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I pop my eyes open and turn to him. Yup, I was right. Guilt is written all over his face. Finally, I can read what he’s feeling. It’s no longer a passing shadow, it looks like a permanent feature.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t realize you’d have such a hard time with this.”
It’s too late for sorry but I don’t say that. I don’t say anything. His thumb begins to twirl circles on the skin above my elbow and a rush of pleasure floods me. I shouldn’t like his touch so much. He shouldn’t be able to calm me. My entire body shouldn’t relax.
“Sorry.” My voice goes hoarse. “As you know, I have problems with anxiety.”
Slowly, he wraps me into a hug, holding me against his hard chest. My ear is pressed to the cotton of his t-shirt, his heart thumping beneath the fabric. The fresh scent of the laundry detergent I used on his clothing all summer envelops us. Even more calm floods me, this time enough to drown out the rising panic. Ethan is a lot of things, but he’s not going to let me down in this. If he says I’ll be back in time for school to start, then I will be. I have to trust that, because the alternative is more unbearable anxiety.
White-hot pain zaps my right ankle. It sears around my foot. Razors dig through the skin. I scream and stumble back, but the pain only increases.
Ethan’s eyes are huge but I can’t think about that, all I can think about is the pain. I shake out my foot, water flying in every direction.
A jellyfish floats against the surf.
“Fuck,” Ethan hisses, picking me up and carrying me away from the water.
I can’t think. All I can do is scream. The pain is terrible. Angry welts wrap around my foot and ankle where the tentacles got me. They bounce up and down in my vision and Ethan runs with me in his arms up the beach, up the old stairs, and finally into the house. Each second lasts a lifetime and the pain is an eternity.
“We need to soak it in vinegar,” he says and I shake my head, only wanting the coldest water possible.
“But it burns,” I cry against his chest.
“I know, baby. Just hang on.” He sits me down on the kitchen counter next to the sink and brushes the unruly hair from my face and mouth and wipes away the tears. “Trust me, you don’t want fresh water to heal this, you want vinegar, and then cortisone cream. We’re going to have to do it twice a day until you’re healed.”
He says words, smart words that probably make sense, but I don’t care right now. I can’t stop crying. He disinfects the sink and puts my foot in it. He doesn’t touch the faucet. The idea of vinegar on these wounds instead of icy water sends me into a downward spiral. I beg for cold water but he won’t listen. I reach for the tap but he pushes my hand away. And then he holds me to his chest and shushes me. It’s not helping, I’ve never felt pain this bad. Is it supposed to be this bad or is there something wrong with me?
I must have said that last bit out loud because he answers in a nurturing tone. “It really does hurt. I’ve been stung twice and it’s terrible, but you might be having an allergic reaction. We’ll know soon enough.”
That sends my spiral deeper. What happens if I’m allergic? Will I die?
My mind is racing, imagining everything that could go wrong, but he’s back to shushing me, assuring me that I’ll be fine either way, that he’ll get me to the hospital if he has to.
“A hospital that’s on the other side of an island covered in hurricane debris?”
Unlikely.
“If I have to, yes. You’re going to be okay.” But I can hear the slight tremble in his voice, can see the way his hands are starting to shake. He’s not sure what’s going to happen either. He’s just as scared as I am.
He grabs the vinegar and begins to pour it over my foot and ankle. It’s terrible at first, igniting the burns. I hold arms around his waist, gripping onto him for dear life.
“Just breathe,” he whispers.
But I can’t. I hold my breath. He tells me to count to seven and then to release for seven, to breathe in and out slowly, and reluctantly I give it a try. After a few rounds of his method, my breathing slows and my mind focuses. The pain is dissipating. It’s still there, but it’s like I’m disassociating from it, like it’s not so much a part of me as it was a minute ago. And I’m breathing normally again.
We stay that way for a while, long enough for the vinegar to begin to dry, and then he carefully pulls my leg from the sink. I wince at the movement, but the worst of the pain is gone.
“So I’m not going to die?” I ask with a hiccuping laugh.
“Looks like you’re going to survive. You don’t seem to be allergic and thank God that jellyfish wasn’t a box.”
“A box?”
“Yeah, the box jellyfish show up here sometimes, especially after bad storms. They’re some of the most poisonous to humans.” He rakes a hand through his dark hair and frowns. “We shouldn’t have gone in the water. We already knew a bunch of stuff had washed up. I’m so sorry, Arden.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“But it is. I knew better.” He pauses for a long second and then tells me to stay there while he finds the cortisone cream. “As tempting as it may be, don’t put cold water on that. It’ll only make it worse, baby.”
