A persistent, irritating sensation jolted me awake, dragging me from sleep into a veritable nightmare. As I struggled to fully awaken my mind, I realized it was a grave mistake. A headache, unlike any I'd experienced before, pounded relentlessly through my skull.
My mouth was dry, slightly agape, and when I tried to smack my lips together, a foul taste assaulted my senses: sour, boozy, tinged with diluted blood, and accompanied by a putrid breath. There was virtually no saliva. I groaned softly, still feeling a deep irritation, and tried to make sense of what was happening.
I was lying on my side, my neck contorted in an awkward, strained posture. This only intensified my headache as I attempted to move my head.
"Oh, fuck, I hate hangovers," I thought bitterly.
Finally, I managed to squint my eyes open slightly, only to be assaulted by a blinding light that felt like it was trying to fry my brain. I immediately shut my eyes again, cursing inwardly.
"I hate this, I should know better… fucking shit."
After pulling the blanket partially over my face, I summoned enough courage to open my eyes again, realizing I was moving. As my bodily sensations slowly returned, I noticed I was spooning Damon, my leg draped over him so my foot was inadvertently hitting him in the jaw.
He was wiggling, trying to get my leg off of him. I'm a restless sleeper unless he holds me close, but it seemed we had both passed out more or less. It took me some time to move my leg, as he kept hitting it, trying to push it away from his face. My coordination was clearly not at its peak.
As I finally managed to get my leg off of him, he groaned, clearly not feeling well either. "Fuck, my head is killing me," he muttered. "Mimi, could you take your arm from beneath me? It's digging into my ribs."
I replied, "It's not my arm, it's something else."
He shuffled onto his back, reaching beneath him, and finally fished out a remote control that had somehow ended up there. He slapped it onto the table.
"You're a fucking dangerous drinking buddy," he declared. "I haven't been this hungover in quite some time."
I just grunted in response, my mouth too dry to form words, and kept the blanket pulled over my face as the lights remained too bright.
Damon stirred in bed, but I remained still, watching him attempt to rise. He seemed determined, but the effort was too great for me. I was content to stay put, hoping my current state of discomfort would soon subside.
A low grunt and sighs echoed as my hungover husband managed to sit up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
He cradled his head in his hands, muttering, "Oh my God, my head is killing me. My mouth tastes like shit, and this damn light is trying to drill into my skull."
I offered no response, simply lying there.
"Come on, up you go. Shower, baby," Damon grumbled, attempting to pull the blanket off me.
I protested, "Not gonna happen anytime soon. Just let me be."
Soon, I heard the door open, followed by Mariella's amused voice and Adam's commentary on our pitiable condition.
"What the fuck did you guys do?" Mariella exclaimed. "This smells like some old bar. Did you drink or what?"
"Yep," Damon admitted. "We made cocktails for each other until we passed out. So, if you'll excuse me, darlin', I am not feeling too perky."
"Well, too bad," Mariella retorted. "I told you a week ago that today we have a trip with our kids. Our nine kids. The babies are being cared for by the girls, but you, I, Demon, and numbers six and seven are going to the kids' new park."
Damon grunted, "Oh, for fuck's sake. I forgot. Could you take someone else?"
Mariella moved closer and pulled Damon to his feet, directing him towards the shower.
"Nope, go on, husband. Into the shower you go, and then some breakfast. The kids are so eager to go."
Adam then approached me, pulling my blanket off and smirking as he noticed my lacy teddy, which surely revealed my body, but I was not feeling too seductive. I groaned, attempting to curl into a ball.
"Come on, honey," he said. "Here, take these. Number four gave them to you. They should ease things somewhat."
He handed me three capsules and a cup of ice-cold juice. Though unsure if my stomach would welcome anything, I swallowed the large capsules, which felt enormous, washing them down with the juice before settling back down, motionless.
I heard the shower running as Damon began his ablutions. For me, the prospect of moving seemed too much, given my thoroughly miserable state.
"Honey, you do know you shouldn't drink," Adam said as he sat on the bed, stroking my hair and waiting for the capsules to take effect.
"Damon started it," I mumbled. "He got more booze, and he made my cocktails. I did the same for him, and things just got a little out of hand. Oh, my fucking head and neck! Someone is trying to hammer my skull from the inside out," I whined, reaching for my neck to massage my strained muscles, hoping it might alleviate my headache even a little.
Today was a relatively light day for me, filled mostly with laundry and other minor tasks. This meant I could take my time, folding and sorting without feeling the need to overexert myself, and hopefully improve my overall well-being.
Adam murmured, "I'll help you with the laundry today; we can do it together, and I'll keep an eye on you. It takes time for you to feel well enough to eat, but those magic capsules should soon take effect. Remember, they contain dental medication from number four, which is rapidly absorbed."
He then gently helped me onto my front and massaged my neck and upper back, releasing painful knots. My headache lessened in intensity, suggesting the capsules were starting to work. I didn't even notice when Damon and Mariella had left.
Finally, Adam said, "Come on, I think you could take a shower now, then put on some decent clothes and start your day."
He helped me up and guided me into the shower. I placed my lace teddy in the laundry and let the hot water run over me, cleansing my body. Meanwhile, Adam was making our bed. I assumed he'd put a lot of bedding in the laundry, as it smelled of booze, sweat, and regret – pheromones, you see.
I wasn't sure what to wear today. I rarely prioritized style; my usual approach was comfort first, regardless of how I looked. This was something my adult daughters had been right about, lecturing me and trying to style me, explaining how to dress to look good. Of course, the eager Salvatores were always ready to assist, and they too quickly grasped the rules of styling and which bodies needed what.
After washing myself – I had to do it three times to get rid of the lingering odor – and then washing my hair, I wondered what kind of updo Adam would create. I emerged from the shower, wrapped my hair, and put on my robe, tying it around my slender body to dry off as best as possible.
I walked out of the bathroom and sat by the vanity, waiting for Adam to begin drying my hair. He was still rummaging through our wardrobe, choosing my outfit. Honestly, I didn't care what I wore, as long as it was comfortable and made of the right kind of material, not too tight.
Adam finally fished out several pieces of clothing and laid them on the bed. He then walked over to me, starting to dry and brush my hair.
"You know," he began, "May and the others have told us a lot about fashion, what to wear, and what suits different body types. Mostly, it's because the Salvatores loved to dress them up, and sometimes the outfits weren't flattering. So, those girls aren't afraid to offer advice, and it does pay off, you know."
I grunted in response. "Right now, I don't care if I'm wearing a sack. My head is still sore, I'm not feeling too perky, and I'm certainly not in the mood to model, even though I once had the idea of becoming one."
Adam's eyes lit up. "Oh, really? Tell me more."
"Well," I explained, "I do have the body of a supermodel – slender and petite, albeit short. But then again, there are many petite models out there, and some designers even have petite collections."
As I watched him in the mirror, Adam's expression tightened. He was clearly imagining me walking down a runway, being ogled by strangers.
"Perhaps it's not the best career for you after all," he said. "As this time ends, you do have enemies, and that could leave you exposed."
His comment was neutral, but his possessiveness was evident.
Adam was one of my husbands, but more than that, he was the one I had known the longest. We went way back, ever since those experiments turned me into a supernatural being. He had been there to catch me, to make sure I was alright – as alright as I could be.
He taught me to control my rage, how to dance, shoot, and cook. He taught me what it was like to be cared for. Damon had also come into my life about a year later, but his circumstances meant his help was more periodic than Adam's.
Adam, on the other hand, had been through thick and thin with me, seen me at my worst. He, along with Damon, had also lost me for a week when I actually died. But then I made my choice, becoming a being who could never die. I chose love.
My hungover brain slowly processed all of this as Adam's skilled fingers arranged my hair into braids and other styles.
"Yeah, we go way back," he said softly. "And I love to read your pheromones; they tell me so much about you, so I can get an idea of what you need."
I never doubted his love. Our soulmate bond was far more stable and healthier than the one I shared with Damon. My bond with Damon, while having taken significant hits from both of us, had ultimately forged something more profound than a mere connection. It was a tapestry woven from our lives together, our shared experiences, our ups and downs.
After Adam had finally finished my hair, he told me to dress up, handing me an outfit.
"I'm not sure if you're up for a full breakfast," he said, "but at least come to the kitchen for something – coffee or a smoothie. We have four, nine, and ten on cooking duty today."
I got up, grabbed the pile of clothes, and went behind the partition to dress. First, I put on sensible, decent panties, not lacy thongs. Then came a form-fitting, bright white shirt made of a silk-elastane-and-cotton mix. It wasn't a button-up, nor just a t-shirt, and it barely reached my belly button, making it quite short. Next, I put on dark blue, skinny jeans, which were tight and featured a golden belt. To complete the look, Adam had also laid out black, high-heeled pumps with minimal straps.
As I stepped out and looked in the mirror, I could see the effect. The jeans and shoes elongated my legs, while the belt accentuated my ultrathin waist, giving me a defined shape. The form-fitting shirt further enhanced this, providing a more adult silhouette, unlike my usual shapeless attire, which I wore simply because it was comfortable. The materials felt genuinely nice against my skin.
I exited the bedroom and made my way to the kitchen. Coffee sounded appealing, and perhaps I could manage something light to eat. However, knowing I had several husbands, my "cuddlebugs," the Salvatores, who had dedicated themselves to me and my children, I suspected I'd have little choice.
They would ensure I ate as much as possible. This was rooted in love, their need to protect, be with, and care for me. It had been quite a journey for all of us to reach this point, to have a genuine relationship, for me to be a wife and let them care for me.
There was no longer a need for me to be independent, cold, or distant; I no longer let Mariella take everything from me.
Upon finally entering the kitchen, I found May, Lily, Emmylee, and Vivianne already eating.
Vivianne eyed my outfit and remarked, "Finally, someone had the good sense to dress you properly. You actually look hot."
I grunted, intending to make my coffee. "I'm not feeling so hot; let's just say last night—your father, movies, blood, and booze—have left me feeling less than perky."
Emmylee smirked and added, "Oh, feeling hungover? Well, it's laundry day today, and the kids are outside with the men, so you don't need to worry about them. We're on baby duty."
Damon, number ten, then said to me, "Sit down. I've put your coffee on and made you a few smoothies with some refreshing elixirs. I must admit, I'm inclined to have that kind of night with you too—just watch movies, drink, and talk."
I replied in a rather sour voice, "I'm not looking to repeat the experience anytime soon. I'm still feeling lousy and don't want to be in this state daily."
Wulfe then entered the kitchen, smiled slightly, and commented, "Well, my unicorn, they say that when the mind is foolish, the whole body suffers."
I had shared many Finnish sayings with him, so he often quoted them, not always resorting to traditional English or American expressions. Soon, number nine arrived, bringing me five large smoothies, and the smell of coffee wafted through the air.
Number nine was wearing beige chinos, slightly short legs, and loafers. His muted pink silk shirt, with pearl buttons, added a touch of flair, as did his black, wide belt with a large golden buckle.
Number ten wore a dark blue satin shirt and black jeans, barefoot. His belt was a silvery texture, like snakeskin, and his sleeves were sloppily rolled up. His hair was still quite long, flopping over his eyes, which he casually brushed back with a flick of his hand.
Number four's hair was the longest; he could soon put it into a ponytail. His dark red satin shirt had short sleeves, and like the others, he wore chinos, white and full-length. He also had on sneakers, not cheap ones, but expensive ones, as he needed to go outside occasionally and didn't want to be bothered with shoes every time.
He was currently focused on cooking something on the stove, stirring the pot from time to time with a furrowed brow.
My analytical mind absorbed all these details, not out of conscious effort, but simply because it's how my mind works. Meanwhile, the girls were chattering amongst themselves. I focused on listening to them, specifically Lily explaining to May how good number ten looked in his outfit.
Emmylee, however, disapproved of Number Four always wearing shoes, concerned about the dirt he tracked in from outside. Wulfe, as usual, was in a simple T-shirt and jeans, making no effort to be fashionable.
This prompted Vivianne to offer him styling tips, which he scoffed at. It seemed fashion had become an obsession for my girls, as they all had strong opinions and ideas about dressing.
Each of them was wearing a dress, along with shoes, stylish makeup, and hairdos, as the Salvatores typically ensured the females were presentable. I wasn't sure what mood the children were in, as it was almost 11 am and they usually ate at 8 am.
However, as I sipped my smoothie, feeling my headache lessen and the sour taste in my mouth become more tolerable, I started to feel a bit hungry. When number ten brought me my coffee pot, I eagerly poured a cup of the hot, creamy, sweet coffee and sighed happily as I sipped this elixir. Perhaps this day might improve slightly, but I vowed to myself not to let that happen too soon, as drinking with the Salvatores was a dangerously fun game.
Well, it seemed it was time for me to start my day, regardless of how hungover I felt. I had my duties, and now was not the time to be lazy. I had chosen not to stop drinking, so it was also my responsibility to bear the consequences of my actions. This was simply a day filled with new experiences; not perfect or particularly enjoyable, but new at least.