Chapter 2 - The Golden Breath
The dining room sounded like a slaughterhouse. My mother’s shrieks bounced off the crown molding, sharp and hysterical, while Julian thrash-rolled on the oak floor, his fingernails digging bloody furrows into his throat. His tongue was swelling between purple lips, his eyes rolling back until only the whites showed.
"Do something! God damn it, Richard, he’s dying!" Mother wailed, violently shoving my father toward Julian’s kicking legs.
Dad was frozen, staring down with his phone trembling against his ear, murmuring nonsense to an automated 911 dispatcher. Beside them, Bianca had dropped to her knees, sobbing with her face buried in both hands—a perfect portrait of the devastated fiancée.
Except her fingers weren't pressed to her eyes. Her knuckles were parted just enough to peek through.
I didn't have time to analyze the strange, rigid absence of tears in her posture. Muscle memory took over. I ripped the zipper of my purse open, reached into the side pocket, and pulled out the gray and yellow auto-injector. My spare EpiPen.
"Get away from him!" Mother screamed as soon as she saw me drop to my knees beside Julian. She lunged, her manicured nails swiping at my arm. "You’ve done enough! You jealous little bitch, don't touch my son!"
"Shut up, Eleanor!" I barked, using my shoulder to slam into her ribs with enough force to knock her back onto the carpet.
Julian’s heels Drummed against the floorboards in frantic, fading spasms. His airway was almost completely closed; a wet, horrifying rattle whistled in his chest. I didn't care that two minutes ago he had waved crab soup under my nose, daring me to die for his amusement. In this moment, he was just a human animal drowning on dry land.
I pulled the blue safety release off the top of the pen.
"Hold his leg!" I shouted at Dad.
Dad blinked out of his stupor and threw his weight across Julian’s flailing shins. I swung the orange tip down hard against Julian’s outer thigh.
*Click.*
The spring-loaded needle fired straight through his tailored slacks. Julian’s entire torso arched off the floor in a violent shock, a strangled gasp tearing out of his swollen vocal cords. I held the pen firmly in place, counting aloud through the ringing in my ears:
"One. Two. Three. Four. Five."
I jerked the injector away. Julian went limp. For three terrifying seconds, the room was dead silent except for the crackle of the holiday hearth.
Then Julian’s lungs dragged in a massive, ragged intake of air. A sound like tearing canvas.
Mother collapsed over his chest, weeping incoherently. Across the ruined spread of the dining table, through the spilled wine and abandoned silverware, my eyes met Bianca’s.
She wasn't crying. Her face had drained of all color, her jaw clenched so tight the tendons stood out against her throat. She wasn't looking at Julian with relief.
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She was staring at me with pure, unadulterated hatred.
***
