Page 39 of Even Robots Die (Even Ever After #3)

Florentine

I t only takes one day before what I was dreading arrives.

I spend a whole day doing alright—if being horny and jumpy is doing alright—but when I wake up the next morning, it’s nothing like I ever felt.

I’m stuck in bed and I can’t move. I’m curled in on myself as if I could make an imprint of my arms on the skin of my shins for how tightly I grip them.

This is the only way I feel like I’m not a freaking ball of pain. That doesn’t mean I’m not in pain. That just means it is slightly more tolerable.

And I’m being generous by saying it’s somewhat tolerable. My clenched teeth and the way I’m breathing like I’m giving birth each time I feel my insides contract, however, say otherwise.

It feels like hours since I woke up sometime around five, but I can barely see the light of the sun through my curtains—that, surprise, I forgot to close last night but don’t have the strength to close now—so I know it couldn’t have been that long.

It’s never been like this.

Why on earth did it have to be this way when I’m stuck in a castle away from home?

It feels like Mother Nature herself is rebelling against my body and I’m pretty sure I’m currently turning the sheets blood red.

I should care, because no one really likes to bathe in their own blood, but I don’t have that kind of strength right now.

All I can focus on is the pain and how to control my breathing each time my damn body cramps.

It’s never been like this. Or, at least, not that I can remember. Memory is a fickle thing, especially when it comes to pain.

Even when I was younger and decided that I should take the shot that cuts off periods, I don’t remember it being this painful. Thinking about it right now, I would very much like that shot.

Puking my guts out sounds like a walk in the park next to what I’m going through.

I should get up and change.

It’s the last thought on my mind when I pass out from exhaustion.

It feels like minutes later when I wake up again. I crawl to the toilet, clean myself, change my panties, and add a pad.

My shorts are unscathed.

Aren’t you a drama queen? Painting your bedsheets blood red? My own mind supplies unhelpfully.

I shut it down—or, myself—and crawl back to my bed.

The next time I wake up, the pain is still there, but something near my ear sounds like it’s going to burst my brain.

It takes me a minute to realize that it’s just my holo ringing.

It wouldn’t normally ring from the start. It always starts by vibrating and rings only after four attempts from the same number.

But there’s only one number that would call me that many times in a row and dread grips me at what it could mean.

“Hey,” I answer groggily to whoever called from home.

“At last she answers,” Elodie says. There is a hint of bitterness to the tone that can only come from that one sister.

“Shush,” someone else says, but the voice that I recognize to be Amélie sounds further away. “What kept you from answering?”

I don’t hear any bitterness in her voice. Amélie is the only one who understands that I would do anything for our family and that something must have prevented me from answering earlier.

“I’m sick,” I answer, even if it’s not completely the truth. I don’t feel well, that's true, but that shit is no sickness.

My answer is greeted by a few seconds of silence.

“We can deal with it”, I hear Coralie say and her voice sounds as far as Amélie’s.

“She left us to fend for ourselves. The least she can do is help,” Elodie says, and I don’t think it was meant for me.

It’s definitely about me, but it’s not addressed to me.

It’s also absolutely not fair, but Elodie doesn’t give me enough time to reply to anything.

“Dad has disappeared again,” Elodie says. “We haven’t heard from him in two days.”

“What do you want me to do?” I ask as the fuzziness of my brain disappears.

I’m still in pain, but I’m also fully awake now.

“It’s just a job. Come back home,” Elodie says, and weirdly it sounds almost like a command.

Sometimes I wonder where she finds the audacity to talk like this to people. Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe she doesn’t talk the same way to the people that aren’t her siblings.

I can’t see her making a lot of friends if she does.

It’s also obvious that Amélie didn’t tell her what was going on right now. I don’t even know that she told anyone.

“It’s not that easy,” I sigh in answer.

“Make it easy,” Elodie says.

“We need the money,” Amélie tells Elodie like it explains everything.

Sure, we need the money. It makes me think that Dad didn’t disappear with nothing and her slightly desperate tone hints that I need to refill the account at least a bit.

I should have expected that. I’m even surprised that what I put on the bank account lasted that long.

“How much?” I ask, and the sound of my words are garbled by the cramp that seizes me right at that moment.

“At least three hundred for the rest of the week,” Juliette says.

“I can do that,” I say as I turn off the speaker and microphone of my holo and tell Milton to send the money over.

It lasts only a few seconds, but when I turn the speaker and microphone back on, the sounds from the other side of the holo assault me.

Elodie is yelling that I left them to fend for themselves and that I don’t even care about them.

I can hear Juliette and Amélie trying to calm her, but they don’t really know how to do so.

No one does if I’m to be honest. Elodie has always been a wild card and the best thing to do in this situation is to let her vent and wait.

She always ends up calming down, and then we have to deal with her poor mood and sulking.

I’m in no state to deal with this, though. I feel like my stomach is trying to eat itself and my head is starting to pound as if my brain wants out.

I feel like crying.

“Are you okay?”

I realize I have actually started crying when the question is asked. What I don't really realize is who asked in the first place.

“Who is that?” Elodie asks and I’m pretty sure if I could see her right now, there would be a sneer on her face.

I’m glad I can’t though, because it means my sisters can’t see me either, but it also means they can’t see who just entered my room in just thin black pajama pants.

Brice doesn’t even bother answering; he walks to the side of the bed and squats beside my head—because, no, I didn't even bother sitting in the bed when I took that call. I’m still curled on myself while I try to decipher whatever I can do to help my sisters.

“Florentine, are you okay?” he repeats, and it’s not lost on me that he’s not calling me Miss Furious for once.

“It’ll pass,” I tell him, but I don’t even think I can convince myself, so there is little luck that I could convince him too. It’s true that it should pass, but I have no idea how long I’m going to be in pain.

He brings the back of his palm to my forehead and swears.

“You’re burning,” he says under his breath, and the only answer to that is a gasp.

Not mine.

That’s when I remember I didn’t cut the call on my holo and my busybody sisters have been very quiet in hopes of finding out what is going on. Or to catch some piece of gossip.

“I sent the money,” I tell them before adding, “I’ll do what I can for Dad. I’ve got to go.”

Brice raises his right eyebrow in question, but I wait until everyone says their goodbye to terminate the holo call and even then I don’t answer his silent question.