Chapter 10

I almost choke with her words.
I don’t know whether to laugh because of the blunt way she called me a crosswalk or to cry after hearing my own words, highlighting how much of an idiot I have been.
But Vi is right! I need to stop making life easier for Logan and Chelsea. I laugh out loud before I say, “Lord, you’re right!”
“Of course, I’m right! I am always right, by the way!” Vi says, confidently pointing her thumb toward herself.
Her gaze fixates on the entrance of a nearby mall not so far away. “Okay, Allie, you can leave me here at the mall. It’s more than fine!”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “I can drop you off somewhere else if you want to,” I offer. “How are you going to call for help without your phone?”
When I park in front of the mall, she smiles and answers, “Don’t worry. I have my ways!”
“Uhm... Okay,” I respond, turning to her.
A sudden wave of sadness washes over me as I realize that I will never see her again, yet I am hesitant to come across as a creepy person by asking for her phone number.
“Let me get out of the car and help you open the door. It usually gets stuck—”
“No need, I got this,” Vi opens the door with ease, not even looking like she used any force, and for a moment, I’m shocked. Maybe she’s had an old broken-down car before.
And then, right before stepping out of my car, much to my surprise, Vi reaches into her purse and pulls out a small black card.
“Here’s my number,” she says with a gentle smile.
When I excitedly extend my hand for the card, she notices the hidden holes in my sweater.
Oh, God! I wish I could crawl into a *hole* and live there forever.
“If you need anything, you can call me, Allie!” Vi says, looking at me with warm chocolate-brown eyes. Her lips are set in a thin line.
I quickly grab the card from her hand. “Uhm, okay! It was nice meeting you, Vi,” I say.
She nods and adjusts her expensive purse over her shoulder before stepping out of the car.
I look at her as she walks to the mall’s entrance, giving off an air of elegance reminiscent of a catwalk model—as if she owned this very mall. I wish I had that confidence!
Vi strikes me as the kind of person who can set the whole place on fire if you rub her the wrong way, but also bring light to any room.
Before leaving the mall, I couldn’t help but take a peek at the elegant card in my hand, which matched the sophistication of its owner.
In a stunning font, her name and phone number are meticulously written on the front of the card, with the word ‘Blackmoon’ elegantly positioned at the bottom.
A frown appears on my face as I wrack my brain, attempting to recall where I have heard that name before.
Oh. My. God.
Is it possible that she lives in that fancy private ‘villa’ not so far from here?
Although I am not well-informed about that small town, one thing I do know is that you need permission to enter there.
I never understood why they were so reclusive. Maybe it could be a thing for rich people.
By simply glancing at Vi and her luxurious car, it’s evident that she possesses substantial wealth.
Vi must have given me this card just out of politeness. No chance in hell she actually wants to be my friend. I thought this once I left the mall.
I had forgotten how comforting it is to have someone I can vent to—even if it’s to call you a crosswalk; I smile remembering it.
Someone to just listen to me.
I never opened up to Chelsea like that—our friendship was always focused on talking about her.
Her wishes. What she wants to do. Her problems.
I feel so alone... I’ve been feeling alone for a long time.
When I see the red traffic light ahead, I bring my car to a stop and run my hand over my face.
Then I smile.
Fuck! I did the exact thing I used to judge my mom for.
I spilled my whole life story to a stranger!

🐺 🐺 🐺

Violet’s words were stuck in my head all day.
After picking up Az from his school and running errands at the grocery store that night, I made the decision that I should do what Violet had said.
Logan and Chelsea are moving on with their lives, and I’m the one standing alone, watching their lives unfold.
Maybe the danger that I am so afraid of has long ceased to exist.
After finishing cleaning the kitchen, I waste no time and add another batch of cookies to the oven to bake.
On my way to the bathroom to take a shower, I walk past Az’s bedroom door and catch a glance inside. While lying in bed, he eagerly flips through the pages of his science book, completely engrossed.
Once the bathroom door is shut, I take off my clothes and then step into the shower.
As the water runs through my hair, I adjust the temperature a notch higher, relishing in the almost scalding hot water that eases the tension in my stiff muscles.
Ahh, this is one of the few luxuries I have—
Knock, knock, knock!
“Mom?”
I hear Az’s voice on the other side of the bathroom door.
Whenever I take a shower, I always make sure not to lock the door, just in case he needs to use the bathroom since we only have one in our apartment.
“Yeah?” I respond loudly.
Ugh! I blink hard. I just wish for a single minute alone. I start lathering up my hair with shampoo.
“I’m feeling warm,” Az shouts from across the bathroom. He sounds apprehensive.
“What is wrong?” I shout back, pulling back the bathtub curtain a little to the side so that I can hear him better.
He responds, but I can’t catch what he’s saying. “Az, open the door! I can’t hear you!” I yell.
I should turn off the shower, but the water is so warm, it feels so damn good!
I need it. Besides, I’ll feel really cold if I switch off the shower since my hair is covered in soap.
Over the sound of water cascading onto me, I hear the bathroom door opening. I pull back the bathtub curtain again, just enough to expose my face.
The moment Az steps into the bathroom, a look of apprehension crosses his face as he nervously starts rubbing his chest with his small hand, which instantly puts me on high alert.
“What’s wrong, Az?”
“I don’t know...” He persists in rubbing his chest. Perhaps the yellow T-shirt he is wearing is too small. “I started to feel warm...” He swallows heavily. “It’s kind of hard to breathe here!” The scorching steam emitted by the shower water seems to worsen his already overwhelming sensation of suffocation.
“What did you eat today, Az?” I ask. Maybe he’s just anxious.
“Nothing different, Mom,” he licks his lips. “But, but—”
“What, son? You’re scaring me!” I respond as I turn and switch off the shower.
My hair is oozing black foam from the hair dye I use.
“I think I’m anxious... I don’t know how to explain it,” I listen to his voice without glancing in his direction as I reach for the towel to cover my body. “I just feel something tickling in my chest,” he pauses for a second. “In my throat...”
“Az, are you sure you didn’t eat anything different?” I ask urgently, opening the curtain to look at him.
Az’s face and neck have turned a deep shade of red, and he reflexively begins massaging his chest in an attempt to relieve his inexplicable ache.
“My stomach is cramped. My heart is racing more and more... Mom, I’m scared!”
I immediately step out of the bathtub, causing the water droplets from my body and the black foam from my soapy hair to dampen the floor beneath me. I reach out and gently place my still-damp hand on his forehead, immediately noticing how hot he feels.
Oh, my God! He’s having anaphylactic shock!
I have that thought, but I keep it to myself because I don’t want to make him even more anxious.
In a rush, I dart towards his room to get the EpiPen from his school backpack, almost falling to the floor because my wet feet are slippery. Az follows behind me. “Watch your steps, buddy,” I yell.
As soon as I enter his room, I find his backpack resting against the side of the nightstand. On top of the nightstand, there lies an empty oat bar packaging.
Immediately, I sense a freezing chill spread throughout my body, and it’s not because I’m shivering from the coldness of my wet hair.
In a swift motion, I snatch the item from its place and quickly examine the label, searching for any information I can find. And there it is, not to my surprise, nestled at the very bottom of the extensive list of ingredients: This product contains milk.
“Az, why did you eat that?” I ask him, but I don’t meet his gaze. Instead, I focus on desperately searching his backpack for the EpiPen.
As soon as I pick it up, I head towards Az. My eyes almost widen as I see his red and puffy face.
With a strained voice, he says before stumbling backward, “Because Chelsea gave it to me last week.”