here on Rubia is sixty seconds closer to our demise.”
I felt my head trying to shake. My mother was going to leave me to fend for myself. All she cared about was the plan she and Ceci had set.
“He’s not in the room right now, but I will tell him.” It was all I could say. The only thing I wanted to do was hang up with my mother.
“Be sure. The jet is ready, and we need to make haste.”
“Okay.” My response was weak and feeble, but between my body at war and acknowledging my own mother didn’t care, neither did I.
“Does that feel okay?” Donovan called through the half-closed door. I’d had sex in several different positions with the man, fallen asleep naked in his arms, and here we were—shouting between the bedroom and bathroom because I was naked in the tub.
I was currently in a lukewarm bath with baking soda sprinkled in, per a text from Caro. She’d poked around the medic’s office and stole a book off the shelves outlining what to do for shock-induced hives. We weren’t sure if it would work, but at this point, what could I lose?
Donovan had spent about five minutes grumbling over Caro finding the information and no one warning me, while murmuring what the fuck? I wanted to know all the answers to these questions, especially what the fuck. My skin felt like it was molting off.
I’d started to sit up and Donovan took the hint and called down to the kitchen asking for baking soda ASAP and told me he’d run the bath. After a few minutes of his flying around, I’d managed to stand and start walking toward the bathroom.
It was only when I crossed the threshold to my room that I felt weak and started to buckle in my knees.
“Shit,” I whispered before leaning into the wall. Of course Donovan, in his heightened state of anxiety, sensed my suffering and hurried out of the bathroom, lifting me. “This is absurd,” I argued. “You’re not carrying me. I can maybe crawl?”
“Shut up” was all he said and then the doorbell rang.
He set me on the bed and ran for the baking soda, threatening me not to dare move.
I was trying to take my dress off when he reappeared and said, “Let me do that.” I glared at him, and he’d told me, “Now’s not the time to be shy.”
He gently lifted the dress over my head and hauled me into his arms again, taking me to the en suite bathroom, placing me gently on the vanity.
I unhooked my bra and kicked off my panties.
“I need to go to the bathroom, and I do not want you to lift me on the toilet. I have to draw the line somewhere.”
Thankfully, he listened to me, holding out his hand, and I took it without looking behind me in the mirror. I could only imagine my skin red with fury, my hair not combed, makeup smeared all over my face.
“I’ll be back,” he noted when I sat down, and scurried out.
I did my business, and in a moment of defeat called for him. There was no way I trusted myself to get up and then lower my body into the sunken tub.
Which was how we came to this moment, me soaking in a gross baking soda bath, Donovan on the other side of the door.
“It’s cutting down on some of the itching,” I told him. “But there are more by the minute.” With nothing better to do, I watched the tiny red welts multiply on my skin.
“Should I text Caro?”
“No,” I said weakly. “She will get in touch when she knows more. In fact, when I get out of here, you should go back.” Running a damp hand through my hair and pushing back the strands lingering on my forehead, I thought back to Christmas when I’d dressed to impress Donovan.
“My mom insists you get Valerie and bring her back here.” I spoke softly, wondering how I would function on my own, unsure if this was the worst of it.
I hadn’t mentioned the small tremor I got in my left hand every couple of minutes; I kept balling my fingers to cover it up.
“I will do no such thing.” Donovan appeared in the bathroom, not bothering to knock. “I did what I was told to do, ‘chaperoned’ you here.” He said the last part with air quotes. “I supervised the transfer of feelings, which rendered you sick, and I need to own that.”
He leaned his butt against the same vanity I’d been sitting on when he brought me into the bathroom.
When he crossed his arms over his chest, I couldn’t help but stare.
At some point he’d changed out of his suit and put on a T-shirt and shorts, his biceps bulging.
Under different circumstances, I might have been curious to see more.
“I need to fucking own that,” he repeated.
“Please don’t feel guilty.” I finally found my words. “I did this. I had to do this. You know the play of power with Ezza. She says to jump, and I do it.”
His voice came out hoarse with emotion— “No, I should have asked if there were risks, what could happen. I never bothered to consider that or imagined they actually knew something like this could.”
Closing my eyes, I dipped a tad deeper into the water, covering my shoulders.
I wanted to get out, and I also never wanted to leave this bathtub.
“You underestimated them. It doesn’t matter—go and get Valerie.
They’re going to make her miserable, and all she’s doing is being near her daughter.
I will heal. I hope.” I tried to argue, never opening my eyes, the end part coming out faint.
“I refuse to leave you.” Donovan pushed off the counter and padded toward the tub.
My eyes were fully open now, watching his chest heave with conviction like a tiger after his prey.
A tear fell down my cheek, and I managed to croak out, “My throat hurts.” It was yet another new symptom, except it wasn’t why I was crying.
I realized the momentary chill I felt when Donovan was near was missing.
Our special yin-yang connection he knew nothing about had disappeared.
And I wondered why it did, along with wanting an explanation for how it made me feel so bereft.
“Let’s get you out of the water and into a robe. I can order some soup or tea?” Donovan grabbed a towel and held it up before bending to lift me out.
There was no arguing left in me. I couldn’t imagine bracing myself with my trembling hand or standing on my limp legs. All I could do was hope I got better.
And the little girl inside me, the one who’d watched the snowfall from the window, wishing she was outside playing in it rather than listening to her mother, moments before her power showed, pined for the boy this time. Could he be hers?