Cravings of the Heart (Trials of Fear Book 5)

by Nicky James

  When I woke, it was five in the evening. I dressed in clean clothes and headed out the door again, not wanting to waste a minute, needing to know what had happened with Arden’s tests and what was going to be done for him.

  But first, I drove to Phoenix’s. I needed someone on my side. On Arden’s side. Someone who would listen and understand the truth behind his problem. Arden’s parents would never listen to me, that much I knew.

  And I didn’t think Arden was ready to reveal the truth.

  Phoenix answered after the first knock and opened the door wide without a single argument. He was still dressed in slacks and a button-up like he’d just come from work.

  “It’s like you were expecting me,” I said.

  “I knew you’d be here eventually. I got a rant-raving phone call at nine o’clock this morning from my mother. For one solid hour, I couldn’t get a word in. Are you back in my life as a friend? Did I know you and Arden were seeing each other? Was I responsible for setting you up? What would possess me to stay quiet about such a grave offense to God? I’m telling you, I don’t know how I didn’t get fired. Everyone in the office could hear her through the phone, and it is your fault I’m in the middle of all this.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not. I told you they wouldn’t be happy. I told you to stay away from my brother.”

  “I’m not going to hide from them forever. I like Arden.” Phoenix scrunched his nose in disgust. “Even if you don’t like the idea of us together, it won’t change anything.”

  “I know. I’m trying to get over it. Do you want a beer or something? I just got home.”

  “Maybe a coffee. I slept all day and I’m heading back up to the hospital in a few, but I wanted to talk to you first.”

  Phoenix stopped with his hand on the refrigerator and spun back.

  “Dude, Mom and Dad informed the staff you weren’t allowed access to Arden. They won’t let you see him.”

  “Arden is twenty years old. It will be up to him not them. I need to know how his tests went and what’s going on.”

  “Same shit as always. Dad called Mr. Yemen, and Arden is being his typical stubborn self. He won’t eat. They can’t make him. Arden will leave against the doctor’s wishes, and the cycle will keep going.”

  I processed Phoenix’s words, my stomach sinking at the thought of Arden leaving without proper care.

  “Phoenix, I need to talk to you. I need you to listen to me. Really listen to me.” He was about to find a mug for my coffee, but I stopped him and spun him to face me. For once, Phoenix must have seen how serious I was.

  “All right. What?”

  “If your brother doesn’t get proper help, and soon, his heart is going to give out on him. I saw the numbers yesterday, I know what it can mean if they are sustained for too long or if they continue to drop. If Arden leaves that hospital without proper help, he will keep doing what he’s doing, and eventually, his heart will give up.”

  I swallowed past a lump in my throat. Phoenix’s face turned grave.

  “You think it’s that serious?”

  “It is.”

  “Fuck! Why doesn’t he smarten up? Why the fuck is he doing this to himself?”

  I stepped in closer to Phoenix, backing him against the counter so he couldn’t escape. “I’ll tell you why. Arden isn’t doing this on purpose. Phoenix, he’s terrified of eating.”

  “Oh, bullshit!” He tried to blast through me and shove me out of the way, but I was prepared and pressed a firm hand to the center of Phoenix’s chest, holding him in place.

  “I said listen. Six years ago, Ivory and Arden ended up with botulism. Their weaker immune systems struggled to fight it, and the hospital barely caught it on time. Arden lost his twin sister and nearly died himself. Because of something he ate, Phoenix. Are you following? You said so yourself that he hasn’t been the same since. You said this all started back then. How can you see the obvious evidence in front of you and not see for yourself what’s really going on? Everything he eats threatens his life. I sat beside him today when the nurse tried to make him eat breakfast. He nearly lost his mind. He wasn’t acting out. His entire system when into fight or flight and it launched him into a panic attack.”

  I flicked my gaze over Phoenix’s face, looking for any signs he understood what I was saying. Phoenix wet his lips and frowned.

  “But he must know that’s ridiculous. That doesn’t make sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense. How sick was Arden back then?”

  “We almost lost him too. When…” Phoenix’s eyes misted over, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “When Ivory’s heart stopped, because the paralysis moved down through her body, and the doctors tried to resuscitate, Arden… he watched the whole thing. They were side by side in the room. He was weak and mostly non-responsive at that point, but… when Ivory coded, he… he… he tried to get to her. He tried to crawl out of bed… but he couldn’t and—"

  Phoenix’s chin wobbled, and instead of letting him finish, I tugged him into a hug and squeezed him tight.

  “He watched her die, didn’t he? And there was nothing he could do about it. Arden is haunted by what happened to them. Don’t you see? Eating contaminated food nearly killed him and it did kill Ivory. Everything is a threat now. He can’t do it. It’s not that he wants to be like this, he just can’t make himself eat. He can’t see past the danger.”

  Phoenix took a minute to pull himself together before he peeled from my arms and paced the kitchen floor, scrubbing at his face. I let him walk out his stress for a few minutes because I knew I finally had his attention.

  “But why wouldn’t he just say so? Why does he make it all into a big game and lie and go along with all the bullshit excuses people give him instead?”

  “Arden doesn’t like to be seen as weak or not in control. He can control the lies. He can’t control this fear. He doesn’t know how to ask for help because it’s admitting a weakness. His whole life he’s been given that label of small and weak and of a person who needs to be coddled. I get the sense he hates it. And he’s scared, Phoenix. The truth terrifies him.”

  Phoenix’s shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. “Fuck. This is so messed up. But… I don’t get it. Why don’t the doctors see it for what it is? Why are they treating him as anorexic if he’s not? Shouldn’t they know?”

  “I wondered the same thing. Think about it. It probably took a long time for his lack of eating to affect his health like this. It’s been six years, but I bet it’s only been one or two at the most since it got bad enough to truly affect his health. The doctors at the emergency aren’t privy to the whole history. They see what’s in front of them. He needs help, Phoenix. I don’t understand how his psychiatrist didn’t see through all this. It seems so obvious now when I look at it.”

  “Yeah, well, Carl is kind of an idiot, and he’s no psychiatrist.”

  “Who’s Carl?”

  “Mr. Yemen. He’s the guy Mom and Dad make Arden go talk to. He’s a counselor.”

  “What kind of counselor? What do you mean? Where’s his practice?”

  “He doesn’t have one. He’s a guidance counselor at the Catholic high school, but before that, he did some of the religious family counseling sessions at the church.”

  “Are you telling me Arden has never had professional help?”

  “Depends on your definition of professional. The first guy he saw was no different. He was another spiritual leader from the church. Mom and Dad swore by him. When he left, Carl took over.”

  “Wait! You said Arden was diagnosed with depression after Ivory’s death. Who diagnosed him?”

  Phoenix threw his hands out wide like it should have been obvious.

  “Are you serious? These people can’t diagnose. Was he ever medicated for depression?”

  “The only medication a person needs is God.” Phoenix said it like he was quoting a commonly used phrase he’d heard a million times over.

  I r
an a hand over my shorn hair. “I think I’m going to be sick. And did these professionals also diagnose him with anorexia?”

  “Yup.”

  “Phoenix! How can you turn a blind eye to this? Your brother is going to fucking die if he doesn’t get proper help! Do you hear me? He is showing signs of heart failure! The doctor bluntly stated his organs would start shutting down.”

  Phoenix nodded and ducked his head. “I hear you. I didn’t know it was this serious. What the hell do we do?”

  “We start by finding out how his tests went and what the doctors are saying. Your parents need to open their eyes. I’m going to the hospital.”

  I fished my keys from my pocket and hightailed it to the front door.

  “Iggy, they won’t let you in. I’m telling you, my parents pitched a fit after you left earlier.”

  “You forget, I work closely with these people at the hospital. I’ll sort it out.”

  “Call me. Please.”

  I turned back to Phoenix once I pulled open the door. “I need you on my side. Are you?”

  He nodded. “I’ll see what I can do about my parents.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Arden

  All day, a parade of doctors and nurses came into my room to talk with my parents. All day, I lay with my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. The only exception was when they’d forced me to go for testing. They’d hooked me up to some heart machine thing and spent far too long monitoring whatever was on their screen. Then they’d performed an ultrasound which was equally unpleasant and invasive. Later this afternoon, they’d taken more blood.

  No one talked to me. They talked a lot about me but acted as though I wasn’t old enough to be privy to the information. It made me want to scream.

  Mom and Dad chatted in low voices. Their heated discussions all surrounded Iggy’s unexpected presence that morning. I knew they’d taken action and made firm requests at the nurses’ station that he be denied access to my room. I’d tried to argue, but Dad had silenced me with a glare.

  A knock sounded at my door which was followed by the clattering of a tray hitting my bedside table just as the nauseating scent of hospital food filled the air.

  “Dinner time. Is he asleep?” a woman’s voice asked.

  “He can wake and try to eat,” Mom informed her with a clipped tone. “Arden?” A second later, Mom’s hand landed on my shoulder, and she shook me.

  “I’m not eating.”

  “You’ll try. Sit up.” Dad’s voice bore no argument.

  I rolled to my back and shimmied up on the bed, glaring between the uncovered tray and my father’s harsh stare.

  The nurse hadn’t left, and she stood by the tray, organizing the multiple options laid out on its surface. It was the same routine as breakfast and lunch. A wide variety of options plus supervision to try and convince me to take something orally. My argument that the IV fluids suppressed my appetite was ignored. Each meal was a battle that ended in my favor every time.

  So far.

  Dinner consisted of a bowl of soup—which looked like a chicken vegetable—a small bun, a pudding cup, a pre-made salad, a small packet of saltines containing a whole two crackers, an egg salad sandwich on whole wheat bread, a cup of orange juice, and a container of chocolate milk.

  “Lots of options,” the nurse exclaimed. “What do you say?”

  I studied the packet of crackers. It was surprisingly the Premium Plus brand. The logo was splashed on the front. I took the packet, shoving the tray back further so I didn’t need to inhale the scent of soup with every breath, and turned it around in my hand, examining the cellophane wrapper. There was no discernable expiration date written anywhere which was disappointing. My stomach rumbled, needing and wanting something. I dropped the crackers back on the tray.

  “Eat them,” Dad snarled.

  “Is it possible to get a green tea around here?”

  The nurse tipped her head to the side, her rusty brown curls falling over her shoulder. She had lots of freckles across her nose and squinty green eyes.

  “How about you try one thing on this tray and I’ll make sure you get a tea.”

  My gaze danced over the items a second time. The soup was likely from a can. Flashing botulism warning signs screamed in the back of my mind. The milk could contain any number of pathogens that could make me sick. The pudding fell into the same category. Eggs were a playground for salmonella. Orange juice could be just as dangerous, worse if it was unpasteurized. The salad… where to even start? Did these people not hear about the recent recall on lettuce?

  I’d read too many articles and seen too many advisories about tainted food and the results. The statistics of fatalities flashed like snapshots across my mind. And me, the pre-mature, immuno-compromised lab rat just waiting for infection.

  Without touching a thing, my pulse spiked, and I shook my head.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  It was too easy to be blindsided. Nothing was safe. Even sitting in a hospital with help readily available. If things went wrong…

  No, I couldn’t make myself chance it. My brain locked down, and my stomach knotted. Professionals hadn’t caught it on time six years ago. Ivory and I had stumped them with our presenting symptoms. It didn’t help that when either of us got sick, we got really sick and fast.

  “Leave us,” Dad said to the nurse.

  The nurse ducked her head and skittered out of the room.

  Dad approached the bed and snapped the small packet of crackers off the table, his irritation clear in the way he ripped through the cellophane. He plucked one of the two crackers from within and held it out.

  “Every day your mother and I watch you nitpick your food. Every day your obstinate behavior sets a bad example for your younger siblings. Whatever game you think you’re playing needs to end here and now. This here is a prime example of your stubbornness. You’ve never objected to crackers. You make your mother buy them by the carton, so I’m not going to ask you again. Eat.”

  I took the cracker from his outstretched hand. My heart thumped as I stared at it, dissecting every square inch of its surface, turning it over and over again. There was no date. I needed to know the expiration date.

  My insides trembled as I sniffed it once and brought it to my mouth. I took the tiniest bite off the corner and chewed it to mush before swallowing, pushing it past the thick lump in my throat.

  It took an eternity to eat both crackers, and Mom sighed in exasperation when I whimpered and gagged a few times. Dad grumbled deep in his throat.

  The nurse returned with a pot of boiling water and a green tea bag. When she saw the empty cracker package on the tray, her face lit up.

  “Would you like more crackers?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Dad answered before I could open my mouth to decline.

  She returned with four more individual packages, and Dad stood by my bedside, feeding me one after another like I was a child.

  When he reached for the pudding cup, my body jerked, and a spike of adrenaline poured panic directly into my veins. Thankfully, a new doctor I wasn’t familiar with chose that exact moment to come into the room.

  “Arden McMillan.” He smiled as he read off a clipboard. He had white hair and a tall, lanky body that he hid behind a long white coat. Glancing up, he greeted my parents with handshakes before sizing me up and down. “Do you have time for a little chat?”

  “Not like I’m going anywhere.”

  “Would you like your parents present?”

  “We’ll stay,” Dad said.

  The doctor’s gaze never left mine. It was as though my father hadn’t spoken. For once, I was being treated like the adult I truly was. For once, they were giving me a choice.

  However, I knew better than to defy my father anywhere he might cause a scene.

  “It’s fine.”

  “There is sensitive information I’d like to discuss. Are you sure?”

  I nodded. Asking my parents to leave would only fuel more
problems, and I was too tired.

  The white-haired man said, “Very good then,” before planting himself on the edge of the bed. “My name is Dr. Paiva, and I’m a cardiologist here at County General. Dr. Singhal has asked me to take a look at your test results from earlier.”

  This was a first. I’d never been bad enough doctors had called in specialists before.

  “I’ve taken a look at your file, and I see that you’ve been struggling a long time with anorexia. That’s an uphill battle. Not an easy one, either. My first question to you is, what kind of outside support do you have and would you be willing to see one of our psychiatrists who deals directly with your type of struggles? I can arrange to have a consultation set up for first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s not necessary. Arden sees a counselor from our church,” Mom explained. “Although he hasn’t been recently. We didn’t know things had gotten this bad or we would be encouraging more regular visits. That’s my fault for not being observant enough. I can assure you we will take a much firmer stance on the matter.”

  Dr. Paiva’s knowing gaze never left my face.

  “Are you happy with the help you are getting, Arden? Involving a psychiatrist at this stage might not be a bad idea. Their training and experience far sur—"

  “We’d rather Arden be guided by the church. Thank you,” Dad said.

  Again, the doctor remained fixated on me alone.

  “The church counselor is fine,” I said so my parents would ease off. It wasn’t like a psychiatrist would be any different. It was exhausting enough dealing with family and a few outsiders. I didn’t need more people hovering over me, picking at my issues and looking deeper into my reasonings.

  Dr. Paiva pressed his lips together a moment as he pondered, his eyes squinting and studying me. I didn’t know what he was looking for.

  Then he ducked his head and glanced over his chart.

  “Are you active, Arden?”

  “Active?”