Iwakeupitchy.I roll onto my back and rub the side of my cheek with the back of my wrist. It gets itchier the more I scratch it. I open one eye. The lid feels heavy, so I close it again. Maybe I cried myself to sleep. I roll onto my side, but my face doesn’t feel right. I touch my cheek, and it’s not its normal texture. My hand brushes my chin, and the shape of my face is wrong. I force myself out of bed and walk to the bathroom.
When I look in the mirror, I don’t move. I’m squinting because the light is strong, but that’s not why I’m frozen. I step closer to get a better look at my face.
“What the fuck?”
My cheeks are puffy. My eyelids are puffy. My lips are bigger than they should be. There are red patches on my neck. I lift my shirt collar. There are red patches down my chest. I pull the shirtup further. There are red patches on my ribs. I touch my cheek. It’s warm.
I look at myself again. Everything is so swollen. I think only my scalp is okay.
“What thefuck.”
Why the hell would my face be this swollen?
I move my facial features around. Okay. I’m not having a stroke. I can move both sides of my face. I try to smile. I feel my skin stretch and pull in ways that’re uncomfortable. I swallow. Okay. My throat’s not closing up. I lean in closer and notice the tiny bumps on my face.
Maybe someone has a dog? No, I get hives, not whatever this is.
I haven’t eaten anything new, used any new products, or been around any pets. Was it the party last night? I run through the night. The drinks, the dancing, the kiss. Oh, God. I will not think about the kiss.
I walk back to my bedroom and get my phone with hands that are shaking. I call Gianna. She doesn’t answer. I call again. And again.
She finally answers. “Lucy, hey—”
“Gianna, my face is so swollen I can barely see out of my eyes. Something’s wrong. It’s really bad. I have patches down my neck and on my stomach. Please come home.”
“Wait — what — slow down — Lucy, slow down, I can’t —what?”
“Myface.”
“Your face.”
“Gianna, it’s swollen. I look like I went ten rounds. There are hives everywhere. I don’t know what to do.”
I can hear her brain catch up. “Okay. Okay, okay, okay. I’m coming. I’m at Benson’s. I’m coming right now.”
“Can I die from this?”
“Lucy, Camdenthe. Camdenthe. I’m on my way. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Do not tell your brother about this, please. I don’t want anyone to know. Hurry up. Please.”
The call ends, and I rub my face to relieve the itch. My brain bounces to Benadryl. Do I have Benadryl? I know I’m having an allergic reaction to something, so I need Benadryl.
I walk to the kitchen and open the medicine drawer. We have no Benadryl. Ibuprofen won’t do anything. I close the drawer. I walk to the entryway mirror where there’s better lighting. I look even more swollen in this lighting. It’s so puffy. I look at my lips and notice that the top lip is sort of crusted. I lean in to get a better look.
I think the thing I haven’t been letting myself think. I kissed Benson Reeve last night. He’s six foot three, captain of the Camden U Wolves, and my roommate’s brother. I close my eyes. I am not going to think about whether my face was already starting to swell when he kissed me.
Shame feels like a furnace in my face. I gulp, starting to sweat. I open my eyes and look at my lips, mortified that he might have kissed me like this last night. Please let my face have been a normal face when he kissed it. Please let this have happened after I went to bed.
I do the math. The only abnormal thing I drank was the punch at the beginning of the party and when Mara handed me more while we were dancing. There’s a chance my face was fine when he kissed it. I take that chance and clutch it like a railing.
I walk to the fridge and pour myself water. I drink a cup when the apartment door opens.
Gianna stops in the doorway.
Mara is behind her. “Oh my god!”
“Mara,” Gianna scolds.
