by Vivian Wood
Reporters press in from all sides, seeming to circle like sharks. Right now, it’s Annika’s blood that they’re tasting in the water and they move forward as I do, eager to get their stories.
“Annika! Annika! Who is your handsome savior?”
“Princess Annika! Are you going to a rehab program? Are you relapsing? Princess…”
“Annika, why do you keep embarrassing the royal family?”
Gritting my teeth, I keep moving, ignoring the camera flashes and shouts. By the time I get down to the cars, I open the back of the first limo that I see and shove Annika in. I don't even say anything to the reporters trying to push in and ask their questions. I just wrestle the door shut, closing it on them. Then I order the limo driver to pull away from the curb. I don't even care that it's not our car, either.
As soon as we begin to move away, I glance at Annika, my expression stern. She looks at me for a second, then her expression crumples and her eyes begin to shine with tears.
“I hate you,” she whispers tearfully. She balls up her fists and hides her face behind them. She can’t seem to decide between hatred, fury, and sadness when she delivers the killing blow. “I fucking hate you, Erik.”
Her words are like a knife twisting in my guts. My heart sinks.
Do I deserve that? Yes. I deserve everything she could ever give me, every slur and barb she could ever throw.
Absolutely, without reservation. I never should have touched her. And now I’m just stuck between a rock and a hard place. Damn if it doesn’t feel like my stomach is filled with lead.
Nika’s body goes rigid for a second. Her eyes widen. She tenses.
Then she suddenly grabs the ice bucket from its resting place, hanging her head over it. She gags for half a minute.
I’m frozen for a second. I don’t know what to do. My hand hovers on her back and she retches, throwing up into the ice bucket.
Then some instinct kicks in, some foreign knowledge of what to do in this exact situation though I’ve never even come close in practice. I lean forward and tuck her hair back out of her face, smoothing my hand over the bare skin of her back.
God, this is all wrong. Once, Stellan was the only one of the Løve siblings I had to worry about. But now Nika has had too much whiskey to drink and she’s vomiting it all up. And though I have resisted taking care of her for so long, I rise to the occasion presented to me.
“It’s going to be okay,” I murmur to her. Raising my chin, I call out to the driver. “Do you feel like taking a ride? Because I think it would be best if we got out of the city for a bit…”
20
Annika
For a whole day and a whole night, I just sleep.
I’m exhausted from just being myself.
From having so many damn feelings.
From trying to put on my smiling public mask and not let anybody see the cracks that have formed in it.
From being one thing to my adoring fans and another to my mess of a family and still another thing entirely to Erik.
Erik, who rejected me. He did it as soundly as a person can be told that they are not good enough or pretty enough or… well, enough.
I wake up with the realization that I have apparently been quite busy while I was passed out. There is a trashcan beside the couch that I'm sleeping on. It smells like the stench of alcohol and gastric juices. It's a very unique smell, one that makes me gag a little.
Pushing myself up on my arms, I try to breathe in deeply and not throw up the contents of my stomach, which by now are surely just acid and bile.
My head throbs as I look around. I haven't seen this room before. Where am I exactly?
I move to the other end of the couch and stand up shakily, wishing like all hell that I had not done quite so many shots of whiskey the night before. Or the day before…
I squint around the room, but there are no windows. Nothing to tell me if it is night or day. I feel like I’ve been asleep for a while, but I have no idea where or even when I am.
One thing that the room I’m in does boast aside from the couch is a small bathroom. I drag myself into it, peeing and brushing my teeth with a brand new toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. I look down to find myself wearing a rolled up old button up and nothing else. I frown at that.
What happened to my dress that I wore earlier? What happened to the heels that I strapped on?
Then I clean myself up, running a damp washcloth over my armpits and privates. It’s not the classiest thing I have ever done, but it’s not the least classy either.
God, my head aches. How did I come to be here?
It’s only then that I think of Erik. I get a flashback of the last time I saw him. In the back of a limo, patiently holding my hair back as I vomited.
Oh, god.
Erik is the last person I want to be vulnerable in front of. And yet, I have a vague memory of him lifting me from the backseat and carrying me into a house.
The sharp scent of saltwater overlays my hazy memory. The tang of saltwater, the cool breeze on my back, light wood a dark room.
A puzzle piece clicks into place. I go to the windows and throw the heavy curtains open, revealing the beach splayed out below me. Crisp, clean, all but virgin sands. In the distance, the blue-black sea spreads out as far as I can see. The waves crash on the beach, hissing as they retreat.
It’s not quite the same view as the last time I was here but there is the neatly kept patio, leading out to the beach.
Erik brought me here.
He could’ve taken me anywhere in the world and yet…
Here I am. I can’t think of why he would bring me here. I can’t actually think of anything at all, not without my head aching.
Desperate for water, I venture to the doorway.
I heave open the door and stick my head out, nearly blinded by the golden daylight that pours in on me. If I had to guess, I would say that it was seven or eight in the evening. Not super late, but not nearly the time that I last remembered it being.
I squint around, looking back and forth down the hallway. It's lined with wood, ceiling to floor. I can see the huge plate glass window at the end of the hall, the sand and light green grass blending in with the décor of the house.
I press the heels my hands against my eyes, wishing like anything that this would all go away. But after leaning against the doorframe for half a minute, I realized that nothing is going to be resolved by me just hiding up here. So, I take the next step and wander down the hall, going downstairs. I find the downstairs living area airy and full of white furniture and the same light wood as I found upstairs. Everything is still and silent.
Water is still calling my name, so I venture into the kitchen, where I find Erik at last.
His back is turned to me. He has a radio on that plays some classic rock very quietly. And he is frying something, I can hear the sizzle and smell the butter as he hums to himself gently and agitates the frying pan. It's only when I step into the open area between the kitchen island and the countertop that he even looks up.
He bites his lip and looks me up and down, a little frown appearing on his face.
His gaze on my legs makes me realize that he probably undressed me and put me in his button up. There's something so intimate and personal about that, while at the same time it makes me a little sad. It also makes me think of the fact that I am naked beneath this oversized shirt and he knows it.
I don't know quite what to think about that. My head aches and I press my palm to my temple. He continues to look at me, finally making a comment.
“I see that you made it. I was starting to wonder."
He turns back to the stove and flips the sandwich he's making in the pan. I take a deep whiff of the smell of cheese and bread toasting. My stomach lurches and I take a step backwards. Not knowing quite what to say, I go around Erik, giving him plenty of space. I retrieve a bottle of mineral water from the refrigerator.
Then I sit down at the kitchen island, watching him. His lig
ht-colored hair is slightly askew, as if he has styled it by shoving his hands through it. He wears a T-shirt and dark jeans, slung low at the hips and looking quite like an advertisement for designer jeans. His mood seems lighter too, although you can never tell quite what is going on behind Erik's eyes.
I guess that being here, away from the city and closer to the beach, makes him more relaxed.
If I'm honest, it is a look that really suits him. He essentially ignores me and hums along with the song playing on the radio.
I sit in silence and drink my water. He transfers the grilled cheese sandwich from the pan to a plate, turning to look at me. "Do you want one?"
Just looking at that sandwich makes me feel queasy all over again. I swallow and shake my head. "No thanks. I have a rule about eating after I have vomited. It's usually not a good idea."
Erik looks at me for a long second and then sets the sandwich down on the counter. He leaves the room for half a minute, returning with a can of coconut water and a couple of aspirin. He leans over the counter and puts them in front of me, then goes back to his sandwich.
I take the aspirin and the chilled coconut water, washing one down with the other. He doesn't look at me, just takes a big bite out of his sandwich.
We sit like that for several minutes until I finish the coconut water and the bottle of mineral water. And then I scrunch my face up and look at him. "Where's my phone?"
He doesn't look at me. He doesn't make a face exactly, but I have an idea of what exactly he is thinking. He squints off into the distance, looking out the large windows toward the beach. "You don't need to check your phone. I called the press office and canceled your upcoming engagements. I think you should just relax and take it easy."
I blanch a little. He wouldn't say that unless the press was really swarming. "It's that bad, is it?"
He raises a single shoulder in a Gallic shrug, his expression unreadable. He looks down at his plate for a moment and I have to wonder what in the world he is thinking.
"I think we should stay here for a while. Maybe a month. Maybe more. I think…" He looks up, his tawny eyes pinning me in place. "I don't think that the spotlight is really a good place for you, Nika. I know you grew up with the press outside your window. I know you’ve always felt like you were on display. But I don't think that has served you very well, so far."
My mouth puckers. "What? What are you saying?"
He shrugs again and looks me dead in the eye. "I think it would be a good idea if you took a break from being in the public eye, that's all."
My cheeks flush. I toy with the rim of my water bottle, trying to guess at what he is really saying. I definitely blacked out earlier when I was at that red carpet event… How bad was my behavior that Erik is now advising me to retreat from public life?
The fact that I don't know what happened really puts things in perspective for me. I should never feel this way, not because of something that I did. That much is clear.
The real question is whether or not I am actually stuck here with Erik babysitting me or if he's just watching me temporarily. Biting my lip, I look up at him.
"How bad was it? Like are we talking about something that I should make the daily rounds on TV and do an apology tour? Or…"
He shakes his head, looking somber. “I don’t think we should talk about how the press perceives you, Nika. We both know that when you live your life under a microscope, things can get distorted and blown out of proportion so easily.”
My head pounds. I lean my face on my hands, shutting my eyes for a second. “So… what are you suggesting? We just take a break from the outside world for a while? We just… hole up in this house and don’t listen to any outside news?”
He cocks his head, studying me. “Doesn’t that sound… I don’t know… like a kind of relief?”
I pull a face. “You are ignoring the fact that I would rather be trapped with a pack of wild dogs than spend time with you. I pretty much hate you.”
In the next moment, Erik grabs me and shocks me by pulling me close and giving me a shake. “Don’t say that,” he growls. “Don’t you dare start in on that again. You know you don’t hate me. Apologize to me, right now.”
I blink up at him, startled. A flush begins creeping up my cheeks. “Again? When did I say I hated you?”
His gaze narrows on my face. "What, you don't remember?"
The flush that has been creeping up my neck slowly turned into a full on blush. My cheeks heat and I bite my lip, looking away as I try to remember. Maybe it was something that I said when I was blacked out. "I…"
He gives me another sharp shake. "Of course you don't remember. That's your whole life, isn't it? You're so used to being a princess and getting everything you desire. You don't even realize that the things you say and do have effects in the real world to real people." He pushes me away from him, shaking his head with a disgusted look on his face. "You know what the worst part of it is? I'm not even that surprised. I just… It's always two steps forward one step back with you. And I am getting tired of this little dance."
He storms out of the kitchen, turning right and heading outside. I watch him go, my mouth opening a little with surprise.
What just happened? Somehow, it seems like I've managed to hurt the feelings that I didn't even think he had.
So what am I supposed to do about that?
Sinking back into my chair, I stare at the doorway that he disappeared through, my eyes welling with tears. I'm frustrated. With myself, first of all. But also with this situation in general.
First Erik and I sleep together. Then he tells me that it was all a mistake, that his feelings for me don't run that deeply.
And now this?
This… whatever this is.
It feels almost self-indulgent to cry right now, but that's exactly what I do. Laying my head down on my arms, I have a good long cry.
Unfortunately, I end up feeling like I am dehydrated by the end of my little crying jag. When my tears slow, I help myself to another can of coconut water before heading upstairs.
I try to think of how I should console myself, how a healthy person would do it. I have a choice of sorts. I could either dig myself deeper into this hole and spend hours looking at the internet, reading all of the comments about my appearance and my behavior.
Or… I can try to use one of the… what are they called again?
That book about radical self-love called them coping strategies, I think. One of the main coping strategies is self-care. Taking a bath, taking time to do my nails, or maybe doing some yoga.
Baby steps. I decide that before I do anything else, I need to take a bath and consider all my options.
That's the only way that I can see forward and out of this mess at this particular moment. Sucking in a deep breath, I raise my chin and head towards my favorite bathroom in the house.
21
Erik
I stalk out of the house at sunset, my whole body vibrating from tension. I swear, one of these days, Nika will finally do or say the wrong thing… And I will just completely fucking lose it.
I'm so mad right now that I'm shaking as I storm out across the sandy beach. The sun is low in the sky but still present enough to make me shade my eyes as I trudge toward the horizon. I have to get away from Nika and away from that house. I don't know exactly where I'm going but anywhere is better than there.
I break into a run, just now realizing that I am barefoot. The grains of sand are a little coarse underneath my feet. When I go farther out, toward the water line, it seems like a good place to stop.
I turn and look back at the house, only now realizing that I have actually left the house quite a way behind. It looks very small in my peripheral vision, just a black, squat blip on my radar.
I suck in a breath and close my eyes, turning back toward the setting sun and the coolness of the sea. I wade out just a bit. I stand and let the waves lap against my feet. For some reason, it helps sooth the angry, injured being that lives
deep inside me.
I take another breath and let it out very slowly.
It doesn't help that thoughts are pounding at my head, relentless as the waves themselves.
I hate you.
Nika said that yesterday, over and over again. I feel like that was just her way of saying what she couldn't when I left her bed that night… She might've been huddled and crying on the floor of her bathroom, but in my heart, I knew that she harbored black thoughts about me.
Hearing them said to me out loud is something I hope never to hear again. When she said that she pretty much hates me just a few minutes ago, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
I just snapped. And rather than unload all of my anger and resentment and the confusing amalgamation of sadness and sorrow onto her… I just left. Which is how I came to be standing here just now.
But God, even hung over as she was, she looks so damn good that I nearly lost control of myself. Especially wearing nothing but my wrinkled white button up.
She was angelic for a moment there.
But in the next second, her smart mouth reminded me of exactly why I wanted to avoid all of this in the first place.
Because she's essentially a spoiled little brat. Yeah, maybe she has her own reasons. But nothing really overwhelms the fact that she has had everything in her life handed to her and has lived without repercussions.
In fact, I think I'm part of the problem…
Instead of making her stay in Copenhagen and face her colossal mistakes… She could have owned up to the fact that she made a complete fool of herself in front of the press. But instead I'm helping her hide out here.
Hell, I even thought of it myself. There is no one that made me do any of this. I just did it on my own, for her benefit.
And I would probably do it again if given the same situation. Because I have definitely developed some sort of crush on Nika…
Maybe crush isn't even the word. I guess a crush is something unrequited. What happens when a crush is returned, and you get exactly what you have longed for?