28. “Titanium” - David Guetta Sia #3
I don’t even have the mental strength to argue that I should be in on any conversation that involves my dog. When they’re gone, I start to pace the room. It’s small, and it only takes me three lengths to reach the other side.
My arms have become insanely itchy. I scratch them through my sweater. I’m also cold, but I have no desire to put my coat back on. Doing so feels disloyal to Tundra, like I’m going to leave without him or something.
After several minutes, the door opens. I turn midpace, expecting Henry, but it’s two PPOs. Seeing them is not much comfort, and I don’t greet either of them. I don’t have the energy to decide what is proper.
It takes Henry another fifteen minutes to return, and by this point, I have started biting my nails, a nonhabit Rosalind stopped in its tracks when I was six with this awful bite-aversion nail polish. I can feel tiny balls forming on the sleeves of my sweater from my incessant rubbing.
Henry quietly says something to the PPOs, then crosses the room to me. I all but collapse into his arms.
“Where is he? Can I see him?” A series of tiny tremors join forces to shake my entire body.
“Yes, but they want to keep him overnight for monitoring.”
Relief surges through my body. That means there’s a chance he’ll be okay. “That’s fine. I don’t mind staying.”
“You’re not staying here, C.”
“He’s my dog, Henry. I’m not leaving without him.”
“And as head of your security, I say it’s not safe for you to stay here.”
I glare at him through my tears, but I already know it’s useless to argue. “I want to see him.”
Henry leads me to the examining room, which is occupied by several people in blue scrubs. Tundra is lying on the table, a tube snaking away from his body from a wrapped section of his leg. His breathing is shallow, and I have to put my face right up to his to feel it.
“Is he in pain?” I rasp.
“We’re keeping him sedated for now so he can rest,” Dr. Ron tells me. “We’ll know more in the morning.”
“Surely you’ve treated dogs who’ve eaten chocolate before,” I say, fresh tears squeezing from my eyes every time I blink.
The doctor looks at Henry again, but Henry’s stationed himself directly behind me, and I can’t see his face. He leans forward and says quietly, “We’ll talk about that later. Right now, you need to say goodbye so we can head back home.”
I bury my face in Tundra’s fur, not even caring who sees me cry. This dog has my heart and is everything good in the world. What’s the point in getting up in the morning if he’s not there to greet me?
“Don’t leave me, boy,” I whisper. “You’re too special.
I love you, and I need you to get better.
” My fingers stay buried in the black ruff at Tundra’s neck, my vision growing blurry from my tears.
I think about all of the memories we haven’t even had the chance to make yet—hiking trails in the national forests, riding through the streets of the city on King Frederick’s Day in an open carriage, movie nights curled up on the sofa sans Henry and Beatrice and anyone else who might try to steal him from me.
He’s my dog, and while he may have shown partiality to others at times, I know that deep down he knows he belongs to me. He trusts me to make the best decision for him. But why should he? Despite what I said to Henry earlier, it’s my fault he’s here.
“I never should have left those truffles out where he could grab them.”
“You can’t beat yourself up over that,” Henry says, his warm hands stroking my back.
“But I should have been watching him,” I say. “While he lay suffering on the floor, I was arguing with you over stupid things. He lay there, wondering why I wasn’t coming, why I wasn’t helping him. I let him down.” My voice chokes on a sob.
Henry’s strong arms wrap around me from behind, holding me tightly against his chest while I cry. Somehow he manages to turn me around to face him without letting go, and I bury my face into his shirt, which smells so good.
“If I had returned to the palace today like I should’ve, this wouldn’t have happened,” I say.
“Shhh,” he murmurs into my hair. “You can’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have known. Besides, he’s going to be okay. We just have to trust his doctors.”
Our ride back to the penthouse is silent save for the sound the wheels make on the slick road. Sometime during the night it started raining, and if the temperatures were any lower, we’d be traveling on a sheet of ice right now.
I watch the droplets on the window race against one another. Henry is sitting beside me, maybe holding his own race on the other window.
We left Tundra at the vet after they assured me multiple times they’ll keep me updated regularly, and if anything changes, they’ll call right away. There’s nothing else I can do.
“There’s something I need to tell you.” Henry’s voice matches the low rumble of the car engine.
I turn toward him but don’t say anything.
“The vet said Tundra didn’t consume enough chocolate for it to be fatal. Toxic, yes, but their medications should have helped if that’s all it was.”
I take a minute to let this sink in. “So it wasn’t the truffles after all?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”