12. Claire
Poisoned.
Hours after the doctor left, the word still haunts me.
Somebody is trying to kill me.
Maybe it shouldn’t come as a shock. When I think about the complete one-eighty my life has done in the past week, it’s actually terrifying. I’ve gone from stressing over what I’m going to do with the rest of my life—which is no small decision—to near-constant fear for my life.
From the first moment Remington Boudreaux came smoldering into my life, nothing has been the same. He put me in a chokehold and interrogated me like he truly thought I was some sort of inept assassin. He threw me to the ground to spare me a bullet. He held me at gunpoint while he expressed his distrust of me. I was kidnapped, assaulted, sold off to some rich, likely sadistic fuck on the other side of the world, and committed murder in at least the second degree. And now to top it all off, I’m being fucking poisoned?
My head is the clearest it has been in days. It’s like Remy’s absence allows me to think, like when he isn’t here, I’m able to focus on things beyond him. Maybe it’s because I’ve been out of it for the last week or so, and now I’m inaccessible. Remy has given me a dozen reasons not to trust him—he’s wrapped up in a darkness so deep that light doesn’t even try to penetrate his world—and precious few reasons to think that he wouldn’t try to kill me. After all, he’s spilled his most insidious secret to me. Now that I know what he does, what his family has done, is it really far-fetched to believe that he may regret that decision to come clean and try to shut me up preemptively?
But as much as Remy is the most likely suspect to poison me, it doesn’t make sense. A man who has no qualms about killing— a man who I watched stab someone to death—wouldn’t have qualms about killing me any other way. Besides, if I’m honest with myself, there is someone far more likely to be up to something than Remy.
They say poison is a woman’s weapon, after all.
Elaine has looked at me funny from the very first time she saw me. She’s tried to hide it, but she went to great effort to disregard me during that first night here, and—even more suspicious—she was totally different the next morning, offering me breakfast and coffee, calling me dear.
She offered me the last of the coffee, I remember. Remy and Rhea and Rhea’s guest for the night had all drunk from a different pot of coffee than me. Did she pour out some of it to convince me she’d drank it, too?
I didn’t experience any symptoms that day, but that was the beginning of the downfall for me. Maybe she worked with Jovich in devising a plan to get rid of me. It wouldn’t be the craziest thing to happen since I’ve come to Costa Rica.
The doctor didn’t want me to go back to Remy’s, but it isn’t exactly her choice. I’m not going to tell anyone the truth about what landed me in the hospital. Sure, Elaine’s careful stitches did get infected… probably not until Remy and I fucked in a sweaty, bloody tangle. But that’s not what was making me so sick. That was the methanol poisoning.
I have no clue where it could have come from if not from Elaine. She brought me what was supposed to be a sleep aid, and I did fall asleep. I assume her intention was for me to stay that way forever.
The knock on the door startles me out of my thoughts just in time to see Rhea toe the door open and poke her head in. “Come in.” I say, leaning back against the pillows.
“Claire!” She sighs, rushing in and letting the door click closed behind her. Her words are muffled when she wraps her arms around me, liquid from the cup in her hand sloshing on the sheets as she squeezes me without reservation. “Thank God! You look so much better!”
“I feel so much better.” I laugh, hoping it will ease the bubble of tension that sinks in my chest.
“I was so scared.” She shakes her head, banishing the thought as she disentangles herself from the IV and drops into the chair next to the bed. I see her eyes shining with tears for a second before she banishes those too. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Well,” I shrug, trying to make myself look more put together than I feel. “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily.”
“Easy.” Rhea laughs, her fingers drumming along the top of the cup in her hand. We both know that there is nothing easy about the last few weeks of our lives. Nothing has been easy since Remy walked into our lives… since her father died.
“You could have gone septic. I told Elaine we should bring you to the hospital when you first…” She trails off, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to take care of you. You’re the one who takes care of me.”
I laugh at that, because it couldn’t be further from the truth. I am a mess. I have been my whole life. I’m not capable of being anybody’s caretaker… not even my own. I’m going to change that, though.
“Shut up,” I tease. “Or I’m going to get sappy and start crying.”
“Well, we don’t want that. I don’t know about you, but I’m all cried out.”
Me too. I’m fucking tired of crying… giving my tears to others. It took everything out of me, and I’m finally getting back to something like normal. But her words sober me further.
“I’m so sorry I missed the funeral.” I tell her honestly. It’s not like I was looking forward to it or anything, but I did come all the way to this country with her specifically because she’d asked me to be by her side for her father’s funeral. And in the end, I hadn’t been there.
I know it’s irrational to feel guilty, but that doesn’t stop it from creeping in. Rhea is the person who saved me from myself all those years ago when we ended up as roommates. I’d do anything for her, even now.
“Stop.” She shakes her head, cutting me off abruptly. “Seriously, Claire, don’t apologize. I’m fine. I actually feel better now that it’s over. It’s like…” She presses her lips together while she tries to summon the word she wants. “I feel like a weight has been lifted off my chest… especially now that you look better.”
“I’m sure I look like death.” I cringe, hoping I’ll have a chance to shower before running into Remy again.
I probably shouldn’t care what I look like. I probably shouldn’t give a damn what he thinks about me. But I can’t stop the flutter that rises up in me when I think of him.
“No, you looked like death yesterday. That doctor is a miracle worker. I’m going to have to bake her cookies or something.”
I laugh at the thought of her donning Elaine’s apron and mixing dough in the kitchen. The most baking I’ve ever seen her do involved dropping little misshapen squares from the package onto a baking sheet. “Maybe show your appreciation by not poisoning the doctor.”
It doesn’t occur to me what exactly I’m saying until the words are already said. But if Rhea notices, she doesn’t let on.
Of course, she didn’t notice. Because she didn’t poison you. She’s your best friend.
Rhea laughs, raising her hands in surrender. She seems to have forgotten about the cup in her hand, because when her eyes glance down at it, she holds it out to me. “I’m sorry, I forgot all about this. Elaine made you a pineapple blueberry smoothie. I know it sounds weird, but it’s actually delicious. It’s supposed to help with cellular healing or something like that.”
I stare at the tumbler between us; my hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed. “You okay?” Rhea’s voice oozes with concern, like she’s ready to spring into action to see what’s bothering me.
“I’m fine.” I promise again. “It’s just the thought of pineapple right now is making me nauseous.”
Rhea’s eyes narrow on me the slightest bit. “You love pineapple. I have to fight you if I don’t want it on my pizza.”
“I do.” I nod. “I just think the antibiotics are upsetting my stomach or something.” I take the cup from her and pop the lid open to sniff it.
The pineapple scent is overwhelming, but it actually makes my mouth water. I lost track of the last time I ate real food. I mean, the hospital food was actually pretty gourmet for a hospital. I suppose that has something to do with the fancy little suite I am in, but our talk of pineapple pizza has me craving something good.
As enticing as it is, though, I’m finally starting to feel human again for the first time since before everything unraveled; I’m not about to risk it.
“Okay, well I’ll set it here in case you change your mind,” Rhea sets it down on the table beside my bed and then turns back to appraise me. “Also, this is from Remy.”
She hands me a box, and my confusion must be obvious because she starts explaining before I even realize what I’m looking at.
“Since your phone got lost. We figured you’d need a new one while you’re here because I doubt that any of the channels on that TV are English.” She chuckles. “I told him I’m not leaving you here anyway, but you needed a new one anyway.”
I lift the lid and see that the phone is a few models newer than mine. It’s sleek and shiny and obviously brand new. It feels like an odd gift. Is it an apology for fucking me? Is it an apology for turning me into a killer?
“Tell him thanks, I guess.” I laugh.
“Tell him when you see him.” She rolls her eyes. “He drove me here but didn’t come in because he said he’s busy. He’s been weird since yesterday. Oh!” She covers her mouth with her hand, like she’s made a wild mistake. “You’ll never guess who was at the funeral!”
I grin in spite of myself. It feels good to get a little bit of our normalcy back, to just watch her launch straight into the theatrics. “Who?” I ask, because experience has taught me by now that she doesn’t want me to ruin her fun by guessing. Which is just as well, because I would never guess the name that falls off her tongue.
“Wes!”