Out of Focus (Love in LA #3)

When I turn, she’s there, confusion written all over her features. I show her the contraption in my hand, but she doesn’t take it. Too fatigued to stand, I slide my back down the wall and sit on the floor. When I open my mouth to speak, nothing comes out. I push my hand as close to Charlie as I can get it, and when she takes the EpiPen in my hand, understanding kicks in.

She’s still talking, but it’s all jumbled, and I’m going to pass out soon from lack of oxygen. I place my index finger on my thigh, near the spot where she should insert it, silently begging her to understand.

Finally, I feel the pressure followed by the sharp sting of the EpiPen connecting with my leg. I wait. And I wait. I know it’s only seconds, but they feel like minutes. Then, I pull in a deep breath of air, relief washing over me like a bucket of ice water.

“Thank you,” I whisper. The usual side effects start to take over as my heart rate shoots up and my energy comes back.

By the time I stand, Charlie is handing me my shoes. “Put these on. Do you have your wallet?”

“Yes. What?”

“I’m taking you to the hospital. Is the one a few minutes away from here okay? Or should I go to another one?” She’s moving so fast, getting her shoes on, taking her purse from one of the hooks on the wall.

“What’s happening?” My body might feel energized, but my brain is still working at a snail’s pace.

“I’m driving you to the hospital. You could go into anaphylactic shock again.” She looks at my shoes, still in my hands. “Do you need help with those?” I shake my head and slide the white sneakers on my feet. They don’t go with this outfit, but I’m not about to tell her that.

Charlie ushers me out, locking the front door on her way, and gets into the driver’s seat of my car. As her hand comes down with the seatbelt, I stop her. “Charlie. I can drive myself. It’s okay. You’re not comfortable driving in this kind of traffic.”

Shimmying away from me, she turns the car on. “Yes, I am. Not here, but I drive in London all the time. And you’re not driving yourself to the hospital.” She pulls onto the road as I’m about to argue with her, but I see the set of her jaw, and I know I won’t win this argument. She’s switched into crisis management mode, so I can tell nothing will deter her, and it’s probably safer if I don’t drive anyway.

We arrive at the hospital in less than ten minutes, and Charlie pulls into the first parking spot, practically getting out of the car before she’s even turned it off. She’s next to me as we walk through the doors and beelining for the nurse behind a desk.

“He’s just had an allergic reaction to mushrooms. EpiPen was administered less than twenty minutes ago. His throat swelled up, and he wasn’t able to speak. He was struggling to pull in air, and I don’t think he went without oxygen, but it would be worth testing his brain function as well.” I’ve never seen her like this before, so completely hyper-focused on a single task. The fact that taking care of me is that task feels pretty fucking awesome.

The nurse starts asking me a bunch of questions as Charlie steps aside, silently watching and listening. I’m taken into a room, and Charlie stays back. Where is she? I’m so jittery, but my head is starting to pound, the hammering pain quickly becoming unbearable. I want to ask for her, but instead, I run to the washroom and empty the contents of my stomach.

Great. Here we go again.

43/

you. i need you.

charlie

A different nurse comes to me fifteen minutes after Rafael has been taken back. “Hi. You came in with Mr. Machado, right?” I nod once. “Are you his partner or significant other?”

“N-no. I’m not. I’m just a friend.” I swallow down the disappointment that I didn’t think to lie and say I’m his partner so I can see him.

Is that all this disappointment is about?

“All right, well, unless he asks for you and authorizes it, we can’t take you back to his room or give you any updates. I’m sorry.” She smiles kindly at me.

“Right. Thank you. I’ll just be here, then.” I sit on the hard waiting room chair and replay the last hour.

How did I not know he was allergic to mushrooms? I pull the fidget toy I have in my purse and focus on the movements as I stand and pace the small room, trying not to spiral into a pit of guilt and shame.

Maybe I should leave? No. I should stay. No one even knows he’s here. I don’t have any contact information for his family. If this were Robert, I’d be able to call his dad. If this were Robert, this never would have happened. He doesn’t have any food allergies. We’ve talked about that before because we used to see one another nearly every day. For years. Because that’s what it takes to really know someone, isn’t it? It takes more than just a few weeks and orgasms, but actual time together, getting to know important facts. I don’t know anything about Rafael. Not really.

After the first hour passes, I feel like I may throw up.

Ninety minutes after I drove us here, it feels like every organ in my body is tied in knots. I’ve managed to keep my meltdown at bay by running through all the strategies I’ve developed with my therapist. I know I’m only prolonging the inevitable, but I don’t have it in me to meltdown here, in the middle of a hospital. I’d much rather do it at home. Alone.

I have to go. He hasn’t asked for me. He must be so upset. Of course he’s upset. I poisoned him!

I’m going. I’ll get a cab back to my place. No, back to his. I should clean up the sauce.

I’m halfway to the door when I hear someone. “Miss Howard?”