It’s lunchtime and I’m up.
I smell food drifting through the house, so I pad down the hall and find my father and Finn in the kitchen.
I sit down without saying a word. I haven’t combed my hair, I haven’t put clothes on. But they both pretend not to notice.
Finn makes a plate for me, sliding it across the table.
“Are you feeling better?” he asks carefully.
I nod, staring at my food, taking a bite.
“You’ve been in bed for four days,” he adds, his eyes trained on my face.
“Four?” My gaze shoots up and meets his, then my father’s. My father nods, his face carefully expressionless.
I look back down.
“I was tired.” I pause, noting how white my hands look holding the fork. Pale, skinny, listless. I do need to get up. I need some fresh air. I need to stop being pathetic. But first… “Did Dare call?” I can’t help but ask.
There’s a pause, then my dad nods.
“
And?” I hear the hope in my voice and hate it.
“And nothing,” he says firmly. “He was just checking on you. You’re not ready for this, Calla. You’ve been through too much these past couple of months. You’ve got to focus on yourself, not Dare.”
Pain shoots through me and I look away from him, out the window, out at Dare’s empty Carriage House.
They don’t understand. He’s what has kept my head afloat these past few weeks. I don’t know why I’m depending on him so much, I just am. And then I sent him away, because apparently, I’m a lunatic.
I take a second bite. “Thanks for the plate,” I tell Finn. He nods.
I chew and swallow, careful not to look at my father. I’m still pissed at him.
I’m so pissed that my lungs feel hot and my throat feels tight.
I take a third bite. As I chew, it begins to feel like sawdust in my mouth, like I’ll never be able to swallow it because my throat is too hot, because I can’t breathe.
What the hell?
Confused, I look at my plate. Polish sausage, sauerkraut, apples… and pecans.
Pecans.
My hands immediately fly to my throat because after three bites, it’s already swelling shut.
I wheeze, trying to breathe. Warmth spreads through my chest as all the vessels in my lungs start to enlarge. I can feel each individual one, pulsing in my ribcage, stretching, swelling.
“Dad,” I manage to say, getting up from the chair. He rushes to grab me, and I fall into his arms, trying to breathe with stiff lungs.
I suck in a breath, but it won’t come. The air can’t get into the swollen tissue of my throat. It’s like a vise, constricting and squeezing.
I’m a fish out of water, and everything turns to noises, but I can’t understand the words. The light blurs into one large color, and I think of one last thing before there’s nothing more.
Someone just poisoned me.
***