Page 20 of Poison Aches

I don’t allow myself the reprieve of complaining or asking for pain meds from the new nurse who took over my medical care a little more than ten months ago, thanks to her idiot of a granddaughter.

But then… why complain and why ask for help?

What’s that going to do?

Will it bring back my mother?

Will it reverse the damage done from almost drowning in freezing water all because I decided to play hero but for the wrong person?

No.

“Dude, are you just going to stay there the entire summer?”

The speaker crackles and I hear Noah Montreal’s loud voice, bringing me back to the present.

“Yeah,” I force myself to say.

“But why? Aren’t you bored?”

I look toward the huge floor-to-ceiling bay windows in my room.

From here, I can see down the estates toward the Montreal mansion. I can also see the huge-ass jumping castle thingy that looks like a haunted clown’s face, blowing in the wind over there.

It’s Noah’s birthday party and only he could make such a sadistic, scary thing look normal for a ten-year-old.

There are several kids there, having the time of their lives… but I’m here, like I’ve been after being discharged from the hospital five months ago.

“No.”

“That’s a lie!” Noah calls me out. “The twins are here. Astraea’s been asking for you.”

I pause. What do I say to that?

“Hey, I know you don’t like to speak and all, but can you at least make an effort to be interested in my birthday?”

I roll my eyes.

If there’s anyone who loves attention and the limelight on them more than anything, it’s this fucker.

“I sent your gift.”

“Yeah, I got the set of vintage-meets-modern-tech crossbow and arrows, dude! Sick gift!” Noah says cheerfully now. “I can’twait until you get back from fuck knows where you are, so we can get into some mischief together.”

I fall silent again.

To everyone, I’m away in Europe visiting my grandfather like I always do. But the truth is, I’m here in my mansion just next door, cooped up in my room…dying.

“Hey, King says to tell you to reply to his text, email, handwritten letter or whatever it is he sent you, and George said, ‘See you soon,’” Noah relays. “What do you want me to tell Astraea?”

“Nothing,” I mutter, relieved when my stutter isn’t triggered.

Noah blows a breath. “These one-worded responses, dude… is there anyone you ever talk to, like really get inspired to actually open that mean mouth of yours and actually say something that comes from a place of truth?”

“A place of truth?”

“Yeah, Mom says that to me all the time, when she wants me to fess up about my feelings or whatever her shrink tells her to look out for in her sons,” he grumbles with clear annoyance. “Craig says it’s adulting or whatever the fuck.”

An unwanted image of someone pops up in my head.

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