Filed To Story: Pretty Poisoned Novel by Elle Mitchell
I think I’m having a panic attack.
They finally finish singing and leave the table, and I go for my drink again, but my airway is so closed up at this point that I choke on it and end up spitting it back onto the table. I drop my face into my hands and try to will myself to suck in air.
“Whoa,” Blakely says. “It’s been a while since you had a drinkmaybe slow down a little bit. You’re not partying with rockstars; this is lunch with your mom.”
“Jesus, Blakely, do you have to bring them up?” Mom asks, shaking her head.
I need help. Can’t they see I need help?
I look up at my mother, hoping my eyes will convey the message, and her jaw drops.
“Mom, what’s wrong with her face?!” Blakely asks.
“Oh my god!”
As my vision becomes spotty, I fall out of the booth and onto the floor.
“Call 911!” my mom screams, diving across the table for my purse. “Is there kiwi in this!? Where’s her EpiPen?”
If I could speak, I’d tell her I don’t have one, and I haven’t had one since they took my bag in Wyoming. Since I can’t, I just lie there on the floor and wait to die.
I can see the headlines now: Teagan Townsend, Infamous Sucker, Killed by a Mother Fucking Margarita.
Iwake up in Rancho San Flores.
Or at least that’s what I think when I first open my eyes and take in my surroundings. White room, white sheets, shitty mattress and pillows. Then, I try to move and realize I’m covered in wires.
I’m not in Jurassic ParkI’m in a hospital because those assholes gave me kiwi, and I almost died wearing a sequined sombrero. My throat is still sore; I feel faint. On the side table, there’s a bottle of water with pink lipstick around the ring, the same shade my mother wears, and a vase of flowers.
I grab the card, open the envelope, and pull out the note.
I bet your throat would have felt really good closing up around my cock like that.
-B.S.
What.
When I glance back at the table, there’s a kiwi sitting next to that lipstick-stained water bottle. Suddenly, I’m not so thirsty anymore. I think I’mI think it’s happening again. I set the card down beside the flowers and look around the bed for that remote thing with the call button. Those are still a thing, right? But my head is swimming, my vision blurry. If it’s there, I certainly can’t find it.
An alarm blares from the monitor behind me, and a few seconds later, a nurse enters the room.
“You’re up,” she says cheerfully. The woman crosses the room toward the monitor on the far side of my bed. I follow her with my eyes and watch her morph into a tiny blonde girl in a leather skirt. I blink hard, and when I open them again, she’s back to her normal self. “Blood pressure drops after anaphylaxis are normal, but you should lie down.”
I do as she asks, and she grabs a clipboard and a pen, scribbling for a couple of minutes before asking, “How are you feeling, Teagan?”
“Um, lightheaded, but not terrible,” I tell her, my voice raspy and strained. “Am I going to be able to go home soon?”
“I think they’re going to want to keep you overnight,” she says. “You had a really serious episode, and we’ll need to monitor you for a biphasic response.”
“So, that’s going to happen again?” I ask.
“It can.”
“Awesome.”
My mom steps into the room with a coffee in hand. “Hey, you’re awake!”
“Yep.”
“All right, Teagan. I’m going to let the doctor know you’re up, and he’ll probably be in to talk to you soon.”
“Thank you,” my mom says as she leaves the room. “Where did these come from? Did Blakely send them?”
“What?”
The flowers. She’s talking about the flowers. Quickly, I turn back onto my side and reach for the card.
But there is no card. There’s no kiwi, either. There’s only the flowers and that half-empty water bottle with the lipstick ring around the lid.
I’m losing it. I’m losing my mind. Maybe I’m crazier than I thought.
“Huh. No card. Maybe they just put them in all the rooms. They look nice, though.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“I’m so sorry, Teagan.”
“My fresh start isn’t off to a great start, is it?”
“What’s odd is that the restaurant uses a premade margarita mix that doesn’t even contain kiwi. They said they don’t have kiwi in anything on their menu at all. But the doctor says sometimes these allergies and subsequent reactions can worsen as you get older. Someone must have had some on their hands or it may have even been shared equipment at the packaging facility.”
“Can I get some water?” I ask. “Sealed water, please?”
“I have water right here,” she says, indicating the bottle on the table.
“Yeah, I don’t no, not that one.”
Sorry, Mom. It’s not you. It’s just that I hallucinated a kiwi propped against it a few minutes ago.
“Sure, honey. I’ll run down and get you one.”
Once she leaves the room, I roll onto my side, and my hand brushes up against the remote I searched helplessly for minutes earlier. A chill runs up my spine, but I quickly put it out of my mind and turn on the TV in front of me.
I flip through the channels for a few seconds before a marquee headline catches my eye: “Former Gods of Tomorrow Blood Cult Member, Hazel Pinault-Hollis, Speaks Out.”
I think I’m choking again. Am I imagining this, too? Why would she do that?
“And tonight, we’re bringing you an exclusive first: Hazel Pinault-Hollis speaks out on her experience in the Gods of Tomorrow Blood Cult in an exclusive interview with Brandy Brookfield, airing tonight at nine PM. Hazel and her wife, River, lived with Declan De Rossi for almost a year and were with him the day the De Rossi brothers boarded a plane and disappeared last spring ”
The screen cuts to an image of Hazel and River, a selfie, smiling at one of the shows. That crushing feeling at the center of my chestthe one that was constant for months and almost killed meis back again. I hear the doorknob turn and, panicking, quickly change the channel, stopping on one of those home renovation shows.
My mom enters the room with the doctor trailing behind her. She hands me a bottle of water before sitting in the chair beside my bed, and, with shaky hands, I unscrew the top and force it down. I try to focus on what the doctor is saying, but I can’t hear much over my escalated pulse and the blood pumping in my ears. All I can think about is that Hazel is going to be on TV. I’m going to see Hazel’s face and hear her voice if I can get everyone out of my room.
What is she going to say?
I nod, pretending I understand everything I’m hearing, but I do hear that I will be kept overnight. My mom stays for a couple more hours, with my dad dropping in, too, and I just watch the clock, waiting for 9:00 PM and silently begging them to leave.
Eventually, they do, instructing me to get some sleep and turning off the lights. When the door closes behind them, I flip back to the news station and turn the volume down low.
The interview has already started. Hazel sits across from the reporter alone, wearing what appears to be a blonde wig, dark-colored denim, a long-sleeved black top, and black high-heeled boots. Her makeup is subtle. She looks like herself, but a softer version.
Like River.
She’s still explaining to the reporter how she and River met.
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