I nabbed the flask, practically pouring it down my throat, there was no need to swallow. When it ran out, I found myself grasping with both hands as if I could squeeze just a few more drops. At this point, sustenance was sustenance. I couldn’t afford to be picky, even if the blood tasted a bit acidic.
Edith pulled the empty canister from me.
“Why,” I demanded between recovery breaths.
“You’re starving. You can’t do this much longer.” She twisted the cap of the flask securely.
“If she finds out?—”
“You didn’t break any rules.”
I stared at her, my grip on the arms of the chair tight. Not that I couldn’t move them, but as the pain in my head dulled, I was becoming more aware of what was happening.
“I got it from the hospital, from a patient,” she said quickly, filling in the questions in the air.
“It doesn’t matter where you got it, she will assume it’s from?—”
“You are my only friend,” she interrupted, settling in my lap and sighing, unable to look me in the eye yet. “I’ll be damned if you starve.”
I nodded hesitantly, glancing over her shoulder to check the door.
The way she looked at me was with a different kind of hunger. A craving, no less, but for something deeper. It wasn’t something I could give her. Edith leaned in, and my hand snatched her arm firmly.
She nearly startled. The pause was succinct, as if to contemplate her actions before she ultimately decided to ignore it.
That is when she kissed me.
Her soft hand touched the side of my face, the one numb from the scar. I barely felt it. Her lips trembled, vulnerable, asking me to open for her. Her eyes fluttered closed, holding me so tight despite my resistance.
I stared, wide-eyed, lips unopened.
She looked up at me, her eyes shifted from my good eye to my blind one, searching for even a dim flicker of interest. Surely, she would have given up on trying to read me by now.
Edith’s lip trembled, her fingers traced my scar from my cheek down to my lip, her last plea.
I took her hand, removing it from my face.
“You should go back.” I swallowed. “Please.”
“Don’t you feel it?” She was breathless, manic. “The pull?”
“You need to leave,” I said, slower this time, no longer a suggestion.
Her nose flared, her lips pressing into a thin line. I could smell the tears before they started. She stood from my lap, pulling her arm from me as she backed away.
I couldn’t decide if it was worse for her or myself.
She wiped her face with her sleeve before leaving, slamming the door behind her.
I sat, petrified, at the desk. I finally let go of the arm of the chair, having to flex my hand to recover from the tension.
I needed to fix this. I couldn’t let it get that bad again, and I certainly couldn’t rely on Edith.
I needed to talk toAlina.
41
THE POISONER
