and drink and never fall down, never pass out. I know it with a certainty that defies logic. Beer, spirits, whatever — bring them on.
‘ ¡Bebe! ’ Felipe says eagerly. Drink.
Gia hadn’t mentioned Irina having any problem with alcohol. Drugs, men, decision-making, modesty, notoriety — yes. But not booze. So, what the hell?
I raise the glass high enough for Felipe to see in the driver’s mirror. Then I place it to my lips and scull its contents in one smooth motion, without pausing for breath.
I sit back, and seem to see — from a long way away — the crystal glass fall from my suddenly nerveless fingers. Immediately, I know that I’ve made a bad mistake.
Felipe winks at me in the driver’s mirror and I know that I’m missing something. There’s some kind of coded meaning in all this that Irina would understand, but I’m having trouble interpreting. I’m suddenly having trouble breathing, too; I can’t seem to get enough air into my lungs.
The realisation hits me — way, way too late — that it hadn’t just been 100 proof rocket fuel in that glass. There’d been something else in it, something chemical, synthetic, a world away from wine, beer or vodka. A foreign substance I can’t identify that’s carving a coruscating path through Irina’s bird-boned body like acid.
I imagine I can feel the stuff actually hitting Irina’s bloodstream like a toxic bomb blast. Poison? Has he poisoned me?
‘What — have — you — done — to — me?’ I gag, clawing at my neck and chest.
I feel my pupils dilate, the blood vessels in my face and body explode with heat beneath my pale, fine skin. I’m sweating and shaking now, and a muscle above my right eye begins to twitch uncontrollably. It feels as if my heart is going to burst. That I’m literally speeding up, or burning up.
The car hits an unexpected pothole and water sprays up in front like a wave hitting a ship. Even after the car rights itself, I still imagine the world is falling away beneath me. Felipe switches the windscreen wipers to maximum and the harsh, rhythmic sound makes me cringe. He gives me a sharp glance in the mirror.
‘You’re not … pleased?’ he says, dark brows furrowing. ‘You don’t like it? It’s A-grade. De la mejor calidad. I had to put in more, because when you take it like this, the high it is not so high.’
There’s a pain in the centre of my forehead now as if I’ve been hit with an axe. Even the limo’s soft interior lights are searing my eyes. I can’t seem to control my head, and fall back against the seat.
‘Ge …’ I gargle. ‘He …’
What I’m trying to say is: Get help . But I can’t get the words out; it’s as if Irina’s turning to stone. I’d felt a similar sensation of paralysis when I was Carmen in that hospital bed, flooded with sedatives, on the verge of leaving Ryan for the first time. That awful gulf between thought and action, mind and body, that I thought I’d never again experience — it’s returned. When I try to raise one of Irina’s hands, it’s become something separate from her body. I can’t lift it off my knees.
More than ever, I’m trapped in here. And I remember that terrible feeling as Lela lay dying — of being mired in her body, entombed alive, while one by one her five senses slowly faded to black.
And yet … everything seems curiously magnified — the sound of the rain, the terrible scraping noisethe windscreen wipers are making, even the vibrations coming up from the uneven road through the limo’s four tyres, the slight fishtailing of the back wheels as we drive over a slick manhole cover. I can make out every individual sound and movement, as if the car has no walls, or I am the car.
‘I have done exactly what we agree,’ Felipe says loudly. ‘You send me text, remember? Before your plane has landed. Have my usual drink waiting , you say. I’m desperate for pick-me-up. It’s been too long, kiss, kiss, ciao, ciao. And I know Gianfranco he
‘ ¡Bebe! ’ Felipe says eagerly. Drink.
Gia hadn’t mentioned Irina having any problem with alcohol. Drugs, men, decision-making, modesty, notoriety — yes. But not booze. So, what the hell?
I raise the glass high enough for Felipe to see in the driver’s mirror. Then I place it to my lips and scull its contents in one smooth motion, without pausing for breath.
I sit back, and seem to see — from a long way away — the crystal glass fall from my suddenly nerveless fingers. Immediately, I know that I’ve made a bad mistake.
Felipe winks at me in the driver’s mirror and I know that I’m missing something. There’s some kind of coded meaning in all this that Irina would understand, but I’m having trouble interpreting. I’m suddenly having trouble breathing, too; I can’t seem to get enough air into my lungs.
The realisation hits me — way, way too late — that it hadn’t just been 100 proof rocket fuel in that glass. There’d been something else in it, something chemical, synthetic, a world away from wine, beer or vodka. A foreign substance I can’t identify that’s carving a coruscating path through Irina’s bird-boned body like acid.
I imagine I can feel the stuff actually hitting Irina’s bloodstream like a toxic bomb blast. Poison? Has he poisoned me?
‘What — have — you — done — to — me?’ I gag, clawing at my neck and chest.
I feel my pupils dilate, the blood vessels in my face and body explode with heat beneath my pale, fine skin. I’m sweating and shaking now, and a muscle above my right eye begins to twitch uncontrollably. It feels as if my heart is going to burst. That I’m literally speeding up, or burning up.
The car hits an unexpected pothole and water sprays up in front like a wave hitting a ship. Even after the car rights itself, I still imagine the world is falling away beneath me. Felipe switches the windscreen wipers to maximum and the harsh, rhythmic sound makes me cringe. He gives me a sharp glance in the mirror.
‘You’re not … pleased?’ he says, dark brows furrowing. ‘You don’t like it? It’s A-grade. De la mejor calidad. I had to put in more, because when you take it like this, the high it is not so high.’
There’s a pain in the centre of my forehead now as if I’ve been hit with an axe. Even the limo’s soft interior lights are searing my eyes. I can’t seem to control my head, and fall back against the seat.
‘Ge …’ I gargle. ‘He …’
What I’m trying to say is: Get help . But I can’t get the words out; it’s as if Irina’s turning to stone. I’d felt a similar sensation of paralysis when I was Carmen in that hospital bed, flooded with sedatives, on the verge of leaving Ryan for the first time. That awful gulf between thought and action, mind and body, that I thought I’d never again experience — it’s returned. When I try to raise one of Irina’s hands, it’s become something separate from her body. I can’t lift it off my knees.
More than ever, I’m trapped in here. And I remember that terrible feeling as Lela lay dying — of being mired in her body, entombed alive, while one by one her five senses slowly faded to black.
And yet … everything seems curiously magnified — the sound of the rain, the terrible scraping noisethe windscreen wipers are making, even the vibrations coming up from the uneven road through the limo’s four tyres, the slight fishtailing of the back wheels as we drive over a slick manhole cover. I can make out every individual sound and movement, as if the car has no walls, or I am the car.
‘I have done exactly what we agree,’ Felipe says loudly. ‘You send me text, remember? Before your plane has landed. Have my usual drink waiting , you say. I’m desperate for pick-me-up. It’s been too long, kiss, kiss, ciao, ciao. And I know Gianfranco he
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