Suddenly, I’m swept away in a vision of my body soaring through the air before slamming down onto something hard.
My body shudders like it’s happening to me now.
“I… I don’t know!” Panic floods through me, filling every corner of my thoughts until they threaten to overflow. “I feel—” I turn over on the bed as my back convulses, and then I vomit over the floor and Detective Parker’s shoes.
My mother interjects sharply from behind me. “You need to leave! Can’t you see she is not well enough for this.” Her voice trembles slightly but carries an edge of authority.
“Yes, time to go.” Dom looks between them and me with an intensity that makes my heart race even faster. “If you speak to her again before she is well enough to do this, you will regret it.”
“Are you threatening us, Mr. De Luca?”
“I don’t make threats, Detective, I make things happen.”
“Let me get you something to eat,” Milly says.
I stare at the ceiling, still trying to piece together fragments of my life. My sisters sit on either side of me on the bed. To my left is Milly with her perfectly styled pink hair and manicured nails. And Lia is to my right.
While Milly seems carefree and fun, Lia has a protective energy that feels like a shield around me.
“You need to eat,” Milly pushes, scrolling through her phone.
I turn to look at her, feeling oddly empty. “What do I like to eat?”
Milly’s eyes widen as she glances up from her screen. “You’ve forgotten what you like to eat?”
“Ask the cook to make her spaghetti carbonara,” Lia says, her voice soft but firm.
Milly wrinkles her nose. “That might be too creamy and make her sick.”
“It won’t,” Lia insists, crossing her arms.
“It will, it’s too rich.”
I watch them argue about me like I’m not here. It’s strange being the subject of a conversation when you don’t even know yourself.
Milly sighs dramatically and stands up. “Fine. Carbonara it is. If she is sick, it’s on you. And you can clean her up.” She leaves the room with quick steps, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
My bladder feels uncomfortably full. “I need the bathroom,” I tell Lia.
“Let me take you,” she says, already moving to help me up.
“I can do it.” The words come out more forcefully than I intended, but I need to do something on my own. I’m feeling useless. I can at least go to the bathroom alone.
Lia grumbles but lets me go, watching as I make my way carefully to the en-suite bathroom. Every step is deliberate and slow, my body still aching from injuries I don’t remember receiving.
Inside the bathroom, I sit down to pee, relieved to have a moment alone.
As I finish, something catches my eye—an open cupboard where I’m sure there should be a cabinet door, and what looks like a painted-over picture on the wall above the sink. The color matches the color of the tiles on the walls.
I wash my hands slowly, my gaze repeatedly drawn to that strange flat surface. Water splashes up from the sink, droplets landing on what I now realize must be a mirror.
Curious, I touch the wet spot. The paint smears easily under my finger, revealing something reflective underneath. I splash more water deliberately, using my palm to wipe away the off-white coating.
My heart stops.
A face stares back at me—purple bruises bloom across my cheekbone. Yellow discoloration surrounds my swollen eyes. A line of black stitches cuts across my right cheekbone, explaining the sharp pain I feel when I touch it.
And before I can make sense of it, a scream tears from my throat.
