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.”
I nod.
I feel heavy, groggy, slow.
“What’s wrong with me?” I ask slowly.
“They gave you something to calm you down,” my father says hesitantly. His eyes are on my face, like he’s worried I’m going to fly off the handle. Did I before?
“Where’s Finn?”
My father looks away. “He can’t be in here, honey.”
“Why?”
My father sighs, and looks back to me. “You know why, Calla.”
I close my eyes. Because Finn knows I’m allergic to nuts. He knew and he gave them to me anyway.
Is that his version of saving me? Saving me from what? Sadness? Was his plan to kill me, then himself?
Pain ripples through me, slow, then hard, then unbearably, like a wave.
“I need to see him,” I say, the words cutting my lungs.
“No.” My father’s voice is firm.
I curl up on my side, looking away, out at the clouds having over the parking lot.
“Where is he?” I ask without looking at my father. He doesn’t answer, which sends chills down my spine.
“It’s my fault,” I tell him, turning over so that I’m looking him in the eye now. “It’s not Finn’s fault. It’s mine. I read his journal, I knew he was slipping and I should’ve told you, but I didn’t. He wants to save me from pain, dad. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. It’s not his fault, it’s mine.”
My voice takes on a jagged, desperate edge and my dad rubs my arm. “Calm down, sweetie. Everything’s going to be ok.”
“It’s not,” I insist, my voice shrill. “Don’t punish Finn. Don’t put him in the hospital, dad. It’s my fault. Not his. Not his.”
I’m practically screaming now, writhing in the bed trying to get up, but my dad holds me down, pleading with me. Before I know it, nurses have come in, two of them, one for each side. One injects something into my IV and then all of my agitation slips away. My anger is gone, my frustration non-existent.
“Please call Dare,” I whisper. “Please.”
And then everything is black.