After drinking the tea, Khawla scurries to the extreme edge of the sofa, far from me. She brings her knees to her chest, laying her head on them and hugging her legs like in a fetal position. She has a painning expression on her face, she's hurt, and her spirits are low, even she's still being high.
I heave a sad sigh and head to the kitchen to get some ice, or her cheek will be bruised by tomorrow, and, contrary to all of the other marks, this mark wouldn't be one that I'm proud of. I've never thought I could beat a woman out of the sexual context, and I feel miserable because of that. However, Khawla had crossed all the lines. She has this fine talent of getting into my nerves in a way no one has ever gotten before.
Okay, it doesn't justify what I did, and I hate myself for being such an asshole.
I get a handkerchief, put some ice cubes on it, and close it with a knot. Then, I go back to the living room, sitting next to her.
Khawla is still wary of me, and I can't blame her. She glances at me, not wanting to make eye contact. It's evident that she doesn't appreciate my company right now, and it pains me to the core.
Khawla: What do you want? Leave me alone, please.
Khawla asks me quietly, looking back at the TV.
Sebastian: Let me see your cheek.
I use the softest tone of voice I could, trying hard to control the range of emotions that are clouding my mind and heart – anger, disappointment, self-loathe, uncertainty, helplessness, hopelessness, love, worry, heart-broken, to name a few.
Khawla hesitates for a moment to obey my command but comply. I can see that she's a little bit afraid of me now, and it shatters my heart into million pieces. It makes me feel like I'm a monster, and all memories of my past mistakes flood into my mind.
I should never start dating her in the first place. My past haunts me because I have blood in my hands. I shouldn't have allowed and dragged Khawla into my miserable life. It was a huge mistake that I'm starting to regret. I'm cursed to be a lone wolf forever, so why did I let her win over my heart?
I pinch her chin and turn her face to the side to have a better look at the damage. Her cheek is red and swollen as well. I press the ice against where I've slapped her, and she flinches a little because of the pain and cold. Khawla keeps her eyes cast down, not facing me. She's upset for being slapped, and I can't blame her.
I keep pressing the ice softly on her cheek for a while in a heavy silence. If a paper leaf falls down, it could be heard. After a while, when the ice cubes start melting, I remove the handkerchief and walk back to the kitchen, to prepare another cup of the tranquilizer tea, with an extra-strong dose in a try to wear off the effects of the Ecstasy the fastest I can to allow her body to recover. With the drugs in her system, her healing abilities are dormant, and I'm still worried to the bones about the toll it would take on my druidess' health.
I come back to the living room, sit beside her once more, and handover the tea to her to drink.
Sebastian: Drink it.
Khawla prompt obeys me, afraid of receiving another hit. I frown at her scared kitten behavior. I don't like to see her like this. It isn't the bad girl and bold druidess that I admire in secret. She drives me insane, it's true, but I'm proud that she always stands to herself.
Khawla finishes drinking all the content of the mug and gives it back to me. I put it on the coffee table and ask gently.
Sebastian: Lay your head on my lap, little fairy.
Khawla glances at me, then looks at my lap, stops to think about it a little, and, in the end, she lays down on the sofa and rests her head on it while watching whatsoever it's passing on the TV at this time. I rest one arm on her waist and, with the other hand, I caress her hair feathery, lost in my thoughts.
***
After an hour or two, Khawla finally falls asleep. I get her in my arms and carefully carry her in bridal style to our bed not to wake her up. I settle her under the covers, caress her hair once more, and I bend forward to lay a small kiss on her forehead.
I go back to the living room, collapsing on the sofa. I need help to get rid of the drug dealer that is in Mystery Spell and from who Khawla is buying the Ecstasy.
"Who can help me?"
I get my mobile phone and call the only person that crossed my mind, Nicolae Bartholy, as he's the right hand of Viktor Bartholy in town.
It rings twice before he could answer, and I speak straightforwardly in a cold tone of voice, cutting the pleasantries.
Sebastian: Bartholy, I need your help.
I notice that Nicolae is taken aback for a while before answering me.
Nicolae: What can I do for you, Professor Jones?
Sebastian: Khawla took Ecstasy again at the Campus Party.
I beat the bush. I listen to Nicolae heaving a long tired sigh, but he doesn't say a word. So, I continue with my request.
Sebastian: I need your help to identify the drug dealer and send her to jail. Like this, Khawla won't be able to buy drugs anymore.
Nicolae: Sebastian... For sure, I can arrange that, but my centuries of experience have taught me that after a small dealer is arrested, another one comes. It doesn't matter who is selling the drugs; the matter is Khawla. She is the one who must stop buying it.
I'm surprised in listening to Nicolae calling me by my first name, like an intimated friend, and I feel hopeless in listening to him. What can I say? Bartholy is right. It must come from my druidess. Will she be willing to stop consuming drugs?
Sebastian: And what can I do to make Khawla stops with the drugs, Bartholy?
This question was more to myself than to Nicolae. He heaves again and deadpans.
Nicolae: Nothing. Unfortunately, there is nothing that we can do about this, Professor Jones. It's all on her. I'll let you know when I identify the dealer.
Sebastian: Thanks, Bartholy.
Nicolae: You're welcome, Professor Jones.
I turn off the call and heave a sad sigh. I'm thinking of calling my Navajo friend, the old Medicine Man who saved my life when I was transformed into a werewolf, for advice when I listen to Khawla stirring on the bed.
"Fuck..."
I head to the bedroom. Khawla is sweating loads. I put my hand on her forehead; she's boiling in fever, as I expected. I head to the kitchen to take the first aid box and a bowl that I fill up with cold water. Then, I go back to the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed.
I open the first aid box and get a Tylenol for her fever. I don't like to give her more drugs while her body has to get rid of the ones already in her system, but I don't want to take any risks as her fever is too high. I grab her face, open her mouth, and squeeze the drops directly into it, and she swallows them as a reflex. Then, I bathe a cloth in the cold water, squeeze it, and lay it down on her forehead.
"It's going to be a long night..."
I heave a sad and hopeless sigh while I take care of my irresponsible druidess.
***
The sun is already high, and I didn't have an inch of sleep. Khawla burned in a fever all night and morning long. Only now, it seems that the fever is gone, and I decide to relax a little. I lay down beside her, spooning her, so I can feel when she wakes up or stirs in a fever again, and I drift off my mind into oblivion, to my more than deserved rest.
***
I wake up with my druidess, trying to go out of the bed. I tighten even more my grip around her waist, making her complain.
Khawla: Seb, I need the bathroom.
I let her go from my embrace, and I open my eyes to check the time. It's already nine at night. Khawla has slept for around 17 hours, and I have slept over eight hours, which's a miracle, as I'm always okay with 5 or 6 hours per night only.
While I stretch my muscles like a cat when it wakes up, I listen to Khawla puking in the bathroom.
"Shit..."
I stand up and head to the washroom to check on her. I stand up, lean against the door's frame, and ask teasingly.
Sebastian: Are you okay?
Khawla: I've seen better days.
She mumbles in a foul mood, thanks to the withdraw from the drugs.
Sebastian: I'll cook something for us to eat. You're feeling nauseated because you're entering into hypoglycemia as you didn't eat anything today.
And I leave her there, as I don't know if she'll throw up more or not. I head to the kitchen to cook something light and salty. Maybe a chicken soup will suffice.
I get some carrots, celery, onions, chicken breasts, lemons, and some spices. Then, I start cutting them into small pieces to cook faster and put them inside a pan with boiled water.
After a while, my druidess comes out of the bathroom and collapses on the sofa, turning on the TV and zapping between channels without paying attention to what she was doing. Khawla looks terrible. She's pale, has strong dark rings under her eyes, and her hair is messy and knotty as she hasn't combed it yet.
I decide to help her with her hypoglycemia before the meal is ready. It pains my heart to see her in such a poor state as she is in right now. I put one tablespoon of sugar cane vinegar with a coffee spoon of salt and half lemon squeezed mixed with water. Let's say that's a healthier option to Gatorade, without all the chemicals and sugary.
I head to the living room and sit next to her, handing her over the glass with the electrolytes repositor liquid.
Sebastian: Drink it.
I command, but she refuses.
Khawla: I'm nauseated...
Sebastian: It'll help you feel better.
Khawla looks at me, double-checking if I'm lying to her or telling her the truth. I nod, encouraging her to give it a try. She gets the glass from my hand and takes small sips, scrunching her nose because it isn't palatable to her taste. She drinks only half a glass and gives it back to me.
Sebastian: Try to drink it all...
I suggest her with a soft voice, as I'm concerned about her health.
Khawla: I can't. I'm still nauseated.
Sebastian: Okay. That's fine.
I don't force her. Let her body adjust to the portion she drank and wait for the chicken soup. However, definitely, we need to talk while the dinner cooks.
I set the glass on the coffee table and start scolding her with a stern tone of voice that displays all the subject's seriousness.
Sebastian: Khawla, we need to talk.
Khawla heaves a tired sigh and mumbles with her bad mood.
Khawla: I don't need a lecture right now, Seb.
Sebastian: If not now, when? Tell me, Khawla! When should I talk to you about you doing drugs?! Huh? Khawla, you burned in fever for almost ten hours! And I'm not talking about a little fever. I'm talking about 40 plus degrees Celsius, the type of fever that can kill a person! For goodness sake, Khawla! And this for what? For two or three hours of... of... of whatever the good sensation you had?
Khawla: I don't want to listen to this, Sebastian!
Khawla stands up in one move but sways and collapses on the sofa again. She puts her hands on her temples. For sure, she has a headache along with dizziness. But it won't stop me from lecturing her. She has to get a grip on herself.
Sebastian: And look at you now, Khawla! I thought last time was more than enough for you to stop with this shit! You're miserable right now, and it'll last for some days. Tell me, Khawla, are the drugs worth all nausea, headache, fever, dizziness, panic attacks, humor swings, depression, and so on? Are they worth these things?
Khawla: No...
Khawla answers me quietly, and her answer gives me hope. I put my arms around her shoulders and caress her upper arms while I murmur in her ear in a soft voice now.
Sebastian: Why don't you call one of those hotlines you showed in your presentation for the Awareness Campaign, huh, Khawla? If you want, I can drive you to one of the anonymous group meetings in a nearby city too.
Khawla doesn't answer me. I don't know if she's thinking about it or if she doesn't want to throw an ice bucket on me, refusing to seek help.
Anyway, I stand up, collect the glass from the coffee table, and head to the kitchen to check on the chicken soup. Through the kitchen counter, I can see that she is immersed in thoughts. I hope she's thinking about what I've just told her and follows my advice.