Her confirming my fears makes the itching and swelling increase by leaps and bounds. My mind races, thinking about the last time I saw my EpiPen. I know I had it when I moved out of my apartment, and I think I remember seeing it when I moved in here.
Where is it?
“Oh, fuck,” I say hoarsely, and take another drink of water.
My phone continues to ring.
Sophie finally turns to me fully, and I must look a little crazed, because she blanches.
“Oh my god, are you allergic?” she screeches.
“Yes,” I wheeze, and push back from my barstool. My EpiPen must be in the small box I haven’t unpacked under the bathroom sink in the guestroom. Or I threw it in the bedside table. I move to go rummage around and fetch it, but Sophie stops me with a hand on my arm.
The phone rings again.
“Do you have an EpiPen?” she asks frantically.
I’m starting to struggle on my inhale, and I nod.
“Guest room. Bedside table or under the sink,” I answer her. My voice is ragged, and I take another sip of water, though I know it won’t help.
My phone rings again, and Sophiegrowls, swiping it from the kitchen island, and answering it while running down the hall toward the guest room. My heart slams against my ribs, and I start to panic. I know I just need the shot, but it doesn’t stop the tremor of fear that runs through me.
“Were a little busy Wes, Ivy isdying!” she wails, her feet pounding on the hardwood.
That’s not entirely true, but also, not entirely wrong either. I hear Wesley’s deep voice bellow something back at his sister, but I can’t make out what. I take another rough inhale when Sophie comes barreling back to me less than a minute later, EpiPen in hand, and my phone in the other. Damn, that was fast.
“What do I do?” she yells.
“Jesus Soph, don’t wake up Delilah.” I croak.
“That’swhat you’re worried about?” Sophie asks, incredulous.
“Ivy? What’s happening?” I hear Wesley’s panicked voice ask over the phone now beside me on the island.
Sophie put him on speaker. Great, it’s a family affair.
Of course.
I quickly instruct my not so chill friend how to administer the EpiPen correctly, removing it from the casing and taking off the safety cap. I place it in her shaking hand, and show her the correct motion and force in which I want her to jab me, starting to gasp for breath.
“Ivy? Sophie? What the hell!” I distantly hear the edge in Wesley’s tone, but my main focus is living right now, so he can wait. I sit down on the barstool, and motion for Sophie to step beside me.
“She’s having an allergic reaction! She can’t breathe! I'm stabbing her with a giant needle!” Sophie shouts down the line.
I hear a litany of curses, followed by a squeak of fear from Sophie.
My throat is practically fully swollen now, and I start to panic. “Now, Soph.” I can barely get the words out.
She screams as if she’s in an ancient roman battle, squeezing her eyes shut and swinging her arm down like a pendulum to stab me with the sweet juice of life, epinephrine.
Silence follows Sophie’s battle cry, and a few seconds pass before I begin to feel the air return to my lungs. A couple minutes pass, and I take my first full, deep breath.
“Are you alright?” Sophie asks shakily as I massage the punctured area.
“Yeah,” I croak, taking a few more deep breaths, and squeezing her arm. “You did good. Thank you.”
“Oh, thank god. We did it.” She celebrates, panting and raising her arms above her head like we just completed a marathon, and not like she just brought me back from the brink of death. It’s so absurd, it makes me chuckle, despite the headache I feel coming on.
