Page 28 of My Lovely Tragedy
“Yes. I do believe my weather app said it was fifteen degrees this morning with a high of seventeen.”
“Wow, a heat wave,” he exclaims sarcastically, mouth curved before it falls just as quickly. “Wait, did you say?—”
I nod, swallowing the discomfort lodging itself in my throat. Twisting my hands in my pockets, I say, “I checked my phone this morning—as I have every morning—and noticed a slew of weather warning notifications. It seems they got the cell tower up and running again. Your phone should work now—and if it does not, feel free to use mine.”
Brooklyn’s eyes beam alight before he whips around and runs back inside… leaving the front door open for it to bang against the wall.Leaving me in the cold.
All I can think about is that flash of happiness—for his phone to be working—andnotfor me.
My eyes roll into the back of my head behind closed lids, and with my molars pressed tightly together, I force myself to breathe. A count of seven to nine.
One, deep breath in with a count to seven. All cold air blistering on its way down.
One, large breath out. Warm and shaky before it turns into white vapor as I count to nine.
“Are you coming in, or are you gonna keep standing out in the cold?”
My eyes fly open. I blink once. Twice. Brooklyn’s eyeing me warily, brows furrowed in the center. “You okay?”
I swallow. Clear my throat. Curl my fingers into my gloved palm. “Fine, yes. I’m coming.” He lifts his chin, waiting for my feet to move.
I obey the silent command and work my way through the rest of the snow, legs feeling heavier than they ever have before.
By the time I’m stomping the excess snow off on the porch before stepping inside, I feel sick. My stomach is roiling, filled with gaseous poison. Brooklyn’s phone is pressed to his ear, lips curved as words I can’t hear spill from between those perfectly pink lips, made redder from the air’s frigidity.
Everything around me muffles and blurs, transcribing into an echoing ring in both ears. The pain berating against my skull rages against the noise. Time slows as I home in on the pressure, closed eyes rolling back as it magnifies. Triples. Becomes unbearable.
Nausea bubbles in my intestines again, swirling and slithering through my organs like a poisonous snake, injecting venom wherever it can reach.
My legs buckle, an innocuous side effect I barely even register—but the hard crack of my kneecaps against the wooden floor is my biggest indication I’ve fallen.
A hand, impossibly warm and large wraps around my bicep. Even through the layers I’m wearing, I still feel it. To the bone.
“Tobias?Tobias?” Brooklyn’s voice echoes, reverberating around in my skull, getting more faint with each bounce.
It hurts to breathe, to move. To exist. But that hand is a beacon. A talisman keeping me pinned to a reality that slowly fades to black.
* * *
At the firstcrack of light, I’m bombarded by sensation.
Something cool rests against my forehead, dripping down my temples. Warmth encases my right hand with rough pressure. Skin I remember being ice cold is now burning with warmth.
I arch my back, feeling the hardness beneath. It forces both eyes open, my vision bleary and pained with the focal point of my migraine still raging behind my right eye.
“Tobias?”
My head turns toward that voice. Urgent and angelic.
“Hmm,” I grunt, swallowing against the scratchiness burning my throat. Fingertips graze my Adam’s apple.
“Are you thirsty?” I nod, eyes closing again. My head scrapes against something hard. The fingers on my left hand flex beside me, feeling the textured floor, making it easier to put the pieces together.
I must have fainted, probably a combination of low blood sugar, my anemia, and the onslaught of my migraine.
I’m probably lying on the floor in front of the fireplace—that would explain the burning heat and the wavering light.
Brooklyn’s hand cups the back of my neck, calloused fingers curving delicately and resting just below my ear. He eases me up with a pressure so gentle, it doesn’t feel natural. The rim of a cup is pressed to my cracked lips, and I part them instinctually, accepting the slow trickle of water into my mouth.
