Page 171 of Sweet Venom
The whole thing was a nightmare.
Dahlia, Preston, and I didn’t go to the park. He didn’t get shot.
All of it is…not real.
And yet the weight crushing my chest remains there, heavy and obstructive, and I’m sucking air into my burning lungs with short pants.
I focus on my sister and pause. She’s wearing an oversized jacket—probably Kane’s—and her eyes are red.
Why does she look as if she’s been crying?
Dahlia doesn’t cry. She’s the strongest woman I know.
“Are you okay?” She sits on the bed, taking my hand in hers. “The doctor said it’s just a graze, but…”
Her voice breaks, her hand shaking uncontrollably around mine. And that’s when I notice that my upper arm is bandaged.
“Hey…” I don’t recognize my hoarse voice. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”
“I know…I know that, but all I keep thinking about is when you were in a coma, and I guess I thought you’d be gone again. I’m terrified of losing you, Vi.”
“You won’t.” I pull her in for a hug. “I’m right here.”
She buries her face in my neck, sniffling softly, and I pat her back, my fingers trembling due to the pulsing pain in my arm.
Then I realize the room we’re in smells of very familiar antiseptic.
The type of smell I was surrounded with for months and could breathe even when I was in a coma.
The hospital.
“Dahlia,” I whisper, my voice catching.
“Yeah?” She pulls away, wiping at her puffy eyes.
My gaze strays to the blotch of blood on her sweater, visible beneath the jacket, and my heart burns. “Were you hurt?”
“Oh, no, no.” She touches the dried blood. “This is because I was dragging you away from Preston.”
“So…it’s true?”
Images of Preston lying on the grass assault me. A large spot of blood drenched the center of his jacket, and his usually mischievous eyes were closed.
His lips were already turning blue.
“Where is Preston…?” I stumble from the bed, and Dahlia catches me before I fall.
I’m standing on unsteady feet as my sister hesitates.
“Tell me, Dahl, please.”
“He’s in surgery.” She bites her lower lip. “I think it’s bad, Vi.”
A doom-like feeling tears through my chest as I grab onto both of Dahlia’s arms for balance. “Take me there.”
“It’s better if you rest…” She trails off, probably at seeing my shaky lips and the horrified look in my eyes, and releases a resigned breath. “Fine.”
We walk together down the hall, but everything is blurry—the patients, the walls, and the staff.
