Page 81 of Ruined Wolfsbane

BRIAR

Blindingly bright light assaults my eyeballs behind my closed lids. If the sun could tone it down a notch or ten, that would be great. I try to open my eyes to glare at the offending light, but it feels like someone superglued them together. After struggling for a moment, I finally pry my eyelids open and immediately wish I hadn’t.

The harsh fluorescent light feels like a hot fireplace poker shoved into my eyes. Through squinted lashes, I look around. I see sterile white walls, white tiled floors, and a white drop ceiling. I’m lying in what looks like a hospital bed. It’s, you guessed it, white.

“Am I dead?” I wonder out loud, because this is definitely how I imagine hell—an unending sea of sterile white waiting rooms.

“Bumble Bee!” a masculine voice I haven’t heard in seven years says from my left. I try to turn my head, but my neck muscles protest the movement. Gritting my teeth, I use all my concerningly little strength to look over.

My eyes widen in surprise when I see Uncle Vale and Aunt Abbie, my mom’s two best friends, standing at my bedside. They’re looking at me with undisguised hope and relief.

“Oh shit, I really am dead.” There’s no other reason they would be looking at me with anything other than disgust or hatred otherwise. My poor little dead mind clearly conjured them up to make hell more bearable. “Would it have killed Patrick to murder me somewhere nice? Like a field of flowers. Is that really too much to ask? Instead, he offed me in a dirty basement, which is super rude, if you ask me. How do I haunt the shit out of him? ’Cause he deserves it. Where is Patrick, anyway?”

Uncle Vale barks out a laugh. “Bee, you’re not dead.” I smile slightly at his booming laugh. It brings back so many happy memories growing up. “Patrick left before we got there, so we, unfortunately, don’t know where he is. We will find him.”

Aunt Abbie gives me a watery smile as she walks around to my other side. She plants a kiss on my head and strokes my hair soothingly. I lean into it for a moment.

I scoff. “Of course, I am. You’re both here. In real life, you hate me. You blame me for Mama’s death.” My little thirteen-year-old heart was crushed when Patrick told me they couldn’t stand the sight of me. I lost three of the most important people in the world to me that December.

I’m panting by the time I finish my sentence, feeling way too exhausted from a simple conversation. Yep, I’m definitely in hell. That’s the only explanation for feeling like I got trampled by a herd of angry rhinoceroses.

“You were right, though,” I say, my voice breaking. “Patrick killed Mama because of me.”

I close my eyes, trying to breathe through the pain strangling me. A few drops of water splash on my forehead. Glancing up, I see Aunt Abbie crying into my hair. “Hey, don’t cry, Aunt Abbie. Everything’s okay,” I try to reassure her, hating to see her hurting.

She laughs through her tears. “Nothing’s okay, honey, but it will be.”

“We never, not once, blamed you for Evie’s death, Bumble Bee.” I turn to look at Uncle Vale as he speaks. His forehead is creased in worry, and his mouth is dipped down in a frown. But his navy eyes shine with anger. “Patrick fucking lied to all three of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Patrick told us you didn’t want to see us. We reminded you of Evie, so you needed time to grieve without the constant reminder.” Uncle Vale’s hands clench into fists as he speaks. His knuckles are white under his tattoos from how hard he’s gripping. “Patrick said you’d call us when you were ready, but that was yet another lie from that bastard.”

My mouth parts in shock, and my heart does a pathetic little flip in my chest, daring to hope they don’t hate me.

“Don’t you have to say nice things if I conjured you to keep me company in hell?” They’d be pretty awful imaginary companions if they were mean to me. Although this is probably hell, so maybe that’s part of the torture. My brain is too tired to figure it out right now.

Aunt Abbie snorts in exasperation. “You’re not dead, Briar. Even if you were, you wouldn’t be in hell, baby.”

“Huh. Are you sure? I could have sworn I died from the beating Patrick gave me when I didn’t do what he wanted yet again.” Disappointing someone has never been so sweet. Dying was almost worth it to thwart Patrick’s plans. Suck on that, asswipe.

“We’re positive, Bee,” Uncle Vale assures me. He picks up my hand and gives it a comforting squeeze. He runs his other hand through his dark hair in a move that reminds me of Xander. My naïve heart wonders if the Wyldharts cared or even noticed that I disappeared.

Probably not.

I wish I could say it doesn’t matter to me if they care, but I can’t. I’m in way too deep with them.

“We found you in time. You were already passed out by the time we arrived. It was touch-and-go for a couple days, but you pulled through.”

“We were so worried about you.” Aunt Abbie’s voice shakes. She’s braiding my hair back for me. I don’t know if she even realizes it. Whenever they’d come visit, she always loved doing my hair. Aunt Abbie only has sons, so she enjoyed having a pseudo daughter to do girlie things with.

I’ve never met Uncle Vale and Aunt Abbie’s kids, which is weird now that I think about it. If I’m not dead and they really don’t hate me, I guess I can meet their boys some time. They’re a few years older than me, if I remember correctly.

While I’m enjoying Aunt Abbie’s gentle fingers working through the knots in my hair, my brain snags on one part of what Uncle Vale said. “Days? How long have I been out?”

“Three days,” Uncle Vale rumbles.

“Shit! Three days? Ava’s probably freaking out by now! Oh my God, what if Patrick goes after her next? I need to go get her!” I struggle to push myself upright. Something pulls on my right arm as I move. Glancing over, I see that I’m hooked up to an IV.

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