by T Gephart
“Am I going to kill you? Do you have epinephrine? I can inject you.”
“Relax, I don’t need a shot. The allergy isn’t that bad, I’m not anaphylactic, but I’m already breaking out in hives, so we need to get to the drug store quick. Now, will you please get in the car?” He reached up and scratched his neck as his other hand helped open the door I had yet to climb through.
“Yes, Yes. Of course.” I slipped into the passenger seat, waiting for him to get in on his side. My eyes glued to his chest in case there were breathing problems.
He slid into his seat and closed the car door behind him. The ignition roared to life before he’d even fastened his seatbelt.
“It’s really going to be fine, don’t look so scared.”
I didn’t just look scared, I was scared. Oh God, please don’t let anything bad happen. I swear I’ll never date again, just don’t let him die.
Of all the stupid things I had done, I had never tried to kill someone before. Not that I had—Max was still breathing, thank you baby Jesus—but I don’t think the jury would have bought my I’m-sorry-I-forgot when I shoveled potentially life threatening allergens into his mouth.
It didn’t matter that Max had played it off as no big deal—the danger of death almost nonexistent—I was guilty and deserved to be punished.
I was a teacher, the severity of food allergies all but beaten into us. I knew the implications of it all and what damage they could do. While I’d been fortunate enough not have had to deal with one first hand, I’d heard the horror stories from colleagues and school parents. This was very much a big deal.
The drive to the drug store hadn’t been far—another reason I was whispering heavenly thank yous—and with Max leaving the engine running while I sprinted inside and bought about ten packets of Benadryl and a bottle of water. Sure that didn’t look shady at all. I was almost positive the pharmacist was suspicious, but last time I checked you couldn’t make Meth from antihistamines so he sold me the drugs with some serious side eye and a cloud of judgment. Like I didn’t already have enough of that going on.
Then it was back in the car to get Max home and medicated.
I screamed. The car door behind me muffling my shirk of fear when I turned to see Max’s face pinked and covered in red welts, his lips puffy from swelling. It wasn’t as hideous as the scream had probably implied, I just hated the perfection of his face marred with the welts. Knowing I had caused it was even worse. His it’s okays tried to reassure me even though it was him who needed help.
I couldn’t even offer to drive him home. Not that I actually knew how to drive a stick shift, but I would have worked it out. Hopefully before leaving his transmission on the side of the road. But we didn’t even get that far, my blood alcohol well above the legal limit courtesy of one or two too many refills on my wine.
Thank God—clearly I had found a renewed faith in religion—we were parked in the undercover garage soon after. The small mercy that Christina’s and the drug store had been within blocks of our apartments.
The car stalled to a stop, with the ordeal hopefully coming to an end as well as I ran around to the driver’s side and helped Max out of his seat.
“I’m fine.” He’d tried to reassure me for the five millionth time while I clung to him with one hand and the paper bag with enough Benadryl to take down an elephant in the other. Max was a lot of things, fine was not one of them right now.
“No, I got you into this mess, I need to fix it.” Or at least implement some damage control. I still wasn’t convinced we shouldn’t be heading to an emergency room, my fingers ready to hit 9-1-1 at any second. I was already hyperventilating at his refusal to take the meds before we got home, if I’d had my way I’d have shoved them down his throat earlier.
“It’s not that bad, I’m not going to die. I promise.” Max laughed.
He laughed.
Like I hadn’t just tried to poison him under the guise of sweet creamy goodness. What’s worse is it was for my own selfish reasons. There was sure to be a special place in hell for people like me.
Thankfully I didn’t have to deal with any more judgment or evil stares, bypassing the lobby and heading directly to his penthouse. Once inside the elevator I let go of my grip on him as I tore into the paper bag, the bottle of water and boxes of drugs spilling onto the floor as we continued to climb.
“Shit!” I sunk to my knees snatching the packs and the bottle. His ever-present grin widening as I got back on my feet.
If this wasn’t such a life and death—his assurances it wasn’t hadn’t convinced me—situation I’d assume that smile was less innocent, me on my knees in front of him. Although it was probably only my own sick perverted mind that would think something sexual at a time like this. I swear I’m not a bad person.
My fingers fumbled with the stupid child-resistant foil backing while I tried to pry the pills from the box’s clutches. The elevator opening before I was able to complete my operation.
“You know the allergy hasn’t made me incapacitated.” He held out his hand’s offering to lighten my load. No need, I had this. Or at least I hoped I had this. The paper bag that had given me so much trouble shoved under my arm so I could better deal with this ridiculous packaging.
“No, no, it’s cool.” I stepped out of the elevator, nodding my head repeatedly like an idiot, Max following close behind.
Success! Those pesky pills finally coming loose, popping into my hand as we walked to his door. And not a moment too soon, his hesitation to take them before we reached home because he had to drive and they made him drowsy.
“Take these.” I shoved pills into his mouth without warning, his eyeballs opening wide at my hand against his mouth.
“Water.” He choked, clutching at his throat.
Shit. I knew I’d forgotten something, the bottle of water I’d retrieved from the elevator floor returned to the bag where it stayed, not helping. My fingers quickly twisted the cap and pushed the lip of the bottle against his mouth, the water flowing quickly as he swallowed.
At this point I can safely say that I can rule out any career change into the medical profession. I sucked as a nurse. I mean realllllly sucked, the water I was trying to pour into his mouth spilling across his chin and down his chest. My effort to help, making him splutter.
“You really are trying to kill me.” He coughed, sliding the bottle out of my hand and into his own. His shirt wet, as he used his other hand to wipe his chin. “You need to relax.” His smiled returned, as he walked us to his apartment.
Relaxing was not something I could see happening right now. I don’t know how he was blasé about it or how he couldn’t hate me.
Anyone else would have probably looked like a scary mutant.
But not Max.
His lips had puffed, slightly swollen, but not so much that they were distorted, in fact most of the people I know would have paid big bucks for the same effect. Even the welts weren’t that horrible. If it had been me, I’d have looked like I had some freaky skin necrosis. At the very least—okay, I was drawing at straws—I hadn’t ruined his beautiful face.
He unlocked his front door, the process taking less than a second before we had walked into the dark open space. His hand reached for the light switch so the room flooded with brightness.
“I’m so sorry.”
I wasn’t sure how many times I’d said it, but it wouldn’t be enough. Honestly, I felt terrible. What’s worse is that I had always known about his intolerance to strawberries and in the panic I’d forgotten.
“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m going to be okay. It’s really not that big a deal.” Max moved closer, his hands moving down my arms, the paper bag still tight in my grip.
“Can’t you just be angry at me?” I shook my head as he pulled the paper bag from my fingers and tossed it onto the coffee table, its existence meaning his new pad was now fully furnished. “I swear you being so cool with the situation is making me feel worse.”
Not once had
he blamed me, and if there was anyone at fault, it was me. Instead he wrapped me in his arms and pulled me close to his chest. I wasn’t sure if it was the hug or the steady beating of his heart that gave me comfort.
“Do you remember that time you borrowed my car and hit a trashcan and scraped paint off the fender?” He laughed, his hand gently pulling back my hair.
“Oh God, how could I forget? I threw up three times before I worked up the courage to tell you.”
It had been terrible. Not because I was worried about him being upset, but because I hated that I’d wrecked his beloved car.
“Did I yell? Or lose my shit?” He tilted his head to the side waiting for me to confirm what he already knew the answer to.
“Well . . . no.” He hadn’t even been upset. Just kissed me, asked if I was okay and told me accidents happened. He didn’t even let me pay for the repair, saying it added character to the car and left it as it was. At the time I thought it had been incredibly sweet—the perfect boyfriend—now I know I should have insisted.
“What about the time you washed my white vintage Soundgarden T-shirt with a pair of red socks? Did I fly off the handle then?” Max smiled, his hands moving to my chin.
I had come home from college over summer. I had spent more time with him and Joey than my own family. He hadn’t let me pay for groceries even though I was another mouth to feed and he was earning minimum wage so I did his laundry to try and thank him. I probably should have checked what was already in the machine before adding whites, his T-shirt coming out a lovely shade of pink when it was done with the spin cycle.
“Are you trying to remind me of everything I’ve done where I sucked? Clearly I was a terrible girlfriend.”
If there had been a time Max had been upset at me then I hadn’t been around to witness it. Not to say that he didn’t have a temper, I’d seen him get his hulk out when it mattered but that fury had never been directed at anyone he cared about. Not even his moronic lazy pot-smoking brother.
“You were not a terrible girlfriend.” His hands gently moved against the line of my jaw. “I’m trying to illustrate—probably badly because the drugs are starting to kick in—that I have a hard time being mad at you.”
“Well that’s dumb; those excuses alone would be very valid. No one would blame you.”
It was hard to look at him. Not because I felt bad—fine, not the only reason—but because looking into those brown eyes of his time traveled us back to the Bronx. Being in the house he shared with Joey, both of us broke and yet to realize our dreams. How happy he’d made me, how safe I’d felt. It was like being home.
“I’m not interested in what anyone else thinks.” He moved closer, his hands holding my face so I had nowhere to go as he pressed his lips to mine, softly, a tease. My mouth parted for him without waiting for my brain to give it permission, wanting more of what he was giving me.
“No one is watching this time,” he whispered against my lips. “And the only person able to stop me, is you.”
He didn’t wait for my reply, his mouth owning mine as his arms brought me closer. His tongue desperate like it couldn’t get enough. And it had my sympathies because I couldn’t get enough either. I wasn’t sure what the kiss meant or what was going through his mind, but at that moment, I didn’t care.
My hands grabbed his ass and pulled him close, the evidence of his arousal hitting my stomach—I guess I knew one thing that was going through his mind—as my body flicked into autopilot.
A moan escaped my lips as his knee parted my thighs. His hands moved across my body and landed at the base of my dress, the hem finding its way to my hip as his leg pushed against my core. The heat in between my legs felt like I would combust if he didn’t touch me more, his body reading my cues as his hands palmed my ass and he lifted me off the ground. The ridge of his rock hard cock stroked me through his jeans while my fingernails bit into his back.
If I thought I’d spent some time in the gym, it had nothing on what he had been doing. My constant tugging saw the shirt he’d been wearing very quickly removed. Well done, hands, I silently thanked them for their efficiency.
And if I’d been impressed before the removal of the shirt, then I had no hope dealing with reality. His firm body of chiseled perfection enough to make Chris Hemsworth jealous, my fingertips glided along the contours of his back while he yanked at my zipper.
Stopping would have been a good idea, or at the very least slowing it down. But I didn’t want to stop, my body craving him more with every kiss and touch. He lowered me only for a second, just enough for my dress to pool at my feet, his battle with my zipper conquered as my skin goose pimpled under his hands.
We were both adults, I rationalized. It wasn’t our first time and I had spent more time in a relationship with Max than out if it. He probably knew my body better than I did; this was totally not like a one night stand. Not that I assumed it would go on longer than tonight. So what if it was only for pleasure, no one was getting hurt. All valid. No reason at all to stop.
Except.
“Hey, are you okay?”
His mouth had stopped kissing, his lips opening and closing with no real rhythm. His motor skills were also off, his hands anchored at the base of my spine using my body more for stability, than for the erotic rendezvous I’d assumed we were moving toward.
“How many of those pills did you shove into my mouth?” His eyes had a hard time staying open as he swayed unsteadily on his feet.
“Ummm. A couple?”
It happened so fast I couldn’t be sure. That stupid packaging had been the work of the Devil and I was trying to get them out quickly, I can’t be positive of how many. Two, maybe three? Definitely not more than three. God, did I give him too much? No, no one was that stupid. There was no need to panic.
“Let me check.”
I unwound myself from his body—risky considering he was having trouble with gravity—and thankfully his legs accepted his weight without my help. Small victories, but still too early to cheer— moving on. Next I grabbed the paper bag, and sifted for the box I had opened. Success. Another victory with the first one that tumbled out being our golden ticket. All I had to do was look at the vacant places where pills should be.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Oh fuck!
“I need to lie down.” Max groaned as his head fell forward on his chest, his fight with gravity entering the second round. Ding Ding.
If I thought this ordeal couldn’t get worse, I was seriously mistaken. It could always get worse, which it was.
The fact I was standing in his living room in my underwear or that I had been dry humping his leg flew completely out the window as my attention returned once again to watching Max’s vitals. The rise and fall of his chest had never been such a welcome freaking relief. I couldn’t even appreciate its fine form any more, the only concern that the heart within it kept beating.
“I think you should try and stay conscious.” My brain thankfully jumped online as I ran through my mental crisis checklist. “I need to call Poison Control.”
“Beth, me staying awake is probably not going to happen right now.” His eyes opened, before shutting again, his body fighting the good fight and keeping him upright.
“Oh fuck, please just hold on a little longer.”
I grabbed my cell from my purse as I cursed every swear word I knew and even made up some, the number thankfully—probably because of idiots like me—printed on the back of the box.
“Bedroom, that way.” Max started to limp toward the closed door down the hall, his hands on the wall to support his weight.
My fingers couldn’t dial fast enough as I ran to Max, my body fitting underneath his shoulder as I helped him to his room, his feet getting more unsteady with each step.
Great, if he passed out, I’d have to add a head injury to my current list of misdemeanors. Once again I was mentally trying to make deals with whichever spiritual being
was in control of this debacle.
Whatever I did, I needed to be fast, the call connecting just as we made it into his bedroom, a few feet away from his bed. He didn’t wait for me, the last few steps taken under his own steam before he collapsed onto the mattress, thankfully not face first.
“Hello Poison Control . . .” I didn’t hear the rest of the rattled off greeting, probably something I should have been paying attention to. Not that common sense had prevailed yet, I mean, really? Why start now?
“My friend took four Benadryl by accident; is he going to die?” I yelled into the receiver, my hand on Max’s chest as it continued its up and down.
Of course that was a slight skewing of the truth, that I had forced fed them to him after I’d already tried to poison him glossed over in the need to get help. Oh, and these calls were monitored, so I would rather them call the police after I was sure he was going to see tomorrow.
“Ma’am, my name is Rhonda.” Her voice was calm and level the polar opposite to my current freak out. “Do you need 9-1-1 assistance?”
“I have no idea, he’s still breathing.” You didn’t need medical school to know that was a huge positive. And I needed as much positive as I could get.
“Well that’s a good start. Is your friend a child, a pregnant woman or elderly?”
“No, he’s not old or pregnant. He’s thirty-one.” I probably could have just said he was male and his age, but like always I was over complicating.
“So male, thirty-one. Is he responsive? Unconscious? Have any existing medical conditions?”
“Um, no he’s healthy.” I think, at this point it was a guess. “I don’t know if he’s conscious.” How quickly can someone slip into a coma? Who gives someone four Benadryl?
“Ma’am I need you to calm down and check for me okay?” Easy for her to say, she hadn’t drugged the bass player for Black Addiction. Calming down was a tall order. “Can I have your name so I know who I’m speaking with.”
“It’s Beth.” I guess that’s so they know who to address the warrant to.
“Max?” I sat down on the bed beside him and gently shook his shoulder. His lips parted as a breath pushed past. “Max I need you to stay awake for me.”
