❛what was in your drink?❜

ㅤ MAËLLE

ㅤ I give a malicious giggle, “I found a coin!” I crawl closer to the light to get a better look. “Wait... That’s strange... I think I’ve seen it somewhere,” I mutter, frowning and squinting my eyes.

ㅤ Heads or tails. I flip both sides of the coin, trying to make sense of it. No matter how many times I turn it, something in me insists it’s a collector’s item. On the heads side, there’s the engraved profile of a man wearing an olive wreath—not like the ones I’ve seen on paper money or coins in Brazil.

ㅤ Petrus I Brasiliae Imperator 1822-R is etched around the profile. Which is confusing, because the coin looks freshly minted. I flip to the tails side and immediately recognize Brazil’s imperial coat of arms.

ㅤ My eyes go wide, and all the alcohol in my system vanishes in a jolt of pure shock.

ㅤ I stretch out my arm, pushing the coin away from my face. “Oh shit!” I slap a hand over my mouth—I don’t usually curse like that. I toss the coin away like it might explode. A silent scream catches in my throat.

ㅤ I'm holding what could be the Coronation Piece, considered—one of the rarest and most valuable in the Brazilian collection. A historical heritage. The 6,400 réis coin was minted to celebrate Dom Pedro I’s coronation.

ㅤ “Okay, breathe, Maëlle...” I whisper, taking a deep breath and forcing myself to swallow. “Doesn’t mean anything. Could still be fake.”

ㅤ A flash of red fabric brushes against my face. I glance up. A woman walks past me—fast.

ㅤ She seems anxious, but that’s not all. Her jewels jingle as she moves. She’s dressed like she walked out of an Ottoman masquerade, wearing an embroidered vicuña wool gown, a veil over her face, and layer upon layer of jewelry.

ㅤ I see her cross the street and, as she crosses, looks back. Her eyes don’t meet mine, and it doesn’t seem like she’s just ignoring me; she really isn’t seeing me here. Get up from the ground, and, repeating her action, I look in the same direction, but see nothing—only a partially dark, now deserted street.

ㅤ I grimace, judging her. It’s stamped on my face, “Wow, what’s up with this weirdo?”

ㅤ I assume a careful posture, but my feet slowly begin to follow her, and, without even realizing it, I’m already on the other side. The woman stops in front of a building, the windows of which are covered in white glass films, preventing anyone from seeing inside. When she looks both ways again, I run to hide behind the wall of the next building. I peek again and see her pull open the door of the establishment, which appears to be permanently closed.

ㅤ “Wait… is she robbing the place?” I whisper, brows furrowed. “I should call the police.” I unlock my phone, but my better judgment screams back: Don’t be stupid, Maëlle! She won’t! Who steals from a bankrupt store? I can envision my subconscious slapping its forehead with the palm of its hand. I feel offended.

ㅤ The voice on the line answers, “New York Police Department. What’s your emergency?”

ㅤ Before I can speak, a blinding light bursts from the doorway. My jaw drops. The phone slips from my fingers.

ㅤ As if it were something banal, that woman advances towards the light—and vanishes into it.

ㅤ I rub my eyes a few times to make sure they’re working, and, not satisfied, I pinch myself, feeling the prickle perfectly on my skin. Still disoriented, I step out from behind the wall. “Hello?”

ㅤ The door begins to close slowly, taking some light away with it. Desperate, I look at both ways and instinctively throw myself into the light before it disappears completely.

ㅤ Immediately, an overwhelming pressure slams into me, forcing a brutal strain on my neck and shoulders, and suddenly I’m struggling to stay conscious, as if my life depended on it. I try to contract the muscles, but it’s useless; I have no control over my body, and the almost inhuman effort I’m making to breathe is finally making me more desperate.

ㅤ My vision begins to become blurred. I have to choose quickly between losing consciousness or just my sight. It’s a torture that seems to have no end. I feel powerless, and all I can do is pray to all the saints and deities I know and even those I don’t know at once before my organs end up exploding.

ㅤ As quickly as it came, the force faded, and I’m thrown like a sack of potatoes until I finally fell face-first to the ground. My forehead throbs and my trembling hands touch the damp, rough surface of the asphalt. I pull air into my aching lungs with all my might, coughing immediately afterward. Still wide-eyed, I stand up in a jolt and turn my face to where I had just fallen, seeing the door of the nightclub close behind me.

ㅤ Idalia snaps her fingers, “Maëlle?” Listening to her voice calms the unbridled beats of my heart. I put my hand to my chest, laughing with relief—thank God and all the prophets. My drink was spiked, that's all. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Why the hell are you on the floor? You good?”

ㅤ I make an OK sign and hold out my hand for Idalia to take, “Ugh, help me up, will you?” I groan. My legs are weak, so Idalia wraps my arm around her neck, muttering complaints about how difficult her life is because of me. As if I wasn’t in a position to understand everything she’s saying. 

ㅤ But something’s wrong. Why am I feeling so... sober?

ㅤ Idalia grips the door handle of the cab with great difficulty. I’m ready to be thrown, yet again, into the back seat of the car when I hear a familiar melody. The unique ring of the alarm breaks the silence, and that’s all we can hear apart from the cab’s engine running. My smile withers when I realize that the ringtone is from my phone dropped across the street.

ㅤ A shiver runs down my spine, and a single drop of sweat trickles down my forehead. The abdominal discomfort turns into nausea. My last memory before being snared and falling into a deep trance-like state, oblivious to everything around me, was the driver’s angry shouts at me for shamefully vomiting up all the alcohol and even the soul of my past life.

ㅤ The hours pass before my eyes, and I remain oblivious to everything around me. In the shower, the water cascades over my head while I stay still, lost in thought. Breakfast at the hotel is as hectic as ever, but I just stand there, staring at nothing. The meeting with the agency goes well, I think—but I’m not really listening to anything or anyone. And don’t even get me started on the meeting with the Jenner sisters.

ㅤ After a sleepless night, a new day begins, and everything repeats itself—except for Idalia, who suddenly grabs my wrist. “What is wrong with you? Snap out of it!”

ㅤ Slowly, I’m pulled back to reality. Somewhere far off, I hear announcements, and I finally recognize the environment: the airport. I raise my eyebrows, still disoriented. An employee in front of me, one hand extended, says, “Miss? Your boarding pass.”

ㅤ I murmur in embarrassment, “Oh, yes, of course... just a second...” I fumble with my headphones, and the more I dig through my bag, the worse it gets. The employee then points to the pink wallet I’m holding—the one with passport clearly written across the front. “Haha, oh God. Here it is. What a mess I am.”

ㅤ Ugh, what a pain. Why on earth does my dad have to act so humble? Now I’m stuck going everywhere without my jet. It’s so frustrating, I slide my hand to gently massage the shoulder and neck area. The pain has persisted since the day of the night out.

ㅤ I’m so exhausted. First-class seats aren’t the best, but at least they give me room to shut my eyes and pretend to rest.

ㅤ “Are you going to tell me what happened that night?” Idalia crouches beside my seat.

ㅤ “I don’t want to.”

ㅤ She says nothing, but doesn’t move either. Even with the sleep mask blocking my view, I can feel her eyes on me.  I hear her rustling through her clothes and figure she must’ve picked something up. “I found this yesterday while packing your suitcase.”

ㅤ With one finger, I lift the sleep mask just enough to peek. I nearly choke on dry air. Between her fingers is the gold coin I found outside the nightclub.

ㅤ I squeal in disbelief, “No way. How is that even possible?” After everything I’ve seen in life, I thought I knew what fear was—but this just gets worse and worse. It’s worse than I imagined.

ㅤ “I seriously thought I was high.”

ㅤ “Oh, please. Don’t be ridiculous,” Idalia scoffs. Now that I think about it… yeah, that’s ridiculous. The curly one hovered over me the whole time. I barely had the chance to drink, let alone take anything. Her escort is effective enough to ward off anyone with bad intentions, I highly doubt anyone managed to spike my drink unnoticed.

ㅤ “Where did you get that?” she asks, her tone sharp.

ㅤ “I’m not involved in anything shady, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” I mutter, crossing my arms. I slide the mask back down, getting comfy again.

ㅤ “So what, you just found it lying around?” Idalia rolls her eyes.

ㅤ “Exactly.” I reply.

ㅤ “Bullshit.”

ㅤ I shrug. “Believe it or not, I don’t care. I just want that thing gone. Like, far from me.” I say it firmly. Just the thought of reliving that nightmare makes me want to cry. I can feel her still standing there, not moving an inch. It’s driving me nuts. “Fine. I got it from some obsessive fan who keeps stalking me, okay? Happy now? Just another creepy gift.”

ㅤ Idalia sighs, “I’ll let you sleep.”

ㅤ “All this drama over a stupid coin,” I babble angrily. That’s what leaves my lips, but it’s not what’s in my mind. This conversation only served to make me even more tense than I already was.

ㅤ I can’t wait to be back home. I’m absolutely dying to crash against my man’s bountiful pecs. My one and only safe haven.