Braelyn's POV
Was the flower planted in the garden just to spite me? I wondered.
The question echoed in my mind in a slow, sinking dread. Yellow chrysanthemums looked bright, harmless to anyone else, but to me, they may as well have been poison.
My throat tightened so quickly I almost didn't understand it at first, like someone had reached into my chest and squeezed from the inside. My mouth hung open, searching for air that refused to come.
"Try to breathe...." I tried saying. My eyes burned and tears rolled down because of the pain. My entire skin felt like it was on fire, prickling sharply along my arms, stomach, and neck. Why weren't the drugs working as they should?
I wanted to scratch. God, the urge was unbearable, so I did. My nails dragged across my skin in messy, frantic strokes like I could peel off my skin, desperate for relief that only made the itching worse. The pills were slowly working.
