Chapter 13 #4
“So is my patience,” I deadpanned, shaking my head again, exasperation bubbling beneath the surface. “Well… at least somebody knows what the hell they’re doing.”
I locked eyes with Bryce, who wore a smirk, clearly enjoying the chaos unfolding in front of him more than he should.
I towered over Adrian, sighing loud enough that I felt like the trees should respond, debating in my mind whether to just leave him there for the wolves.
“This is embarrassing. Get up.”
“I—I can’t,” he groaned dramatically,
“He’ll walk when he hears the bear again,” Bryce muttered just loud enough for me to hear, his tone teasing.
I strolled over to the logs I sat down earlier, squatted low, and scooped them back up with a grunt that wasn’t from the weight, but from anger.
I turned my head slightly, eyes slicing in the direction of Adrian and Isis, who were busy doing absolutely nothing of value.
“Useless… just useless,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head.
Truthfully, they could’ve stayed their asses in the cabin. Me and Bryce could’ve handled that task, like we always had.
Efficient… no drama… no whining… just getting shit done.
Fifteen minutes later, everyone was inside.
Bryce had already gotten a flame going, and the fireplace was crackling in the living room, radiating a slow-building warmth.
He had disappeared into the back, probably fixing something or making sure the pipes didn’t freeze—doing the kind of shit men who actually do things handle without announcement.
Adrian, on the other hand, was sprawled across the couch, face contorted in pain and sweat glistening on his forehead as if he’d trekked five miles uphill.
.. while dragging a casket... with a bullet embedded in his thigh.
His bare leg was propped on a stack of mismatched pillows; all bunched together like a sad attempt at comfort.
Isis was right back at his side, hovered over him with an intense, almost frenzied focus, squinting as if she were diagnosing a rare disease.
Her hat was now completely off, and the absence of her coat made it look like she was clocked in at the ER.
.. as an unqualified nurse during a chaotic disaster drill.
I watched from the recliner with my arms crossed and lip curled in disdain.
As much as I hated to admit it, Adrian and Isis were touchy… real touchy.
Probably unknowingly… probably innocent… probably.
But in that moment, I could've definitely seen the two of them ending up together. He was goofy and dramatic, with a weird need to be babied, while she was loud, attention-starved, and one crisis away from acting like she was the main character in a reality show. They just made sense together in a “Content Creator couple I’d block” kind of way.
“Don’t worry, I got you!” Isis gasped, her voice laced with a breathless urgency as she yanked at her little Coach mini backpack, treating it like a trauma kit.
She dug through it like she was about to pull out an IV drip.
“I saw this on an episode of Dr. Miami Does the Mountains.”
Ma’am, what?
I was half-expecting her to pull out some glitter lip gloss, maybe a travel-size Victoria’s Secret spray, some edge control, or a sparkly Hello Kitty Band-Aid to indicate she had a sprinkle of common sense.
But no.
That girl pulled out an unopened bottle of rosewater facial mist, a jade roller, and a packet of vitamin C gummies, like she was performing minor surgery in Sephora.
“Lord,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head slowly, “this girl done pulled out everything but a damn degree.”
“Okay, hold still,” she instructed Adrian, spraying the rosewater over his forehead and chest as if performing anointing magic.
“Why are you spraying his face?” I asked, genuinely baffled. “The man hit his knee.”
“Relax, Chesteria,” Isis responded calmly, patting his cheeks with the roller like she was prepping him for Coachella. “Swelling is holistic. If you treat the aura, the body follows. Duh.”
Adrian groaned, caught between pain and confusion. “I just need a band-aid… or something.”
Isis gasped, her eyes wide in horror. “No! That traps the trauma under the skin, silly! And if your blood freezes in there, we might have to perform a hot oil extraction.” She faced me. “Do you have some coconut oil? Preferably organic, first-press?”
“You can’t be serious right now?”
“Oh, but I am,” she quipped, unzipping her backpack once more, determination lining her features. “I have another solution. You might wanna step back for this. I’m about to call on my ancestral healing energy.”
I froze in place, incredulity flooding my system. “Say what?”
Ignoring me, Isis reached back inside her bag. This time she pulled out a tiny amethyst crystal, a half-burnt bundle of sage, a laminated chakra chart folded in quarters… and a pink Bic lighter with “Namaste, Bitch” printed on the side in glittery font.
I should’ve walked away then, but instead, I found myself rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away as Isis clicked the lighter, lit the damn sage, and began waving it in wide, deliberate circles like she was attempting to summon a spirit from the ether.
With a theatrical flair, Isis took a deep breath and blew over Adrian’s leg. The smoke swirled around like a soft, ghostly veil.
Then, she began to chant, deepening her voice for effect, "Om-bye-ahh-nae. Spirit of the swollen knee, release the tension, restore the glee. Pain be gone… like my ex, Raymond. A-SHE!"
The last word echoed off the walls like she was sealing a bargain with the universe.
Isis then grasped the amethyst tightly and shook it three times in a perfect circle above Adrian’s leg like she was seasoning meat.
What in the TikTok malpractice is this? If this is what help looks like, Lord, take me now… peacefully… in my sleep… with my edges laid and lotion on.
I didn’t know whether I sat there, legs crossed, watching in disbelief because I was genuinely curious about her methods or if I was just as crazy as she was, hoping against hope that perhaps—just maybe—it might've actually work.
Thank God I had some medical knowledge. I wasn’t a nurse, but I’d taken a couple of online CPR classes that had drilled into me the essentials of emergency response.
I actually had to use that knowledge once, during finals week, when a student unexpectedly collapsed in the cafeteria.
I’d also binge-watched every season of Grey’s Anatomy, House, and The Good Doctor enough to realize the difference between a paper cut and a puncture wound.
So yeah, call it unofficial credentials, but I knew enough to know that rosewater mist wasn’t gonna save Adrian in his moment of need.
And he was a damn fool in danger if he trusted Isis’s misguided attempts at healing.
Isis hummed another note, her voice echoing softly in the room, while she waved the sage with the dramatic flair of a woman attempting to erase the memory of a regrettable one-night stand and rewrite it as some sort of spiritual alignment.
I’d seen enough.
“Oh, hell no!”
I shot up from my seat, lunged forward, and smacked the sage out of the air.
“Girl, move! This ain’t a Harry Potter episode! We’re dealing with a scraped knee and a mild case of overreaction!”
Isis glared at me, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout as she stomped her foot. “You interrupted the ritual!”
I jabbed a manicured nail in her direction, my patience wearing thin. “Isis, go put that damn sage out before the raccoons think we’re roasting marshmallows in here!”
“But—”
“Go! Before you mess around and put some perfume or glitter in an open wound!”
Isis huffed dramatically and found a nearby tray to snuff out the ashes. She still hovered nearby, though—like a side chick who wouldn’t leave a hospital room after her married sneaky link got shot, while the wife stood at the foot of the bed, contemplating whether to call the pastor or the police.
I shook my head at Adrian, who was just lying there, seemingly unbothered by the fact that Isis had nearly turned him into the hood version of Salem from Sabrina… but with a limp. That nigga was probably one chant away from being somebody’s emotional support animal.
“And you were just gonna let her cast a DIY spell on you?” I asked, out of curiosity.
He shrugged, his expression lazily indifferent. “The shit felt good… the face part, at least.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be surprised if you wake up tomorrow either bilingual, meowing in cursive, or barking at full moons.”
I made my way over to the storage bin by the fireplace and grabbed the actual first aid kit that had begun to gather dust.,
“I feel lightheaded,” Adrian complained, his voice dripping with drama.
“No, you feel embarrassed. That’s shame leaving the body,” I countered, digging through the kit for the items I needed.
Adrian groaned again. “For real, Chess, my knee is throbbing.”
“Your pride is throbbing. Your knee is fine, nigga,” Bryce chimed in as he entered the room holding a bag of frozen peas, his demeanor a blend of amusement and irritation. “You and Isis acting like you took a bullet. All you did was lose a fight with a log. The log didn’t even try hard.”
Bryce pointed an accusatory finger at Isis.
“As for you,” he continued, “just know, if I ever pass out on a plane, I’d better never wake up to you standing over me, waving around burning herbs and humming like a dying microwave with a vendetta.
I don’t care if you saved me, summoned me, or borrowed me back from Jesus…
I’m catching a charge mid-resurrection.”
Isis whipped around to face him with one hand placed defiantly on her hip. “Don’t do me, Bryce! I studied emergency protocol! Thank you very much!”
“From where? A TikTok Live? Isis, the only thing you’re certified in is cucumber water and curated aesthetics.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at Bryce's jab. “