Page 43 of The Cannibal

14

THE POISONER

Ice crackled and chimed a song as it hit the mild evening air. With the bathroom window cracked, I watched the haze lift over the park as the sun slipped away.

A swishing, then splash.

“That better?” Phoebe shook the bucket for the last few chips of ice.

I sank lower, lifting one cube in the palm of my hand. They were perfectly square, cut for whiskey.

“Utterly divine,” I hummed.

I didn’t realize that the hungry fever wasn’t just the swampy summer heat. Even when the bath was full of ice, it was completely comfortable on the skin. For me, at least.

Rose oil stained my skin with a lovely fragrance. Phoebe brushed my hair outside of the tub, plaiting it before twisting it onto the back of my head. I plucked a lemon slice from a tray, biting directly into it. Even when, in my mind, I know it should be sour and displeasing, my tongue said otherwise. The flavor was simple but not like I remembered it. It tasted like it smelled: refreshing, with notes of something complex. My best comparison was like how alcohol was biting, yet we still found flavors we appreciate aside from that.

The chill of the water was helping with the pestering anxiety. It was like I’d had coffee on an empty stomach. A racing heart and an emptiness at the pit of my gut. It made my mouth dry, my hands clammy.

“I hope this helps to settle you.” Phoebe began sticking my hair with pins to keep it in place.

She was wrapped in something nice for the evening, a blush pink evening dress with rosy pin stripes.

“Stomach hurts.”

“We just have to get you moving with fresh air,” she insisted.

“I feel like I’ve lost it.” I turned to look at her. Her green eyes snapped up to me, then she removed the pins held between her teeth. “My body can’t keep pace with what’s happening. I can feel it.”

“Don’t speak of such things,” she scolded, her finger pointed warningly. “You are fearless, confident, and strong. You always have been. This is a feeling you will overcome.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Banish that suggestion from your mind,” she advised.

“If I am honest,” I began, “I don’t feel quite myself.”

“How so? You are just having a bit of trouble⁠—”

“I feel weird, different.” I winced. “I’ve cried more since waking than I ever did in five years.”

“Your body is going through changes, it’s understandable.”

“But only you see it that way,” I snapped. “Like you said, appearances matter, and they aren’t in the favor of a perceptively hysterical woman.”

“You are especially vulnerable right now. Not just physically, but mentally. You need to give yourself some grace.” She tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, her fingers lingering by my neck. “This is a big change for you, and I know it isn’t the favored outcome, but that’s just how the cards fell.”

I rubbed my face with the cold water. The pressure from my palms against my eyes was grounding, just not enough to dismiss the sour feeling at the pit of my stomach.

“Will you be all right tonight?” She stood, brushing off the wrinkles of her skirt.

“I don’t like parties anyway,” I reminded her, sinking farther into the bath.

“I’ll sneak you some food later,” she teased, “and we can share it with some champagne.”

“Sounds lovely.” I smiled, but it was more to show I would be fine without the fuss.

“Sidney is watching the hallway tonight. No one is allowed on the upper floors while guests are here.” She slipped on her gloves, flexing her fingers to make sure they were fitted. “You’re sure you’ll be fine alone? I could blame my absence on illness if you feel you need the company? Or maybe⁠—”