CHAPTER 73: HELP

Braelyn’s POV

Was the flower planted in the garden just to spite me? I wondered.

The question echoed in my mind in a slow, sinking dread. Yellow chrysanthemums looked bright, harmless to anyone else, but to me, they may as well have been poison.

My throat tightened so quickly I almost didn’t understand it at first, like someone had reached into my chest and squeezed from the inside. My mouth hung open, searching for air that refused to come.

"Try to breathe...." I tried saying. My eyes burned and tears rolled down because of the pain. My entire skin felt like it was on fire, prickling sharply along my arms, stomach, and neck. Why weren’t the drugs working as they should?

I wanted to scratch. God, the urge was unbearable, so I did. My nails dragged across my skin in messy, frantic strokes like I could peel off my skin, desperate for relief that only made the itching worse. The pills were slowly working.

I didn’t know if I should call myself lucky for having some anti-allergens despite it being years since my last attack. My overthinking finally paid off. I could feel the irritation on my skin reduce but the burning sensation and ache still persisted.

I stumbled away from the drawers trying to find my phone. The cloud rumbled, and the gates were opened with heavy rain pouring down on the building, blurring the view outside. The drops clung to the glass panel of the window as the temperature dropped

I thought the worst had passed until I felt a sharp pain in my stomach, which made me stumble on the ground.

A sharp, stabbing wrench twisted through my stomach so brutally that my body folded before I could react. My knees hit the floor, cold marble pressing against my skin.

The room swayed. I could taste something bitter rising at the back of my throat. My breath stuttered, short and rapid, like my chest was clogged. I leaned forward as bile surged upward, and the next thing I knew I was choking, vomiting, the world flashing white with every heave.

My pill bag had fallen to the ground, scattering its contents across the floor. I reached for it, fingers dragging uselessly at first because my arms felt heavy, as if my body no longer belonged to me. Like a weight was pressing me down.

I forced myself to crawl, to grab, to push myself up enough to swallow more pills dry. They scraped down my throat like stone. I couldn’t tell if they were working. Everything was getting softer, distant, fading. I knew if I didn’t move, if I stayed lying here, I might die.

This wasn’t a cure, just a short-term relief. My allergic reaction was triggering the PCOS symptoms. My gaze was blurry but I could spot my phone tossed on the bed.

Move, I screamed in my mind. My feet felt heavy

I grabbed my phone. My hands weren’t responding properly; my fingers kept slipping off the screen trying to search for Genny or even Lucian. I was desperate

I tried calling, network failure. The electronic voice rang in my ears.

THE NUMBER YOU ARE TRYING TO CALL IS UNREACHABLE

THE NUMBER YOU ARE TRYING TO CALL IS UNREACHABLE

It repeated in my ears after failing to call Lucien and Genny. The storm was back, and I couldn’t make any calls, not even the ambulance. My only chance was to struggle to the hospital on my own hoping to find a taxi.

It felt like fate was laughing at me. I laughed at the thought. There weren’t any free rides due to the rain on the Uber site. Was this how Braelyn ends? Because of an extreme allergic reaction. How pathetic could I be?

"No...it can’t end this way.." I stuttered. I tried typing a message. It managed to send but my luck was truly against me. Genny wasn’t online, it was a single tick, while Lucien’s message showed double, but his last active status was 2 hours ago.

No one was online. The rainstorm was also disrupting the signal, along with every last bit of help I could hope for. Out of desperation I opened my status and typed something pathetic.

It was so dramatic that it didn’t even look like me, but I didn’t care.

AFTER I DIE NO ONE SHOULD GIVE ME Yellow Chrysanthemums. MY GHOST WILL BLEED AT THE SIGHT OF MY MURDER

HELP BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE

It looked like a pathetic suicide note. I almost laughed if I wasn’t dying in pain. If anyone saw it and cared enough to come, that would be enough. If not, then maybe this was really the end.

The thought of dying stabbed me but then another thought burned hotter. I could not die, not like this, not before I saw Raphael’s face crumble, not before I watched Amelia choke on her own smugness.

I needed to live. I needed to stay. If I survived this I would spend my every breath to make them suffer as much as I did.

’ You can do this.’ my thoughts encouraged me.

I forced myself to stand. My legs trembled beneath me barely holding my weight. I moved toward the door, dragging myself out of the room. Each step was slow, laboured, my vision blotting in and out. I needed to get to the hospital.

I made my way from the hallway towards the foyer, close to the doors, when a sharp voice cracked through the silence.

"Braelyn!" Raphael’s voice thundered behind me. I didn’t have the time for him, so I ignored him, pushing forward. My silence must have bruised his pride.

He rushed toward me, his hand closing around my wrist. His face twisted in something ugly. "What the hell are you doing? Did you try to kill yourself? Are you insane?"

His tone was sharp, almost disgusted, as if the very idea of me being hurt was an inconvenience. A dead smile graced my lips. He must have seen my status.

"Why are you acting strange? First running out of the garden, then posting a suicidal note." He hissed, his grip tightened around my wrist. He was trembling. Was he that mad?

I tried to pull my hand away. I didn’t have the strength. "I...I need to go to the hospital," I managed to force out, my voice breaking, air wheezing through my tightening throat.