Filed To Story: Pretty Poisoned Novel by Elle Mitchell
But there’s something else unwelcome in the room nowa bowl of kiwi where the flowers used to be.
“Fuck!” I scream, stomping across the room. One by one, I hurl them against the wall, watching them splatter before dropping to the ground. Gritting my teeth, I try, once again, to regain control over my breathing. I almost bring my hands to my face before I realize they’re covered in kiwi juice.
Oh, shit.
Panicking, I rush to the bathroom, and, using a paper towel to prevent spreading it further, I turn on the faucet. I scrub and scrub my hands and arms until the skin feels raw. Then, I coat the same area with hand sanitizer before returning to the kiwi-infested room.
Except there is no kiwi residue on the walls. There are no kiwi on the floor, and the flowers are back on the table. I stay there, frozen.
“Teagan Townsend?”
“Um yes?” I answer, tears stinging my eyes.
“I have your breakfast,” the man says. He enters the room and sets it on the tray. “Are you okay, miss?”
“I have some medication,” I almost whisper. “I’m on an antipsychotic and an antidepressant. I need them.”
“Sure I’ll let the nurse know,” he says before leaving.
Slowly, I walk back to the bed and climb under the covers. I look at the tray of pancakes and bacon, but all I can think about is kiwi. I push the tray aside and pull the covers over my head.
You’re losing it, Teagan. You need to get your shit together.
They discharged me about an hour later, shortly after my mom arrived, and sent me home with a few extra EpiPens and instructions to call 911 if I have another attack.
“Don’t forget you have a virtual appointment with Dr. Miller this afternoon at three,” my mom tells me.
“After all of that?” I ask. “Can’t I reschedule?”
“No, you can’t reschedule, Teagan. It’s an important part of your transition.”
“Fine.”
“Your dad and I have a dinner tonighta work thingso we won’t be back until after midnight. And you should spend the rest of your time today applying for jobs.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I have to go. But Teagan? Really stay off social media. Stay away from anyone and anything involving that band.”
“No problem.”
“Text me if you need me and call the office line if there’s an emergency. Remember, the doctor said no driving for another twenty-four hours. I can have some pizza delivered later if you want.”
“I’ll figure something out,” I say, turning the corner into my room.
There’s a yellow shirt draped across the back of my desk chair. On the front are the words ‘Everything is bigger in Texas!’ under a woman with comically large tits.
I quickly duck back out of the room.
“Mom?” I call.
“Yeah?”
“Can you come here for a second?”
“What is it, Teagan?” she asks.
“I just want to know if that shirt on the back of my chair is yours or not. I’ve never seen it before.”
She peeks around the corner and into the room. “On the chair?” she asks. “Teagan, there’s no shirt on your chair. I really need to get to workif you find something of mine, just set it in my bedroom, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” I tell her. And when I enter the room for the second time, there’s no shirt.
I’m malfunctioning. I wonder if I can mention this to Dr. Miller without getting locked up again. It’s probably best not to risk it.
I sit at my desk, create a new email address, and spend the next few hours applying for at least fifty different serving and assistant jobs in South Orange County, each online application more tedious than the last.
Then, with shaky hands, I type River and Hazel Pinault-Hollis into the browser. As the results populate, I assure myself that this is different than entertaining bloodsluts and conspiracy theoriesthis is just me, checking on people I care about and making sure they’re okay. After all, the last time I saw them, they weren’t okay; none of us were. I take a deep breath, then sort by recent. Once I get past all the articles summarizing last night’s interview, I get to news about their arrests and subsequent releases for cooperating with law enforcement. I read through the article, but it doesn’t give much away. It does say that she and River both pled guilty to evading law enforcement, down from aiding and abetting, and are on house arrest.
I hit the back button and continue scrolling the search page, stopping on a YouTube video claiming they’ve caught River and Hazel on camera. In the still photo, the girls have brown hair; people in the comments argue over whether or not it’s really them, but when I push play, the shorter girl looks up for just a second, and the camera captures her eyes, and I knowI know it’s her.
I’m familiar with those sad, blue eyes. I’ve seen them look exactly like that once beforeit was at a Dallas hotel in a bloody men’s restroom. Do they always look that way now?
I hope not.
The man films them sitting on a porch swing outside of a small bungalow converted into a duplex, attempting to lure them into engaging with him, but it doesn’t work. The two of them get up and head inside, slamming the door behind them.
The camera pans the street before it shuts off, and I quickly hit pause when it captures a mailbox across the street. Zooming in, I try to make out the address. It’s blurry and incomplete, but the numbers 1141 and the letters “Zep” are visible. I grab my phone, type in “1141 Zep,” and watch it auto-populate different versions of 1141 Zephyr across the country.
Zephyr Way, Zephyr Street, Zephyr Hill, Zephyr Drive.
But only one of those is in a place I know would have graveled front yards, and that’s Glendale, Arizona. It checks out; the two of them grew up around Phoenix.
Five and a half hours. Is it possible that River and Hazel are just five and a half hours away in that little bungalow? After being sequestered from the world, it feels like nothing.
An alarm on my phone lets me know I have only ten minutes until my appointment. And I have a curfew. But tomorrow
Tomorrow, I could leave early and still be back before curfew if I have the balls to risk having the wrong place or worsehaving someone I love slam the door in my face.
But maybe they would want to see me. The way Hazel said my name last night on television it sounded like she cared about me.
I pull my hair into a bun and put on a fresh t-shirt before logging into the app and waiting for Dr. Miller.
“It’s been a while, Teagan,” Dr. Miller says. “How have you been?”
Since I don’t know where to start, I explain to her that I’m just kind of tired of talking about what happened, and I’m perpetually exhausted from thinking about it. She tells me she has my records from Rancho San Flores, so she’s up to speed, and we can just talk about right now instead.
And right now, I’m tired, too. I’m not sure how to move through the world anymore. I don’t tell her about any of my imaginary friends or the kiwi.
And in the end, she tells me to try to get some fresh air, spend time with my family, and do the things I used to love before all of this happened.
“The things I used to love?” I ask, my brow furrowing in confusion. “All of the things I used to love are things I was explicitly told not to do.”
“Well, maybe instead of social media, you could go out and meet people in real lifefor friendships, not anonymous sex.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had anonymous sex. I always introduced myself.”
“You could start reading again,” she says, ignoring my comment. “Maybe stay away from horror, start with something less violent.”
“Reading makes me think of Declan,” I tell her. “That’s what we used to do together, not kill people. We used to lie in bed and read. He liked it when I’d read to him out loud and play with his hair. I haven’t read since.”
“And you still miss him?”
I falter for a moment, a small crack in my facade I’m sure she notices. Dr. Watkins never asked me if I missed Declan. The focus was always on convincing me that the way I felt wasn’t real and the things that happened were wrong. How can you miss someone you hate? Someone who broke something inside of you that you can’t fix, ensuring you’ll never have a place in the world again?
New Book: Returned To Make Them Pay
On her wedding anniversary, Alicia is drugged and stumbles into the wrong room—straight into the arms of the powerful Caden Ward, a man rumored never to touch women. Their night of passion shocks even him, especially when he discovers she’s still a virgin after two years of marriage to Joshua Yates.