I have no idea how long I’ve been in bed, but I’m assuming it’s been another day. Or twelve hours. Or twelve years. Who knows and who cares?
I stare up at Finn.
“Enough, Calla. You’re stronger than this. Maybe you don’t care, but I do. I need you. I need you up, I need you to be strong. Sleep through the night if you want to, but in the morning, I need you to get your ass out of bed and quit feeling sorry for yourself.”
He’s firm and stern and brotherly.
My eyes fill up with tears, so I close them.
I hear him sigh as he walks away and closes my door.
****
Finn
I sit in my sister’s desk chair and watch her sleep. I stare at the tears streaked down her face, the way her hair is matted and wet.
This is pathetic.
Her pain causes me to hurt.
FixItFixItFixIt, the voices chant.
I can’t. That’s the bitch of it. I can’t fix it.
She’s fragile and scared and alone, and now she’s broken.
He broke her.
Scowling, I pick up her phone, making sure that he didn’t text again. I deleted his answer before, the pitiful I miss you too.
Fuck him.
Fuck anyone who wants to hurt her.
I can’t save her if she keeps getting hurt.
But the world is like that. The world is ugly and painful and that’s how I’ll fix it. The answer comes to me as clear as a bell. The world is too painful. There’s only one way to stop it, to fix it.
Fix it.
I will.
I will.
Fix it.
Consider it done.
I tell that to the voices and it seems to appease them because they’re silent for a minute as I bend and kiss my sister’s forehead, then crawl in bed behind her.
There’s a way. Only one Only one Only one.
Fix it.
37
TRIGENTA SEPTEM
Calla
Sunlight floods my room and I wake up feeling… alive again.
I don’t know why.
Maybe it was Finn’s indignation last night, his plea, his demand to get my ass out of bed in the morning.
I’m not sure what it was that worked, what broke through my self-pity, but here I am, sitting on the edge of my bed.
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.
***
Before I open my eyes, I know where I am. I also know why.
Someone fed me nuts.
Someone.
Finn.
That knowledge is dizzying, and so I focus instead on where I am.
I recognize the sterile medicinal smell of the hospital. I listen with my eyes closed, hearing the rubbery squeak of the nurses’ shoes, the beeps of the machines, the low murmurings out in the hallway.
I have a tube in my nose. Oxygen. The room spins, and I shift it back into focus.
Concentrate, Calla.
I open my eyes and the room spins. I shift it back into focus.
“Calla?”
My dad’s voice is calm and low. Shifting my gaze without moving my head, I find him in the corner chair, watching me in concern.
“I’m not dead?”
He smiles. “No. Thank God.”
My memory is blurry. “There were nuts,” I recall. “In my food.”
My father cringes. “Yes. I’m sorry, Calla. I didn’t see….”
“How long have I been here?” I ask. My voice is scratchy, my throat raw. I know from experience that they probably shoved a breathing tube down it.
“About four hours. We called an ambulance. You were out the whole time. You’ll be fine now. By tomorrow, you’ll be good as new, but they want to keep you overnight for observation.”