I woke up with a strange churning in my stomach. At first, I thought it was just nerves — maybe from all the stress earlier. But within seconds, the queasiness twisted into something worse, something urgent.
I barely made it to the bathroom in time.
The moment I leaned over the sink, everything came up — my dinner, my frustration, my exhaustion — all of it spilling out in harsh, miserable heaves. My stomach twisted again, forcing me to retch until there was nothing left but the bitter burn in my throat.
I gripped the edge of the sink, my breath shaky and uneven. My legs felt weak, and for a second, I just stood there, eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the awful dizziness to pass.
When I finally opened my eyes, my reflection stared back at me — pale, clammy, and drained. I looked terrible.
It's just your nerves, I told myself. Or maybe something you ate...
I splashed cold water on my face, letting it run down my skin as I tried to ground myself. My hands were still shaking when I rinsed my mouth, trying to erase the awful taste of bile.
I stood there for a moment longer, bracing myself against the counter. My stomach still felt unsettled, but at least the worst seemed to be over.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, I froze.
Darius was awake. His sharp gaze locked onto me the moment I appeared. His eyes were wide — not with concern, but with something colder.
"Make sure you clean the sink," he said flatly. His voice was dry, like my miserable state meant absolutely nothing.
I blinked, barely believing what I'd heard. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," he said, his tone harder this time. "Don't leave your mess behind."
I clenched my fists, heat rising in my chest. "Are you serious right now?"
"Dead serious." He shifted in bed, propping himself up on one elbow. "I don't want to wake up tomorrow morning to the stench of whatever you just threw up."
I let out a bitter laugh, one that held no humor. "Wow… you're unbelievable."
"If you think I'm going to tolerate your bad habits—"
"My bad habits?" I cut him off, stepping closer. "I just spent the last five minutes bent over a sink, sick to my stomach, and all you care about is whether or not the sink is clean?"
"Yes," he said bluntly. "Because if you expect to live in this palace, you should at least know how to clean up after yourself."
"That's rich," I shot back. "You walk around like you own the world, barking orders at everyone — at me — and now I'm supposed to jump just because you say so?"
"I expect you to act like an adult," he snapped.
"Oh, like you?" I scoffed. "Acting like some heartless, arrogant—"
"Careful," he warned, voice dropping lower.
"Or what?" I challenged, my voice shaking with anger. "You'll throw another threat at me? Try to control me again?"
He didn't answer right away, but his eyes narrowed. The air in the room felt colder somehow, heavier.
"I don't need to control you," he muttered finally. "You're already falling apart on your own."
The words stung more than they should have.
I clenched my jaw, refusing to let him see how much that hit. "You know what? Fine," I said, turning on my heel. "I'll clean the damn sink."
I slammed the bathroom door behind me, pressing my back against it as I tried to calm my breathing. My heart pounded in my chest, and I could still feel the bitter sting of his words.
Falling apart…
Maybe I was. But if Darius thought I was going to crumble under his cruel words and cold stares, he had another thing coming.
The sink was already clean — spotless, in fact. I'd scrubbed it thoroughly before stepping out just to avoid hearing Darius's sharp remarks. But standing there, cornered in the bathroom after our argument, I knew I couldn't go back out there just yet.
I leaned against the cold tile wall, my breath still shaky. My stomach churned again, twisting painfully as if something inside me was fighting to crawl its way out.
No… no, no, no…
I barely made it back to the sink before I was throwing up again. This time, it hit me harder — more violent, more draining — until I was left dry heaving, my body trembling from the effort.
The acidic burn lingered at the back of my throat, making me cough as I leaned forward, gripping the sink for support. My head felt heavy, like someone had stuffed it with cotton, and my legs barely seemed to hold me upright.
I rinsed my mouth with shaky hands, but my stomach still twisted uncomfortably, like it wasn't quite done punishing me yet.
Please, no more…
For a moment, I just stood there, my forehead resting against the mirror. The cool glass felt soothing against my clammy skin, but it didn't help the dull ache that had settled deep in my stomach.
He heard that.
I knew he did. The walls weren't thick enough to muffle the awful sounds I'd just made. Darius was definitely awake, probably lying there, smug and cold, waiting to throw another heartless comment my way.
I couldn't face him. Not now. Not when I felt like I was falling apart.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale, almost ghostly, and my hair clung to my damp forehead. I looked… weak. Tired. Broken.
Is this really okay?
Was I okay? Because right now, it didn't feel like it. My body was shaking, my head was spinning, and I couldn't even tell if I was cold or hot anymore.
I knew I should leave the bathroom eventually — go back to bed, face whatever snide remark Darius had ready — but I couldn't make myself move.
Instead, I slid down against the wall, hugging my knees to my chest. The cold tile pressed against my back, grounding me just enough to calm the storm in my head.
I'd wait. Wait until Darius fell asleep — wait until the room was dark and quiet, and I could slip back into bed without him even noticing.
Just a few minutes, I told myself. Just until the dizziness fades.
But even as I closed my eyes and focused on steadying my breathing, that lingering question
refused to leave my mind — gnawing away at me like an itch I couldn't scratch.
Am I really okay?