Nadia DuPont || Before
Light stabs her through her eyelids, dragging her to consciousness.
Waking up from Serenity is always like this. The crash is the worst part of the high—though she was lucky enough to sleep through it this time.
Nadia sits up, the movement broken down into minute fractions to keep the swelling in her temples at bay. And then, fully upright, she takes stock of her surroundings.
The pile of clothes at the foot of her bed has shrank. Or, at least, it had looked larger the last time she saw it, hadn’t it? And gone, too, is the clutter on her bedside table.
She’s done plenty under Serenity’s influence. Dance on tables like a drunkard, for one. Make out with Chantal in front of everyone. Other, equally mortifying acts she can half-remember. Clean her room, however? That is something entirely out of the ordinary.
Her brows furrow, the epicenter of an impending migraine lurking between them. A white gap consumes her memory, like missing frames in a motion film. What the fuck did she do last night?
Nadia’s attention flicks to the blankets encasing her in bed. On a normal night, they’re a trap to escape from. On the rare nights Etienne sneaks into her room, he’s always teased her for kicking in her sleep.
Today, however, she’s been perfectly encased. Had someone tucked her in? Then, heart lurching, a worse thought presents itself. Was someone in her apartment?
It wouldn’t be the most unusual circumstance, she supposes. More than once, she’s come back to herself in the embrace of a stranger, hands in places they don’t belong. More often still, she will wake up in an apartment she doesn’t recognize. In comparison, waking up alone and untouched is an oddity.
Dio sits in the corner of her bed, one eye half-open to regard her. With a soft chirrup, he returns to his gentle snoring.
The afterimage of a memory burns itself into her thoughts.
Simone. Fuck.
Her palm is halfway to her face when she forces herself to soften the blow. Even the brief touch sends a black wave of pain through her, strong enough to eclipse her vision. Nadia grits her teeth.
You fool. You stupid, stupid fool.
She has to apologize somehow. Given that it’s the end of the week, though, there are no classes to contend with. They could be anywhere.
The simplest solution would be to call, given the circumstances. But how to explain what happened? Especially with the operators listening in—one wrong word and she can surrender all hope of graduating. Anything worse and she risks Simone’s place in Voterique, too.
Still, it would be a start.
Nadia clings to the bed post as she rises, pain barreling through her. Each step makes her gut twist and her knees shake, but she presses forward.
I have to fix this.
It takes her another ten minutes to make it into the hall. By the time she’s entered the kitchen, she’s sweating like she’s back in Perov in the dead of summer. The bottoms of her feet feel like they’ve been stick with pins. Still, she has enough energy left to pick up the phone and hold it to her mouth.
“Simone Allard, please.”
A faint crackle. Then, silence. She counts out the seconds under her breath until she hears the fizz of their lines connecting.
“Hello?”
Nadia’s heart leaps. “Simone. Hi.”
“Hello.” A soft breath, then, “May I ask who’s calling?”
“It’s… um… Nadia.”
Before she can say anything else, there’s a harsh smack. The line clicks as it disconnects. Dumbfounded, she brings the receiver down to regard it.
She expected that response, if she’s being honest with herself. Any sensible person would have done the same. Still, her heart tears as she gently recradles the mouthpiece. It would have been better for them to scream at her, to call her every name imaginable. Instead, they’d decided she wasn’t worth a single word.
With a soft sigh, she lumbers in the direction of her bedroom. She had to make things right between them somehow…but it will have to wait until she’s physically able to.
#
The next day, she looks for Simone everywhere. Despite the gelatin feel of her bones and the unspeakable agony coursing through her, determination lights the way.
What is about them that makes her pulse race? She’s never let anyone get this close with her. Etienne is the one exception, forgiving the fact their relationship is not romantic, and even he gets kept at arms’ length at times.
So what makes Simone so different? She can’t explain it. Perhaps it’s the way they carry themself. She knows they’re intelligent from the scant conversations they’ve had. They’ve a good head on their shoulders, as her mother used to say. She’d be proud.
With that heart-sinking realization, Nadia comes to a final conclusion. She has to make things right between them. She has to.
Winter is making its slow decent on Voterique. It’s the first day of the year she feels the need to wear a scarf with her ensemble—and it certainly won’t be the last. Hands buried in her pockets, she takes a gentle stroll through the plaza, praying for once her luck will be good enough she can stumble across Simone. A wealth of trees and bushes from all around the world frame the perimeter, most of them shifting from soft greens to brown-speckled oranges.
She takes a deep breath, inhaling the sickly sweet aroma of decay. Winter is here, indeed.
Simone isn’t in any of the halls, nor in the administrative buildings she limps into and gives a cursory glance. They aren’t on any of the eight floors of the library—or, at least, she hopes not after the hour she spent scouring it. With every location she comes up empty, her heart sinks a little more.
Finally, as she thinks to give up, she sees them.
They’re escorting a third-year Abjuror off the tram, arm linked through theirs. From this far away, the person with them is hard to identify, but there’s something familiar about the shock of pale blond hair and the mahogany cane in their grasp. A mentor, perhaps. Then, with a twinge of jealousy, A fellow lover?
True, the presence of another paramour is not an immediate cause for concern. In Mertaln, having relationships of all varieties is expected—not that things had been much different back home. Her mom and mother had taken separate lovers at times. It’s not even that Nadia has an issue with having multiple partners in theory… but it’s definitely not something she has the time or the energy for.
Her knees shake. It’s not too late. She can turn around and return to her dorm and pretend this never happened. Besides, she’s sure Simone has better things to do than to handle the disaster that is Nadia DuPont.
With a final deep breath and a prayer for courage, she strides forward. The moment they lock eyes, Simone’s grip on their companion tightens and they turn to leave.
“Simone, wait!”
Their gate slows, but they don’t stop. Despite the growing ache in her knees, Nadia pushes forward until they’re close enough to grasp.
Over their shoulder, Simone’s companion gives Nadia a once-over. This close, their grey eyes flash in the thin sunlight. Recognition flickers in their gaze at the same time as it does within Nadia. This is Alienor, head of the third-year Abjurors. Nadia can’t help the wave of relief she feels. This isn’t a date. How could she have been so foolish?
Her hope curdles at the dagger-sharp edge in Alienor’s eyes.
“Keep thinking on what we said, Simone,” she says, patting their hand before stepping away. “And let me know how it goes.”
With this, she walks away, leaning a little heavier on her cane than before.
Good. Nadia is unsure where the vitriol within her is coming from, but it hardly matters. She watches Alienor walk away until she’s a spec across the plaza. Then she turns back.
Simone’s expression remains neutral. Taking a glance at their watch, they say, “You have one minute before I walk away.”
“I… I didn’t mean you to see me like that.” As she speaks, she ducks her head down, cheeks bright with shame.
“Is that all you wanted to tell me? I have places to be.”
Each word is a dart in her side. “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” she says without looking up. Her throat swells hard enough to make her next words an effort. “Gods know I can scarcely forgive myself. But I am… so unspeakably sorry.”
She should have brought them a gift of some kind. At the end of the day, it’s statement enough about her state of being that she hasn’t. All she can offer in way of apology is herself, and she doubts it’s enough to truly sway them.
Simone’s face is unreadable. Looking over the brick railing, they stare out into the nauseating depths of the world below. Nadia’s heart teeters on the precipice of the silence between them.
Then, softly, “What was that, anyway?”
Nadia rubs her sleeves. “I was…” High. Inebriated. Fucking wasted like everything else in my life. And then, a strike of mercy, a gentle lie conjures itself on her tongue. “I’ve been prescribed some new medicine that had an adverse affect on me. I wasn’t expecting it to be so bad, honestly.”
Not too far from the truth, if you didn’t squint too hard at the details. But when Simone turns back, the kernel of hope she’s clung to shrivels in her gut. Though their face is still mask-like, the faintest quirk in their brow betrays the frustration underneath.
“I told you during our last true conversation that I do not tolerate my time being wasted. If you want to lie about it now, you should at least be more convincing.”
Her throat dries to an uncomfortable degree. Before she can respond, they turn on their heel.
No. I’m not letting it end like this.
“Y-you’re right. It was a shitty lie,” she says, scrambling to follow their hurried march away from her.
“I’m done with this conversation.”
“Wait!”
She looks down. Their wrist is so small in her grasp, each slim finger stiffening and then flexing as the shock wears off. Simone wrenches their hand free. Now, their mouth curls in disgust.
She’s too threadbare to keep the tears hidden. Instead, they stream down her cheeks in thick rivulets. Simone’s figure blurs beyond recognition, but she catches their movement all the same.
And then, as they resume their pace, she chokes out, “I’m dying, Simone.”
They stop, so sudden their shoes scuff against the bricks.
Nadia swallows. Now or never, I suppose. “I… I got the news after our date. And—and so I was miserable, alright? And perhaps I might have been…”
Silence. Nadia closes her eyes, feeling the way the individual muscles of her face crumple as she tries to reign in the tears. The attempt is futile. Within seconds, she’s a breath away from sobbing.
A cold hand presses against her cheek. Thin fingers flick the metal hoop dangling from her ear. Still she doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. In this moment, anything can happen. She doesn’t dare open her eyes.
“How am I supposed to believe that, Nadia?”
“You don’t have to.” Gently, she takes their hand in hers. Her tears dampen her skin. “Sanguina Malefica. Some call it Idune Sickness. Are you familiar with it?”
“I am.”
A soft, sad chuckle slips free before she can stop it. “Years ago, I remember my mother coming home crying until she was dehydrated. I never understood why. Months later, doctors came for her. I never saw her again. That was what she had, they told me. Not that I was old enough to fully understand.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It’s not like you care.”
When she opens her eyes, Simone’s brows are knitted together. They chew on their lip, gaze drifting across the courtyard. Their hand remains, the heat of their skin seeping into her bones.
“I’ve been sick for a while,” she continues, desperate to fill the silence. “They said I’ll be lucky to see graduation.”
Their mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Scrunching their nose, they sigh. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
She shakes her head. “I understand why you’re angry.”
“What even was that?”
They don’t mean the overall events. She realizes that the moment she stares into their eyes. For a heart-wrenching second, she recalls the feel of their memories cradled within her own. Then, stomach clenching, she says, “Serenity. Medically, it’s supposed to be good for pain management and is a good balm for psychological problems.”
“From my perspective, you were near-vegetative.”
Nadia’s lips curl in a sheepish grin. “The effects of Serenity are more severe at higher doses.”
“And you take that… how often?”
Way too much. “Enough,” she says, wiping a hand over her eyes. Then, “I meant what I said that night, by the way... I didn’t want you to see me like that, Simone, and I’m sorry.”
They suck in their cheeks. She wants to scream at them to say something. It doesn’t matter if they tell her to leave them alone forever. At least the truth would be out there, no matter how messy.
“Nine months is a long time,” they say at last.
Nadia flinches. “Not long enough,” she says after a pause. Where are they going with this?
“And there’s no sort of treatment aside from what I saw?”
It’s barely a treatment at all. It’s putting gauze on a festering, necrotic wound. If anything, I’m sure it limits the time I have left. Not that I care much about that. “There’s not much of a treatment at all.”
The thoughtful look in their eyes flares like fresh kindling. “I suppose I could never say no to a challenge, in the end.”
“What do you mean?”
They look again over the brick wall. The afternoon sun paints their skin in shades of gold. “I had a conversation with my enbei recently about Sanguina Malefica. They said they’ve never seen a disease crop up so suddenly, or so fast. There’s no common cause yet to be determined. Strange, wouldn’t you say?”
“I—I guess.”
“And wouldn’t it be incredible if someone was able to find a cure for it?”
She’s seen the gleam in their eyes before. Etienne wears it when he’s elbows-deep in another art project. It’s the white-hot flames of a person determined. Something tells her not even the gods could tell him no if he set his mind to something. She sees it again now.
Something about it makes her knees weak.
“Nine months is a long time,” she echoes.
“It is. Especially if focused on the right things.” They turn back. “So then, let us focus on it. Let’s put it under a microscope and study it.”
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