“I… I feel weird,” I say.
“Just breathe,” Freya tells me.
I can feel her hand on my back. But then she removes it suddenly.
“Freya…?”
“Don’t worry,” she says softly. “Give yourself a minute. It’ll pass.”
She’s standing in front of me now, her form blocking out most of the sparse sunlight filtering down into the garden. The grass looks like it’s purple now. The sky looks red. It feels like everything is shifting so fast I can’t keep up.
I try to breathe through the sensation, but the discomfort in my stomach grows with every inhale. There’s an eerie dread running down my spine.
“Freya, I… I think I need to see a doctor.”
She squats down in front of me and takes both my hands. Her expression is concerned, her eyes determined. “You don’t need a doctor, Jessa.”
“Ye… yes I do,” I insist. “I feel r-really bad. Something’s wrong, Freya.”
“Oh, I know, sweetheart. The drink is meant to make you feel this way.”
I retch once, twice, again and again. “I—I thought it was supposed to make me feel better?”
She shrugs. “I had to say something to get you to drink it, didn’t I?”
I blink away the white spots and focus on her face. Is my mind twisting reality or did Freya just say that to me?
My vision floats erratically for a moment before it settles on Freya’s face. Her murky blue-brown eyes are brighter than I’ve ever seen them.
And the look of concern on her face flows seamlessly into a cruel smile.
My hands are still clasped in hers. It’s only when I try to remove them that I realize she’s the one gripping me.
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t expect you to figure it out right away,” she says. “But I’m sure you’ll get it all eventually.”
“Chris was… right about you…”
“Did he call to warn you about me?” she asks. “Well, he definitely isn’t as gullible as you are, that’s for sure. Too bad you don’t listen to him.”
A knot of pain twists in my stomach and I cringe. “Please,” I whisper. “I need a doctor.”
“A doctor would only save your baby,” she replies in the same gentle tone she’s been using all this time. “And that’s not what I want.”
I have so many questions that I can’t get them all out at once. Instead, I sob while Freya squeezes my hands painfully.
“It’ll hurt for the next few hours,” she tells me. “Miscarrying is never easy.”
“Wh—why…?” is all I can squeeze out.
“Why should you get the life I wanted?” she hisses. “Why should you have the baby that was meant for me? It’s not fair. So I’m changing the narrative.”
I shake my head. “You’re not making any sense…”
“That’s because you still don’t understand, you stupid bitch.”
Her tone never changes. It’s still soft and melodic. Still comforting and gentle. There’s a disconnect between her tone and the words coming out of her mouth.