“Tell me this isn’t a move,” I whisper.
“It’s a warning shot.”
Jake doesn’t even glance our way as he and June cross the room, their path cutting through the tension.
And just like that, everything shifts.
The storm hasn’t started yet. But the sky’s about to break.
EPISODE 210
DOCTOR MY EYES
Misty
I see it in their eyes. In Heather’s. And in June’s before she left the deck.
They don’t believe me. They think I’m faking it.
My breath huffs in and out, loud and ragged. My chest aches from the effort, and I can’t seem to catch enough air. It’s like I’m breathing through heat.
My skin is drenched in sweat, but I’m cold. Not the good kind, not the kind that cools you off after a run. This chill creeps deep, settling in my bones as my clothes stick to me. My tongue feels swollen and dry, like it’s coated in sand. I try to swallow, but there’s no spit left. Just that raw, scratchy burn in the back of my throat.
My vision flickers at the edges, dark spots floating like gnats I can’t swat away.
“Let’s get you inside,” Darby, the doctor, says.
Sebastian and Alex help me through the doors and into the kitchen. The staff is cleaning up, and they lead me into the recreation room, which is currently vacant.
“Lay her down on the couch,” Darby instructs.
I sink into the cushions, but they feel too soft, too deep, like they might swallow me whole. The ceiling swims above me, shifting in and out of focus.
Darby kneels beside me, her bag open on the coffee table. “Can someone get cold compresses and a bottle of water? Not too fast. Small sips.”
“I’ll do it,” Sebastian says, already moving.
Alex stays close, pacing just a few feet away like he’s not sure if he wants to stay or bolt. His jaw is locked tight, his eyes unreadable.
Yes. They think I’m faking it.
My fingers tremble as I try to wipe the sweat off my face, but they won’t cooperate. They twitch uselessly in my lap. A bolt of panic zips through me, making my throat clamp shut.
“I—” I try to speak, but my voice breaks.
It’s not just dehydration. It’s something deeper. A current beneath the surface. A sickness in my chest I don’t know how to name.
Darby helps me sit up and then presses a cool stethoscope to my back. “Deep breaths.”
I try. The air goes in, jagged and hot. I cough, and the sound is too dry, too harsh.
Sebastian returns with a bottle and a cold towel.
Darby takes the water, unscrews the cap, and holds it to my lips. “Sip.”
It hurts going down. Just that small swallow feels like sandpaper. But my body takes it like it’s nectar.
“Better?” she asks.
