I, Mimi Salvatore, freaking immortal, alpha female, and currently a patient of sorts, sat in my craft room, attempting to focus on the wire-wrapped chrysocolla, but the tranquilizer made me feel awful and irritated. The wristwatch on my left hand, meant for pulse checks, added to my frustration. My pulse had to stay below 150 BPM, or it was naptime, no exceptions.
Damon had explained this numerous times, but the medication, meaning I was doped out of my mind, more or less, made it difficult to remember. Having been awake for three days, with the children's return creating a whirlwind of activity, Damon's constant check-ins felt almost manic. I had no idea what Mariella was doing, or if she was even awake.
I had been under for five days, experiencing seizures despite medication adjustments, with three more seizures following the changes. According to Damon, my neurosis, "Mimi's Nightmare Distress Syndrome," and its impact on my willpower were somehow connected.
When my neurosis threatened to overwhelm me, my fetuses, being telepathic and empathetic, noticed. They released endorphins, oxytocin, serotonin, and dopamine, essentially keeping me high. This, however, disrupted my homeostasis, causing my thyroid to release hormones and creating a frenzy within my system, flooding me with cortisol. While the babies protected me from the usual lows associated with my neurosis, I became manic instead.
Damon showing me my notebook meant I had completed roughly three weeks' worth of chores in a single day. My system went into such overdrive that I needed to be tranquilized. They had to lower my thyroid hormone levels, feed me, and keep me feeling safe, because the mania had flooded my blood with excessive amounts of neurochemicals, which completely messed me up.
Part of the problem was my willpower, my need to be strong; I'd literally employed it too much to boost myself. Thus, the fucking tranquilizer had multiple components. One was a beta-blocker or something similar, to keep my pulse down. Another was a tranquilizer, and another was Damon's version of Thorazine for me, which flattened the highs and any potential lows.
There was also a willpower dampener, which stopped me from using it excessively but allowed my body to use it for normal functions, and then a thyroid hormone binder as well. So, it wasn't just one drug, but a whole cocktail hitting me.
I'd recently discovered more supplies from the fleas. I had given the fleas permission to fill about 20 large rooms and storage areas on the cellar floor's one wing with whatever they saw fit. When this all started, I hadn't even looked into the rooms; I'd just assigned numbers and the amounts of lots in each room, from rooms 2200 to 2220. Each room might have held over 400 lots of something.
Sometimes, I had no idea if there was a theme, like clothes, or if they'd just brought in whatever each delivery person thought I should have. Since my capacity was limited, meaning no chores, none at all, only crafts, movies, and taking it easy until my state improved, I got creative. I gave myself a new task: sort out a random lot from one of the rooms each day.
I had a list for this, showing each room and the number of lots. Then, I'd randomly pick a room and a lot and see what it was. This provided me with a lot of materials for my crystal work, and now maybe my ideas for those games and different kinds of items for our online shop, as well as our magic shop, will finally happen.
Since I was messed up as shit, I hadn't shared my findings with anyone, of course. I'd found the supplies yesterday, and today I was going to retrieve them and start sorting.
As I was about to get up and fetch them, the door opened, and Mariella entered.
She looked at me and asked, "Hi, Mimi. Can I come in? I'm so fed up! I know, from your situation, Damon lectured me about it for an hour, but by God, I'm sorry. I know this is hard for you, but let me tell you, it's not a walk in the park for me either."
I nodded, and she came to sit on my bed. Rolling her eyes, she began to complain, which actually made me feel a bit better. I wasn't the only sufferer here. Her opinion of her husbands and their care was quite colorful.
She said to me, "Do you know I'm allowed to eat lean freaking meat, fruits, and vegetables, and my calories are freaking counted? I swear, once these damn brats are out of me, I'm going to eat like a pig. No more 'in tender tasty meat broth slowly simmered halibut' or Salvatore's specialty 'chicken breasts with tasty herb salt steamed into tenderness'! I'm so freaking fed up. Nothing is very tasty. It's saltless, fat-free, mild, dry, and my calories are carefully logged, as well as my carbs, as I need them. Coffee is nowadays black, no sugar, and freaking strong. I get like 16 shots of their fucking insulin, and after that, a brutal headache and oat porridge. Can you imagine!"
I giggled and said, "Well, it's my turn. I'm doped out of my mind. Unless I hadn't learned how to function in this state, I would probably be lying in bed, drooling and not moving. My willpower is out of whack, meaning I can't use it. No energy exploitation, no rage. I, however, have to eat, and for me, it's almost pure fat, added with nice doses of vinegary-tasting vitamin booster from Damon's fangs. If my pulse gets higher than 150 BPM, Damon will dash here, take me, make me lie down against him, and flank me at some point, so I take a nice five-hour nap."
My voice oozed sarcasm, fucked-upness, and irritation, and Mariella was now smiling.
I continued, "Three hours per day, I can have time with the kids, no more, as it might be too stressful. I have to give five urine samples per day. My ankles are actually measured. I am weighed three times a day, morning, noon, and evening. My shit is also monitored. My vitals are taken twice a day, and I am loved, but, by God, I need some me time. No chores for me, and I can feel right now at least six Salvatores plus Wulfe in my mind, making sure no nightmares or terrible memories are getting through."
Mariella rolled her eyes. "Thank God they aren't hovering around me so much," she said, "I'm not sure I could take it."
"Do you *want* them to hover around you?" I asked. "It wouldn't be hard for me to arrange it."
"I'm not sure," she replied. "They seem to see me as some damn failure, a fat, lazy body, not a wife."
I rolled my eyes. Fine. Maybe it would give me more time to myself.
"Well, don't say I didn't warn you," I said. "I'll give you one of my memories, a nasty one. When Bran raped me the first time, on the rack... Damon originally took it out, faded it, but then he got mad and undid it. He tried to fade it away again at some point, but Damien got mixed up. Finally, I got bored and hid it. This is something not even Wulfe has ever seen. It's brutal. Are you sure? I can give it to you in a sort of package. I won't feel it, as I don't want them hovering, even though I know there will be some. But as you open it, it will hit you."
She nodded, took my hand, and looked at me honestly. "Thank you for trusting me. I'll try to isolate the shit out of it, but as I said, if those husbands sense it... I'm not sure I can have time."
I nodded and sent her the memory, just a two-hour clip. The feeling of Bran raping me, men drinking, raping me. Long, long ago. They had almost gotten my first heat. It was awful.
Mariella sat in bed, blinking. Her hands were shaking, and a sob escaped. The door opened. Charles, number one, two, four, and five rushed in. Charles wrapped himself around Mariella, while number one, four, and five came to me. The others took Mariella away.
"Baby, I had no idea," number five muttered. "You never told me this shit was still on. What happened, I thought..."
Number four, who was also hugging me, said in a low voice, "I just snatched a little secret from this little lady. Damien undid a lot of our fading, and he hid the fact, made it look like it was us, not him, and it caused Baby to hide this."
I hadn't even noticed Wulfe coming in; only the sharp scent of burning paper alerted me.
He came close to me and muttered, "Fine, my unicorn, I see you've been sly. Shh, rest..."
My mind grew increasingly tired. I realized that Number Four had a regulator for my flank organ and was sedating me. My mind sank deeper into darkness, yet I felt an overwhelming sense of unconditional love carrying me, keeping me safe.
Somehow, the recollection of Bran capturing me and several men molesting me, which had triggered my first heat, vanished. There was no memory of it, not even a faded one. Then, darkness consumed me entirely as the drugs finally took hold.
When I woke up what felt like a few hours later, I was as drugged as ever. The drugs obliterated any sense of time. I hadn't even looked at my phone; in fact, I wasn't even sure if it was there. I felt sluggish, and my mind was muddled.
My stomach was full, indicating that I had been fed during my nap. Since my babies were growing, I could eat less, but the food was mostly liquid or pureed, optimizing my feeding.
After about ten minutes, I sat up, my vision swimming. I felt so drugged that I had to focus all my willpower just to function. Oh, God, once this was over, I hoped I would be in a better state of mind, not so angry all the time. Then again, I was pregnant and hormonal, and I had a right to be.
I wasn't sure how long my pregnancy would last. I hoped to keep them inside me as long as possible. However, I had gone to my doctor's appointments with Number One, every single time. He asked a million questions and had the doctor write many statements about my fitness for work. He, of course, gave them to Charles to be filed, effectively forcing me into early maternity leave.
And, oh my God, as he delved into my benefits, he and several Salvatores had spent nights poring over Finnish benefits for supernaturals, making many claims. I had no idea what they had claimed, but it was a lot. Mariella had received the same treatment; they had studied the Spanish system, and she was also on maternity leave.
But right now, I wanted to continue my project. I needed to get a few more lots for sorting. It would take time. I had made a few contraptions, but since I was drugged, they weren't perfect, but I needed them to work.
Damon, to my ultimate irritation, had found the physiotherapy books I'd received from the hospital after my EHEC infection. These books detail how many calories various exercises burned. Needless to say, after my condition was corrected, I was forbidden from going to the gym to relieve stress, as I was already using too many calories.
Since the books also contained nutritional information, including formulations about how burning, say, 200 kcals affected my vitamin and mineral levels, the men—Salvatore, Charles, Adam, and every other male—had all read them. They'd subsequently upgraded their "protector radars," and I wasn't the only one suffering. They now meticulously planned my exercises and dietary intake.
Even Mariella and the older girls had been drawn into this, which didn't make them happy. Lily, for instance, had complained that after doing her regular yoga, Number Four had arrived, and she'd subsequently found herself in the medbay, sedated and on an IV drip.
Number One then lectured her for 45 minutes on her eating, exercise, and energy usage. At least I wasn't the only one suffering, but I was determined to act. My little plan would be perfect, and I wasn't sharing it with anyone.
Having just managed to stand, which meant I wouldn't immediately topple over thanks to the drug's nasty vertigo, the door opened, and Mariella walked in.
She greeted me with, "Oh, you're awake! They kept you out of it for three days, just to make sure all that awfulness was gone. Wulfe and Damon cast a spell, essentially backtracking Damien's influence in your brain. Wulfe gave Damon a potion, enabling him to recall every last memory he had ever faded from you. Then, Wulfe linked Damon to your mind with a spell to chase those memories. It was a strong one, so you might experience bouts of amnesia regarding certain memories. Also, if you plan to access your backups, the spell will alert Wulfe. Where are you going? You seem quite dizzy."
I rolled my eyes; my husbands were a bit too protective, but it was what it was. Maybe letting go of some of the past shit was good for me.
I told Mariella, "Well, I have a project. You see, I have storage rooms in the southside cellar floor where the fleas bring in stuff. I told them about this and gave them lists of what I needed, instructing them where to put them. However, because my organization is large, and so many people know me, they came up with all sorts of things I might need and brought them too. I gave them those rooms on the cellar floor and just named them. They've been bringing in boxes upon boxes, and I have no idea what's in there."
Mariella giggled and said, "I bet if Damon knew, he might blow a fuse. He still has issues with your regular storage rooms, even though they're now being organized and inventoried. Now this! So, what's your project?"
"Well, I've planned to tackle the lots one at a time, randomly," I explained, "Here, this is my notebook. See, these are the room and lot numbers? I pick and choose a lot, investigate it, and then either send it to the correct place or mark it. So far, I've found five lots of furs – long, female model furs. They're all made from ethical sources, meaning even the tiger and snow leopard pelts came from animals that were in zoos, were old, or had to be put down due to sickness. The pelts might not be perfect, but they're sufficient for my needs. I have a lot of zoo contacts, and many fleas know how to sew, so they made them themselves. Then, I found a big lot of garden swings, followed by a lot of garden ornaments. And now, my latest find... something you might want for our occult shop. But first, watch these."
I finally located my phone and showed her a few clips of crystal shops and games.
She pursed her lips and said, "Sure, it could work. I'm just not sure if we have enough materials for so many classes."
"Come on," I replied, "Let me show you my lot, and then we'll go have some fun."
Mariella smiled, eager to see what I was up to. I intended to show her my lot and then my sorting room, or what I called my "sorter." It was nothing fancy, just plastic baskets stacked on top of each other, each with smaller holes than the one above, which allowed me to crudely sort the crystals, chips, and beads.
It was the best my addled mind could come up with. At least it would keep me busy and give me something to do. I was ready for my next steps, hoping like hell that my overeager husbands would not get a whiff of this, but as it is, I rarely get what I'm hoping for and more often I get what I need, despite it might not be what I want.