Page 30 of Bound By Flames
Don’t get ahead of yourself.
My heart skips a bit as I realize she’s hyperventilating, her cheeks flushed with a crimson shade and her shoulders trembling in my hold. Carrying her in my arms up the stairs as fast as I can, I rush to our bedroom, shove the door open with my black leather boot, and get us in the bathroom.
I want to put her in the bath ‘cause maybe that will calm her, but her little voice interrupts my thoughts as I’m standing in the room with her in my arms.
“Fl-Floor, floor,” she whispers in an exhale.
I do as she says and kneel, resting her body on my lap while I keep my arms under her back and knees, the fabric of her red dress sliding up her thighs at the motion. Her watery eyes turn into a full waterfall, drenching my shirt like I just took a shower with my clothes on.
I’ve never done this. Not even when Vaness’ had the flu back then.
I’m on the floor of our white marble bathroom, holding my trembling wife in my arms and I honestly think she might break if I move.
Should I call a doctor? Give her a cold shower? Talk to her? Call her sister? Ask Maria to bring her a glass of water? Leave her alone?
For the first time since I lost my father, I can admit without a doubt that I don’t know what to do next.
Mia
The oil spreads in my guts like poison, shutting down my lungs and my logic. A storm is raging in my mind, and I feel like the passenger of a boat that’s leaving me in the sea after someone pushed me overboard.
I’m right here, please.
I need help.
Don’t let me die here.
Only the sea is raging and I have no more energy to swim. The waves keep crashing into me each time my head gets above water. Maybe I’m crying, I’m not sure, but something is dripping from my jaw.
“Fuck, Mia,” Ares’s says with an urgency I have never heard before, pulling back the wet hair that is sticking to my face. “You okay?”
Focus on his voice. Push the water away.
“It’s–I’m okay, I’m okay,” I mutter, gasping for air, my fingers pinching my shoulders so hard I’m afraid I’ll cut myself with my sharp nails. His large palm takes my hand in his, squeezing it hard.
“No, you’re not. Fuck, you’re not okay, Mia.” His worried tone sends a slight flash of warmth inside my dying body. I’m too out to see what he’s doing exactly, but I sense his arms shifting me, and all of a sudden, I’m on his lap, straddling him, his arms around me, pulling me close to his chest, my head on his shoulder as I feel his heartbeat pound as hard as mine against my ribcage.
“I’m gonna die,” I whisper into his shoulder, the air closing down on me as I picture the oil spreading all over my throat, blocking the oxygen from coming in. Black and white spots pound in my eyes, hopelessness sinking its claws deep into my mind.
I’m going to die right here, right now, without saying goodbye to my sister.
I’m going to drown in front of him and there’s nothing he can do.
There’s nothing anyone can do.
The poison is running inside me at the speed of a horse on a racing track, making my skin itch everywhere. My senses betray me as I picture mold growing inside my guts, brain, and heart.
It’s always like that, once I feel like the food is poisoning me, then I can’t stop it anymore. My brain goes on autopilot, and imagines whatever I ate turning my insides into a swamp. Lovely, I know, but that’s just the ugly truth of my messed up eating disorder.
“You’re not going to die,” he murmurs in my ear before whispering other soothing sounds people would use on children to make them fall asleep, his hand rubbing circles on my back.
“I’m right here with ya, and there’s no way I’m letting you die. Okay, princess?” I hear him, but my brain is too focused on fighting the lack of oxygen to let his words get through to me.
“It’s too late. It’s–it’s spreading,” I manage to say, attempting to warn him that he’s about to hold a dead body in a matter of minutes.
Logic, think logically, Mia.
It’s just food.
