The penthouse felt even warmer that night than it had the first time Veneri visited. Maybe it was because the pressure of the election was gone, or maybe because the two of them had stopped behaving like classmates and started acting like old friends.
Food containers and dessert plates covered the low table while the city glowed outside the giant windows like a sea of stars. Veneri somehow made himself comfortable on furniture worth more than his family's car and was criticizing expensive pastries like a professional judge. Greshina watched him with amused disbelief, wondering how he could make even luxury feel ordinary.
"This tiramisu tastes too rich," he said, poking it with a spoon.
She stared at him.
"It's dessert."
"I'm sure this is my entire tuition amount."
She laughed so hard she nearly dropped her fork. They kept eating while joking about the election results, about his accidental promotion and about how the cooking club had almost murdered their advisor through celebration. At one point he reenacted the teacher being thrown into the air and she nearly choked laughing. It was ridiculous and easy, and she found herself not wanting the night to end. That thought sat with her longer than she expected.
Then she looked at him more seriously and asked if he could stay the night. He blinked, caught off guard enough that she almost regretted asking. She quickly explained she wanted to take him somewhere tomorrow as a gift for helping her. If he hadn't helped shape her speech, she said, she doubted she would have won in such a landslide. Her voice had softened enough that he noticed.
"I can stay. I should call home first before my family assumes I was abducted by the upper class."
"Go call them."
He walked off toward the windows with his phone while she leaned back into the couch. As she watched him talking, relaxed and smiling into the call, her own phone lit up beside her.
She frowned and opened the messages from her foster sister.
[Where are you?]
[Why didn't you come home tonight?]
[Father asked for you.]
[You skipped family dinner again.]
[Do you enjoy humiliating us that much?]
[Answer me.]
[If you're hiding in your apartment again you're acting like a child.]
[Mother says you've become impossible.
[Come home tonight.]
[You can't keep avoiding the family you know.]
Her jaw tightened as she stared at the screen. Those messages always carried the same cold nature that made her feel smaller than she wanted to admit. She exhaled through her nose and tried ignoring the sting in her chest. But then something inside her stomach lurched.
The nausea hit violently. She shot up from the couch and ran. The bathroom door slammed open just in time. She dropped to her knees and vomited.
Purple poison poured from her mouth in sickening waves. It splashed against the bowl and coated it in violet. Another convulsion tore through her and she gagged so hard her whole body shook. It felt like she was vomiting her organs out through acid. Tears stung her eyes from the pain.
She had held the poison too long. Campaigning had distracted her from expelling it naturally. She wanted to test how long she could endure without releasing the buildup.
Another wave hit. She clutched the toilet and nearly cried out. It burned her throat. Her ribs hurt. Her entire body trembled.
When it finally slowed down she was breathing in ragged pulls what her forehead against her arm. She looked down into the bowl and nearly cursed aloud. Purple poison floated thickly on the water, refusing to dissolve. Her poison was insoluble.
She flushed anyway, mostly for the sound. The water churned but the poison remained. A violet layer floated stubbornly above everything.
"You okay?"
She immediately forced herself to stand upright.
"Give me a minute."
He was already at the door.
"Greshina?"
She opened it slightly, enough to show her face but not enough for him to see inside. He immediately looked concerned. She knew she looked pale and drained. Sweat clung to her neck and strands of hair stuck to her cheeks. She tried smiling and it probably looked awful.
"I'm fine."
"You do not look fine."
"Just a little sick."
His eyes narrowed. He tried to look past her but she blocked the doorway.
"And don't use this toilet."
"What?"
She said it too quickly.
"Just… don't."
"What, did you poison your bathroom?"
Despite everything, she almost laughed.
"Maybe."
He stepped closer.
"You're pale."
"I'll be okay."
She could already feel the weakness tomorrow would bring. Her limbs felt hollow, like the poison had taken half her strength with it. Morning fatigue would hit hard and she knew it but she didn't want him worrying. She especially didn't want him seeing the humiliating reality of this power. So she held the smile.
"Give me a minute okay? I'll be right there."
"If you need help…"
"I know. I'll call for you."
When he left and the door closed again, her composure collapsed. She leaned heavily on the sink, breathing hard and staring at herself in the mirror. She looked exhausted and pale enough to worry anyone. The toilet behind her still shimmered purple like a personal insult.
"Curse this stupid poison creation."
Her body literally made poison whether she wanted it or not and if she didn't release it willingly, it punished her until she did. What kind of power worked against its own wielder? What kind of gift made living feel like maintenance?
She hated it in that moment.
She splashed water on her face and steadied herself. Outside she could hear him moving around, pretending not to hover. Somehow that made her chest tighten in a different way. She didn't want him to see this side of her, not when everything had gone so well.
After another breath, she looked at herself.
"You're fine."
She prepared to walk back out as if none of it had happened.
°°°°°°°
Morning did not arrive gently for Greshina. It arrived in waves of nausea, body pain and a weakness so deep it felt stitched into her bones. She had barely slept the whole night, drifting in and out of feverish half-consciousness while pretending she was fine. By dawn her skin, already pale by nature, had turned almost white.
She pushed herself up from the bed, determined to stand. The moment her feet touched the floor her knees gave out beneath her. She crumpled beside the bed in a heap of blankets and cold sweat. Pain radiated through her body so strangely that even breathing felt like effort.
Her stomach turned and she lurched toward a trash bin near the bed. This time what came up wasn't poison but it still left her shaking. Tears gathered in her eyes from the force of it. When it passed she just sat there on the floor, weak and trembling.
For a few seconds she stared blankly ahead. Then she reached for her phone with clumsy fingers. Her hands shook so badly she almost dropped it dialing. When Veneri answered she sounded smaller than she ever had.
"Veneri…"
"What happened?"
She swallowed hard.
"Help me."
"I'm coming."
Barely a minute later his door opened. He came in carrying a bowl of water, a towel draped over one shoulder. He took one look at her on the floor and sighed in a way that somehow sounded worried and unsurprised at once. Then he crouched beside her.
"I knew it."
"Knew what?"
He slipped an arm around her and carefully helped her up. She was so light against him it startled him. He guided her back onto the bed like she might break. Then he pressed the cool towel against her forehead.
"You overworked yourself."
She looked up at him, dazed.
"How do you know?"
He gave her a look.
"It isn't hard. You've been dozing off during the day. You've been running on fumes for a week as well."
She looked embarrassed.
"I thought I hid it."
He almost laughed.
"You hid it terribly. You won the election so rest."
She weakly shook her head.
"I wanted to take you somewhere today."
"It can wait."
"But—"
"It can wait."
His tone had this strange finality she wasn't used to hearing from him. Usually he joked his way through everything but right now he sounded annoyingly sensible. She sank into the pillow, exhausted. Then her stomach dropped again.
"Oh no—"
She shot up.
Somehow adrenaline dragged her off the bed and into the bathroom before another violent wave hit. She fell to her knees over the toilet and vomited purple poison again. This time the pain was worse and sharp it felt like broken glass scraping up her throat. Her whole body convulsed with each gag.
"Don't come close!"
Veneri was already there. He stopped beside her and looked into the bowl.
"That is a very strange color."
Even in agony she almost wanted to laugh.
Another wave hit and she gripped the toilet.
He moved closer anyway.
"I said don't—"
He ignored it completely and started patting her back.
"Let it all out."
Another painful retch tore through her.
"It hurts…"
"I know."
He kept rubbing her back.
"Just get it out."
She was too miserable to argue. Poison spilled into the bowl in thick violet streaks while tears streamed down her face from pain and exhaustion. Her throat felt flayed raw. She could barely breathe between heaving. Then through ragged breaths she whispered,
"If I knew I'd get sick… I wouldn't have eaten anything…"
He looked almost offended.
"That's your concern right now?"
She made a miserable sound.
When it finally ended she sagged against the toilet, too weak to rise. Her arms shook trying to support herself. She looked utterly spent. Veneri crouched and looked at her a second before he lifted her. She made a startled sound.
"What are you doing—"
"You're really light."
He carried her back to bed as if it were obvious. She was too exhausted to protest and half too embarrassed to meet his eyes. He set her down carefully beneath the blankets. He frowned at the heavy hoodie she was still wearing.
"No."
"No what?"
"You can't stay in that. Can you change yourself?"
She weakly shook her head.
He disappeared into what she casually called her wardrobe and what he privately considered a fashion kingdom. He opened one section and stared. There were more clothes in there than some stores. Dresses, shirts, jackets and things he had no names for.
"How does one person own this much fabric?"
Eventually he returned with an oversized T-shirt. He stood there awkwardly a moment, clearly realizing the situation. Then he looked at her seriously.
"Lift your arms."
He carefully pulled the hoodie over her head. He visibly relaxed seeing she still had a bra on, which made him look so awkwardly relieved she almost smiled. Then he helped her into the lighter shirt, guiding her arms through gently so she wouldn't strain herself. His movements were clumsy but careful. When she was changed he took the towel, dipped it in the bowl again and cooled her forehead. The chill made her shiver but it eased some of the fever heat.
She looked up at him, completely helpless. Somehow that embarrassed her more than vomiting poison.
"Don't make that face."
"What face?"
"The dying princess face. Makes you look like Snow White who just ate a poisoned apple."
Despite her condition she made a weak laugh. He sat beside the bed, adjusted the blanket and looked at her strangely.
At school she was composed, commanding, intimidating even. Here she looked fragile enough to disappear into the pillows. It amazed him how different she was like this. Still, he wasn't thinking anything improper. He pressed the towel to her forehead again.
"Now sleep."
She looked at him through fever-heavy eyes.
"Stay?"
He leaned back in the chair beside her bed.
"I'm not going anywhere. Close your eyes student council president."
And in that quiet rich penthouse bedroom, with poison in the toilet and morning sunlight pouring through giant windows, it somehow felt exactly like one of those absurdly tender sick-day anime episodes neither of them would ever admit they were living.