But I was a little bit pissed off.
He wasn’t ‘ready’ for a relationship with me, and I respected that. I didn’t call him, didn’t text him, didn’t show up on his doorstep—shifted or unshifted, drunk or sober—and the first time he texts me it’s so that he can ask me how to unethically dose some poor woman with a heart condition who was, yes, getting screwed over by the broken health care system, so that he could… I don’t know… feel closer to his father?
Of course I feltterribleabout his dad’s murder. I couldn’t imagine the horror he must have gone through—and the fresh grief every time he was confronted with something that reminded him of his dad. Reminding him that his dad was gone.
But it was reckless and irresponsible to be dosing people with medicine—even homeopathic or naturalistic medicine, which actually might have been worse, since people assumed that something ‘natural’ couldn’t hurt them—when you weren’t a doctor, nurse, or pharmacist.
“So you’re not going to tell me,” he said, and I could hear resentment in his voice.
“I don’tknow,” I snapped back. “I’m serious about this, Elliot. Don’t do it.”
He let out a blustering sigh. “Is this?—”
“Don’t youdareask me if I’m not telling you because you didn’t want to fucking go out with me,” I snarled, rage running through me.
He said nothing.
I hung up on him, my face and neck on fire.
It had been three weeks since I’d last spoken to Elliot, and the first time we talked after he’d essentially dumped me on our first date, he’d asked me to help him do something very dangerous and very stupid. I’d refused on moral grounds—not, no matter what he thought, because I resented him.
I resented himnow, but I hadn’t resented him until he’d accused me of petty revenge.
I’d spent those three weeks trying not to feel sorry for myself—and also trying not to think about ways that I could potentially convince Elliot to date me. I’d come up with at least a dozen possibilities, from leaving him cookies to increasingly ludicrous romantic gestures, but none of them had involved yelling at him about poisoning a woman with a mild heart condition.
What I hoped was a mild heart condition.
Shit.
I wondered how hard it would be to get Henry’s number.
I started with Hart.You don’t happen to have Henry’s number, do you?
I do, why?
Did Elliot mention to you the fact that he wants to give digitalis to some woman with a heart condition?I asked him.
No… Fucking dumbass. Did you tell him what to do?
I told him not to do it. He could kill her.
Good. And now you want Henry to convince him?Hart asked.
No. I want to tell Henry why it’s a bad idea so he doesn’t try to do it himself.
The dots blinked a couple times on and off for a minute or two before a message returned with a phone number.Henry doesn’t text, you’ll have to call him.
Thanks.
No problem.
I was about to call Henry when another message came in.
He still cares about you, you know.
I didn’t want to have this conversation. Especially not now.
What did he tell you?I asked, unable to help myself.
