hostile veins (h.s)

Chapter Eleven

"Oh, fuck," I deadpan out loud. Why even bother keeping it in. "Oh, fuck, oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, oh fuck," I blurt. "Mother fucker. Oh fuck."

What do I do.

What do I do.

I don't have a fucking antidote for it! It'll kill him in three days!

"Oh fucking hell," I repeat quietly. "Dear, God."

Harry stares at me like I'm crazy as I glare at the carpet, not even paying attention to where I'm looking or what Harry is thinking. Thoughts are swirling around my head at a million miles per hour as I try to think of what to do to save Harry.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

I have the antidote for the snake bite, but that's a substance for a toxin with entirely different chemical compounds. I doubt it will work on him. Hell, it nearly killed his dog, not that I'll ever tell him that. The antidote was made specifically for me.

I mean, I'm human as far as I'm aware, but God knows I'm not normal. Demons are attracted to me like magnets; if I were normal, I'd be dead by now. I would've been dead the second night. A strong dog couldn't take it, then neither can a weak human. I knew the dog could handle it from the second I saw it.

"I don't know what to do," I breathe, finally returning to reality. My eyes meet Harry's as he looks at me in confusion, still gripping the wad of bloody gauze.

"It's a cut, Callie. It will heal. You don't need to have a panic attack over it. I can get stitches at the hospital if it turns out to be really deep," he tells me.

"No, Harry," I wheeze. "The knife, it's poisoned. There's poison on it. And I don't have the antidote."

His eyes slowly widen as he takes in the information.

"Poisoned?" He says quietly. "Why do you have a poisoned knife under your bed?"

"I didn't think you were going to reach down and cut yourself with it-"

Harry interrupts me with a laugh, unintentionally squeezing too hard on his fist and gasping in pain in response.

"What's so god damned funny?" I grunt. "I'm not joking, Harry."

"Of course, you are!" He laughs. "Why the hell would you have a poisoned knife under your bed, Callie. There's not even anything on the knife except for my blood."

"It's microscopic," I tell him. "You can't see it, Harry. I'm not fucking joking."

I should call Akhila. She'll know what to do.

I scramble for my phone, dialling in her number and almost slamming it to my ear. The ringtone soon fills my eardrums but it continues, and continues, and continues. And then her voice appears, but it's not the one I want.

Akhila! Leave a message, and I'll get back to you. Thanks.

"Get up," I tell him. "Up, up, up."

"Why?" He asks.

"Just listen to me, Harry."

I grab my jacket from the hook on my door and pull my sleeves through.