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Her lips press into a thin line, her expression unreadable. For a moment, I think she’s going to say something else, but shedoesn’t. She just stands there, watching me like I’m some puzzle she’s trying to figure out.
“Get up,” she says finally, her tone brisk. “You look pathetic.”
Her words sting, but I’m too drained to respond.
When I don’t move fast enough for her liking, she clicks her tongue in irritation. “This isn’t the time for weakness,” she says. “You’re part of this family now. Act like it. You’re pale. You look awful.”
“Thanks for the diagnosis,” I mutter, pushing myself up slowly. My legs feel like jelly, and I grip the counter for balance, glaring at her through the fog of my exhaustion.
She tilts her head, her gaze flicking over me once more before she turns to leave. “I suggest you rest,” she says over her shoulder. “You’ll need your strength.”
“For what?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer, just makes a face.
With that, she turns and walks away, leaving me alone on the cold, unforgiving floor. The faint sound of her footsteps echoes down the hall, fading into the distance.
My stomach churns again, but this time it’s a dull ache rather than a violent twist. I close my eyes, trying to breathe through the discomfort.
“Lila?”
The voice is softer, gentler, and I open my eyes to see Tatyana standing in the doorway. Her presence is instantly soothing in a way I didn’t realize I needed.
“Tatyana,” I manage, my voice hoarse from all the throwing up.
She steps inside, her movements careful, and crouches beside me. Her warm brown eyes scan my face, and I feel a lump rising in my throat.
“What happened?” she asks gently, placing a hand on my arm.
“Nothing,” I lie, trying to muster a small smile. “I think it was just something I ate.”
Her brows knit together, and she shakes her head slightly. “You don’t look like someone who just had bad fish. You look exhausted.”
I shrug weakly, not trusting myself to say much.
“Come on,” she says, standing and holding out her hand. “Let’s get you off the floor. You shouldn’t be sitting here like this.”
Reluctantly, I take her hand, letting her help me up. My legs wobble, but she steadies me with her arms.
“Sit,” she says, guiding me to the small bench by the vanity. “I’ll be right back.”
I sink onto the bench, too tired to argue. The nausea has subsided, but a deep exhaustion lingers, pulling at every muscle in my body.
Tatyana returns a moment later with a glass of water and a small plate of crackers.
“Here,” she says, handing me the water. “Sip this slowly.”
I do as she says, the cool water soothing my dry throat.
“And eat these,” she adds, holding out the plate. “It’ll help settle your stomach.”
I hesitate but take a cracker, nibbling at the edge. The bland taste is surprisingly comforting, and I feel a faint flicker of gratitude.
“Thank you,” I say.
Tatyana smiles, her warm gaze meeting mine. “Of course, Lila. You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”
Her words catch me off guard, and I blink at her, unsure of how to respond.