Page 50 of Devil's Vows
“You’re not a bad person,” I say, my tone softer. “You’re just sad.”
“So so sad,” she weeps as I manage to steer her through the door.
Dimitri is gone; Grandad is sick. There’s more, I just know it in my gut. Maybe Milana will open up to me.
I stall as we enter her room. What a mess. The bed is unmade, linen rumpled in a heap. Clothes are dumped all over the carpet. Dirty plates and cups on the nightstand. It looks like months since this place saw a cleaner.
“Oh, god…fuck,” Milana sobs, and I speed up, forcing her along to a door that must lead to the en suite.
We make it just in time and she collapses over the toilet. What looks like pure vodka waterfalls from her mouth.
Good grief. Yuri wasn’t joking when he spoke about alcohol poisoning. Is she trying to kill herself? And still the vomit comes. I reach for a towel and wet it under the cold faucet, giving the place a swift inspection. Like her room, it’s a chaotic mess. Milana has let go of everything, not just herself. She now slumps at the toilet, and I wish she wouldn’t because I have no idea how to get her up again.
“Here.” I hold out the cold towel to her after the last of the convulsions have wracked her body.
She falls back, leans against the bath, and hides her face. I flush the toilet, search for some cleaning products, find some in the vanity cupboard, and scrub the bowl. I don’t stop. I keep going while she just sits there, face hidden, chest heaving.
“You need to take a shower, Milana,” I say, having cleaned the vanity, the bath, and just stopping short of getting into the shower to scrub that, too. She reeks, and I bet Dimitri would hate to see her like this. Or be cruel and mock her, depending on how things ended between them.
“Bath,” comes a raw voice through the towel.
My thoughts immediately go to Ivan. He can’t lose his sister. Whatever went on between them, it would devastate him to lose her. “I won’t let you drunk-drown on my watch.”
A sob wracks through her. Seeing her broken like this reminds me in many ways of myself, except I never had the privilege of drowning my sorrows.
It hits me this binge-drinking and then storming up to Yuri, demanding more vodka, is Milana’s loud cry for help. She’s asking, where I have only coiled into myself, deep into my shell, using a patchwork of watered-down reasons to avoid my own despair. I haven’t healed, and if this is the way for her to get through the day, who am I to judge? I’m a hot fucking mess, too scared to live, always on the run.
I push this revelation to the back of my mind, because now isn’t the moment for epiphanies. “I need you to get up. Get in the shower. Wash yourself. Wash your hair. And brush your teeth. Can you do it yourself, or do you want my help?”
I stare at her, waiting for a reaction. She slowly drags the towel down her face, until her eyes peek out. They are bloodshot, making her baby blue irises pop like two full moons in a midnight sky.
“Yes? Please?” I push. “You’re going to do that for me? Wash yourself? Or do you need help?”
She shakes her head. “No. Can’t see me naked, love. Too many…secrets.”
Yes. I get that. I have secrets, too, that I don’t want anybody to see. There isn’t a single mark on her arms or legs, but then, women get battered inside, too, where the pain doesn’t leave visible marks. Verbal abuse, gaslighting, keeping them trapped without money… No, Ivan has his reasons, and they aren’t cruel. It’s something else. Milana is all in one piece, but I get the feeling she’s also irreparably broken.
“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to clean yourroom while you’re in the shower. I’m leaving the door open, so you can call if you need anything.”
She nods and push-staggers to a stand.
“How much did you have to drink? Can you remember?”
“Dunno. So much wine. It’s a blur. That day, yesterday…and last night… this morning…rage-downed the vodka in minutes.”
Most of the vodka should be out of her stomach, but alcohol is still flooding her system. She’s on the slippery path of becoming an alcoholic and this family has suffered enough, what with the two girls’ mother gone. They can’t lose an aunt, too. “When last did you eat?”
“Dunno.”
“Okay.” I shudder a sigh. “You’ve got to eat, Milana. Wasting away like this…it just makes them win, don’t you get it? And then, when you have the chance to run, you’re going to need your strength. Trust me, I have experience in running.”
Milana holds my gaze, her own eyes searching, and she might be drunk, she might act out, but she soaks everything up, and I’ve just overshared.
“Let’s get going,” I say, wanting to steer her mind away from my verbal slip. “I’ve got to make dinner so you can have a decent meal. Ivan will be home, so it has to be good?—”
Milana snort-laughs and rolls her eyes. “Not hard. The bar…so fucking low.”
It might well be, but still, I want to inject some happiness into this house, and being Italian, I’m going to do it through food. I help her with the robe, drop it in the overflowing laundry basket, then step into the shower and open the faucet. I test the water until it’s just right, then step away. “Call me if you need anything.”
