“Max,” she whispers.
I screw up my face. “Huh?”
“Ring Max,” she groans.
My eyes widen as she throws up again, she’s going to die any minute. I sprint to the bedroom and grab my phone off the bedside and dial Max’s number.
“Hello,” he answers.
“Max get up here, Natasha has a migraine and I don’t know what to do.”
“I will call her doctor,” he answers calmly.
“Do you have the number?” I snap.
“Yes, this happens a lot.”
My eyes widen in horror, a lot … what does that mean? “Ok.” I hang up.
I run back to the bathroom to find Natasha holding her head and crying as her hands shake violently. What the hell is going on? I fall to the floor next to her and cut my hand on a piece of broken glass on the floor. “Shit,” I snap.
“I broke a glass. I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Tash, you’re scaring me. What’s happening?” I pull her onto my lap and hold her head as she cries.
“The doctor will be here soon,” she sobs in a calming voice as if sensing my fear. What if she is having an aneurysm?
“It’s ok, I’m ok,” she whispers as she comforts me. “I’m ok, baby, go and unlock the door.”
I nod and ease her down onto the ground beside me and unlock the door. Max is waiting outside.
“Where is she?” he asks.
“In the bathroom,” I answer as I run back up the hall towards her.
Max goes to the kitchen and gets a large dish from the cupboard and goes and puts it in the bedroom before coming into the bathroom.
“You should put some clothes on.” He nods.
I look down at myself. Shit, I’m naked, I hadn’t even realised. I nod and head to the bedroom and throw on some clothes. Max walks into the room carrying Natasha and he puts her into bed.
“It’s ok, honey, the doctor will be here soon and he will give you a sedative and everything will be ok,” he says gently as he lays her down.
She nods as she holds her head and I stand still, riveted on the spot in shock. This has happened a lot, I can tell by Max’s calm reaction. Why in the hell do I not know about this?
A guard walks into the apartment with a doctor behind him. “In here,” I yell.
The middle-aged woman smiles and immediately opens her briefcase and starts to check Natasha and I stand still at the end of the bed.
“It’s been a while since you had one of these,” the doctor murmurs as she takes her blood pressure.
“Yes, five weeks,” Max replies.
I narrow my eyes at Max. “How often does this happen?” I ask.
He shrugs. “When she is stressed.”
Guilt fills my stomach—this is my fault. Max’s eyes dare me to say something and I feel anger rise in my stomach.