(An extra chapter was posted yesterday, in case you missed it!)
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Zelda's POV
Link leaves the house without another word. I have no idea where he's going or how long he'll be gone for, but I can finally breathe again.
I can't believe all the hurtful things he said to me. I know he didn't mean it, but for now I think it's best if he finds a calm place to cool down. Somewhere where his anger won't turn to us for a target.
Malice and I sit in silence, until minutes later, her voice cuts through the tense air.
"Are you okay?"
She is seated against the bed frame, her tired gaze fixed on me.
"What do you care?" I retort, my annoyance bubbling to the surface. I wrap my arms around my knees, hugging myself tightly.
"I don't," Malice replies with a casual shrug.
Link just can't stay out of trouble, can he? Days away from the start of school, and he's fighting Karusa? With his track record and past expulsion, this is the last thing he needs. They might expel him again if they see him beat up like that. Surely somebody is going to ask questions. Especially Father... What will he say when he lays eyes on him? Or me?
Suddenly Malice's eyes widen and she hastily covers her mouth. But it's too late to stop what's coming! Vomit floods the carpet.
"Shit!" I curse at her, instinctively jumping to my feet to create some distance from the mess she just made.
"Sorry," Malice mumbles, her words barely audible as she collapses back onto the carpet. More comes out, then she curls up, shivering as if seized by a wave of cramps. "I'm sick, Zelda... I need something in my system."
"Food?" I ask, eyeing the puddle of vomit.
"Drugs, Zelda. I need drugs."
"Absolutely not," arms folded across my chest, I shake my head at her. "You're not doing drugs in my house."
"Then give me more pills," she pleads.
"Not for another 8 hours."
"Fuck..."
I sigh and roll my eyes, almost a little grateful that she is distracting me from Link right now. But my gratitude doesn't even get close to the annoyance I feel toward her.
"Get up," I command, frustration lacing my tone. She protests weakly, resisting my efforts as I haul her up by her arms. It's a struggle, as if I'm dragging a deadweight, but I manage to take her into the bathroom, her legs not doing any work.
When I drop her in the shower, her eyes flicker open. "What are you doing?"
She curses and screeches when the cold water rains down on her from above. She is instantly drenched from head to toe.
"I'm wearing clothes you crazy bitch!"
"Undress then," I tell her.
"Go to hell!"
"Gladly. Will you save me a seat?" I wrinkle my nose. "Ugh, you reek. And I bet you haven't showered in weeks! I'm doing you a favor, really."
"Fine, I'll take a shower," she says. "Give me some privacy though."
"No way, I'm not letting you out of my sight." For all I know, she'll find the first aid kit in the cabinet and overdose on ibuprofen. Or find a sharp tool to stab me.
"You need to chill the fuck out, Zelda. I'm not gonna do anything," she mutters, her eyes shutting again as if even the act of keeping them open is a monumental task. "I can't even stand up okay?"
Leaning against the shower wall, she hangs there like a ragdoll, her feet dangling outside the shower. I decide to take matters into my own hands. Stripping down to my underwear, I step into the shower beside her. The water is warm now and washes over both of us as I help her out of her clothes, until we're both sitting on the tiled floor in nothing but our underwear.
Her arms and legs are covered in scars; cuts and track marks. Her frame lays bare some of her bones from starving herself for weeks. The sight awakes emotions within me and I can't quite pinpoint which ones. Empathy, anger, and frustration... They're all present..
I grab the soap and start gently scrubbing her skin, brown water running down the drain. I will not leave this shower until the odor of cigarettes and urine is gone from her body.
I even help her brush her teeth. She's letting me, because she doesn't have the energy to fight me. She can barely even gather the strength to utter her complaints, and doesn't notice when tears stream down my face as I brush her unkempt hair, removing all the knots.
It takes two whole hours to clean her body. She only complains for half of it. When I'm done, I leave her side briefly to pick out some clean clothes for her. I pick out something loose and light, something comfortable and something that I don't mind getting dirty.
When I return to the bathroom, she's hunched over the toilet, a fit of coughing and gagging wracking her frame.
"I'm dying!" She whales when she notices me in the doorframe. I place the folded clothes on the counter and sit down next to her. My hand rests on her boney back as she continues to retch, her body jolting from the empty heaves. "Please," she begs between painful gasps, "I won't use inside your house, I'll go somewhere else, but I need my fix..."
I shake my head. "I'm going to help you through this."
"Who asked you to help?"
"Malice, you need to detox."
"I don't want to!"
"It's not about wanting," I tell her in a harsh tone. "If you keep using, you will die!"
"I'm already dying," she rasps, head hanging low.
"Malice..." I let out a soft sigh as I stroke her back. "I want you to understand, I won't hold you against your will. You're free to leave and return to the life you were trying to escape from. But if you allow me, I'm here to offer my help." Her response remains a solemn silence, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the present moment. If her body wasn't shaking so badly, I would assume she fell back asleep with her face resting on the surface of the toilet. "Why don't I have the chef whip up something for us to eat? What's something light and easy that you think you can manage?"
"I don't know," she sniffs, drooling into the toilet. "Crackers, I guess. Or applesauce... Something that's easy to down." The mere thought of food makes her gag, but there's nothing left to throw up.
A mixture of concern and sympathy fills my voice. "You don't want an actual meal?"
"I'm going to throw it up anyway. I need something bland."
I offer an alternative. "How about a sandwich? A very simple one?"
She nods and coughs a couple more times before I flush and help her to her feet. It's a rare sight to observe her without the layers of makeup she typically wears. Despite her pale, drug-worn complexion, there's a certain natural beauty that shines through. I never knew she had freckles on her nose.
Malice catches me staring. "What?" She snarls.
"Er... nothing," I stammer, quickly averting my eyes. "Here, I picked out some comfortable clothes for you," I say, presenting the soft pajama pants and bright blue sweatshirt who's back is adorned with the words "May the winds of fortune be at your back".
Her reaction is less than enthusiastic.
A hint of amusement creeps into my tone. "Not feeling the vibe?"
A corner of Malice's lip curls in a mix of defiance and disgust. "I'm not Amish."
This stray dog just keeps on biting my hand. I quirk an eyebrow. "Well, it's that or walking around nude," I say, my patience wearing thin. "I can have your clothes washed in the meantime, but if you care to hear my opinion, and I know you don't, I think you should discard them. Or better yet, burn them."
Her chuckle is interrupted by a fit of coughing, leaving me concerned. "When did you become so sassy?" she manages between sniffles and coughs. "You used to be different."
A dry laugh escapes me. "I don't think you're in any position to judge me right now."
She's out of comebacks. For the first time, Malice looks defeated, nodding weakly. Together, we navigate back to the guest bedroom, carefully avoiding the mess on the floor.
As we settle onto the bed and both lay back in exhaustion.
As a shiver runs through her, her voice trembles, "I'm so fucking cold."
My break is cut short and with a sigh I get up, feeling the strain on me more and more as the hours pass. I open the closet doors as I think to myself that I haven't slept in over 36 hours...
"There are more blankets in here," I say, fetching the heaviest blanket from the top shelf. I cover her and receive a quiet groan as thank you. "I'll make sure the chef prepares something for you. And I'll take care of the carpet too."
"Why not just have your servants do it?" Malice asks, haughtily implying that I am spoiled.
"Because nobody is supposed to know that you're here," I respond.
Her next question is timid. "How long am I staying?"
"Until tomorrow night. My father is returning on Monday, which is also the start of the semester. So do your best to recover quickly, okay?"
"Why do you even care if I sober up? The first thing I'll do when I get out of here is get high. You know that, right?"
"You're not in captivity. You're free to go and get high right now. Or you can stay, have a sandwich, and rest."
She doesn't move and a part of me is proud of her while another part of me is annoyed to have her stay.
I admit something unexpected. "I actually care about your well-being. I know you might not believe it or think it matters, but maybe consider taking a step towards change for yourself. Get clean, figure out a path forward."
"Aye aye, Captain," she retorts and rolls onto her stomach like a caterpillar. "Fuck," she whales, cramping up again.
I leave the room to commission the chef with the easiest dinner task of all time: two simple sandwiches.
About 30 minutes later, after managing to eat half a sandwich, Malice succumbs to exhaustion, her breathing slow and steady as she sleeps. I place a small bin nearby, ready to provide relief from any further nausea.
As the day transitions to night, I clean the carpet as best as I can, though stubborn stains remain. Weary from taking care of Malice, I find a spot on the floor next to the bed, finally allowing myself a moment of rest.
I don't know what to do next. I don't trust her yet, making the idea of leaving the guest bedroom to catch a few hours of sleep feel like a daunting risk. But I also can't stay up two nights in a row. I could tell Cado to watch Malice but then there wouldn't be a guard at the gate outside.
I lean my head against the wall behind me, a struggle to keep my eyes from slipping shut. Sleep sounds amazing right now. But I really shouldn't risk it.
I check my phone in an attempt to stay awake. The stark contrast between the bright light from the screen and the darkness of the room forces me to squint. Messages from Mipha and Pik have come through, reminders that I'm not alone in this. I text Mipha first, because it's easier to tell her that Malice is doing okay than to tell Pik that she isn't.
After I text Mipha, I open Pik's chat and type: *Malice is experiencing withdrawal symptoms. She's resting for now.*
However, the realization hits me: Pik won't receive my text as intended. Due to his blindness, my words will be converted from text to speech. I delete what I've typed and give him a call instead. He should hear it from me, and not some electronic voice.
He answers the call, his voice carrying warmth and concern. "Zelda... How are you holding up?"
"Hi Pik," I respond in a whisper, my gaze never leaving Malice's resting form. "I'm okay."
With his voice and the silence of the night, a sudden calm finds me. The room seems so quiet now, and I adjust to it, trying my best not to wake Malice.
"Are you still with Mía?"
"Yes, I'm letting her stay in one of the guest bedrooms."
"How is she doing?"
"She's alright," I say.
The silence stretches, filled only by the soft rustling of blankets as Pik sits up in his bed. "She's alright?" He repeats, his concern evident.
"She will be," I clarify, my fingers playing with my necklace. Emotions rise within me, unexpected and overwhelming. "It's just... seeing her like this, the toll it's taken on her... She's covered in scars, and her frame is so fragile..." Tears escape my eyes and I don't know where they are coming from but once they are there, more are streaming down my face with no end in sight. "She was shaking so much and throwing up all afternoon long... She finally managed to eat something." I pause to catch my breath, quietly weeping on the floor. "I helped her take a shower," I cover my mouth to stop myself from waking Malice as I gasp for air. I don't know why I'm so emotional all of a sudden. I suppose the whole day has taken a toll on me too and it's almost impossible to hold it all back anymore. I don't want Pik to know about my fight with Link, but I won't hide how much all that affected me emotionally.
Pik's soothing voice reaches across the line. "Hey... Hey, it's okay, Zelda... It's alright... You've done so much for her today..."
"She's asleep now," I inform him, my voice steadying as I wipe away more tears.
Knowing that Pik is on the other side, just being there for me, calms me like a soothing hug. Just Pik's breathing alone provides such a comforting backdrop. "Thank you," he whispers. "Thank you Zelda, for taking care of her..."
"Don't thank me. I haven't done anything," I reply, the emotions making my words catch.
"Always the modest one..."
"One of us has to be," I say, chuckling slightly through the tears.
Pik is quiet, providing comfort just by listening to me. When silence falls between us, I still feel his presence as if he were right next to me. Despite all the tears, I am so happy to be talking to someone right now.
Link hasn't come back and I doubt he will. At least not tonight. I don't know where he is staying and I have no way of reaching him because his phone is still with me. He hasn't made any effort in reaching out to me either, knowing that he could call his own number if he had access to a phone. If somebody were to call his phone, I would answer in a heartbeat.
With everything going on, like Malice attacking me, Link fighting Karusa, then fighting with me, then leaving me to take care of Malice by myself who keeps on insulting me... I don't know which emotion to focus on first. They seem to be crashing down on me all at once and I don't want to go through this all alone.
"Pik," I sniffle. "Would you mind staying on the line? I'm so exhausted and I want to get some rest, but I can't sleep and I don't want to stay up by myself... I... I don't want to be alone tonight."
My heart exhilarates as two seconds of silence pass. It is a bold question, a lot to ask, but Pik response with unwavering support.
"I'm here, Zelda. I'm not going anywhere." His reassurance is a lifeline as I close my eyes for a precious few moments.