Page 78 of Bad Seed
I can’t believe I did it again.
Aubry was amazing. Without a word, he put his shirt on me, scooped me up, and drove me to the hospital. All the while, I sat in the front seat of his truck holding the next epipen if I crashed. He kept talking to me, trying to gauge if another reaction was going to hit.
Meanwhile, I kept pinching myself for being so stupid.
How did I miss it this time?
I swear I was good the whole week. Nothing new. I checked all the labels…
Unless that frozen stir-fry mix I got had eggplant added into it? No. I’m sure it doesn’t. It didn’t.
Fuck.
After Aubry carried me into the hospital, shouted that I was having an allergic reaction and needed help now. Holding me tight, he rushed for the room and sat me down where a nurse proceeded to poke me, stick an oxygen mask on, and wait.
And wait.
There’s always a lot of waiting.
Two hours on and he’s sitting in the chair, head resting on his fist looking about to fall asleep. I’ve been pumped with so much adrenaline I feel like I could run a marathon.Of course it might be a bit difficult with this IV in. Instead of getting up, I flip through the TV channels haphazardly.
The door opens. I don’t look over, but Aubry jerks awake then jumps to his feet.
“Miss Nair,” a random nurse who’s not mine says while flipping up a stack of papers.
“Hi.” I let the remote fall, my manic channel surfing landing on the Food Network. Great.
“Seems you had an allergic reaction.”
“Yes, I did.” I sigh, knowing this song and dance all too well.
He scrutinizes my file. “And you were just in here not even a month ago.”
“Yep.”
The nurse presses the clipboard to his hip and gives me the withering stare. “One too many exposures can make this a dangerous situation.”
“I know—”
He looks about to chastise me as if I can tell my immune system to stop freaking out over a vegetable. Then Aubry looms behind him, easily a good foot taller. “Is she in any danger?” he booms.
The nurse jumps and skitters farther from my bed. He’s staring at the papers again, but the scolding tone shifts to one of respect. “We managed to reduce the swelling and her airways appear to be seventy percent functional.” Then I get the finger wag. “But you need to speak with our specialist to devise a plan in order to avoid your allergen.”
My plan is to never eat eggplant. It generally works, except when it doesn’t and I wind up in the hospital.
“What is your allergen?”
With an exhausted sigh, I tell him. “Eggplant.”
The nurse doesn’t react beyond a little snort, but Aubry jolts upright fast.
“Did you accidentally consume any eggplant?” the nurse asks.
“No,” I declare confidently.
He grits his teeth and goes down the checklist as Aubry starts to pace. With a hand clutching his hair, he hides his eyes.
“What were you doing before you suffered your attack?”
