The Witch's Doll ⚢

Chapter 24

Harper grabbed Isla's hair, helping her remove the stubborn strands out of her face as the poor girl vomited the rest of the acid out of her stomach. Her nose crinkled at the smell and looked everywhere else but the bag where the elegant Isla Cecil threw up.

Isla moaned as she tied the bag to prevent its smell from escaping and rubbed the sides of her distended gut. Her belly finally heaved.

"Isla?" Harper asked, worriedly.

Isla blinked hard and didn't know what to say. "It hurts."

"Your tummy?"

Isla's feet continued to scuffle around. "Calm down," she said, feeling another tingling sensation in her belly button, but it was sort of different. "It might because of the strain I do to my body and the heart-wrenching guilt I harbor. It's the faces—from the streets, the school, bearing their slightest remembrance. It has stirred it up all for me. My inner war goes on and on, in my head."

Harper didn't speak and let her continue.

"There's this fog in my head." She did her best to describe. "Sometimes, I feel like I cannot go forward. I cannot be still. I cannot even drink tea without tasting blood and it upsets me."

"It is a perfectly rational response to an absurd situation." Harper had to drape one of Isla's arms over her shoulders and hold her waist with her free hand. "You're burning! Shit did you get the flu?"

Isla started choking with air, her lungs did not seem to be able to work properly and the hands did not want to stop shaking anymore. She could not think at that point and it appeared that merely walking would prove to be problematic with all that pain-numbing her body. She placed her hands on her chest and pressed hard on it, hoping it would ease the hurting but it didn't.

Her legs were killing her and her neck was so stiff, feeling it could break if she turned too quickly. Her heart thudded fast, becoming heavy. Every muscle in her body started heating up.

Harper immediately brought her back to bed.

When Isla lay immobile, Harper called for her, cupping her face. "Isla?"

Her lips moved but no voice came out. The sensation was similar to standing under the spray of scalding water in the shower, but instead of water, it was far more painful. It became too much to bear. The searing pain had put her in a trance. The weight of despair led her drained and riveted.

"I think you're just too tired, Isla. Should I call for your maid?"

Then she suddenly remembered Miss Terrence and her grandmother's gift.

"The ointment," she said weakly and gasped with pain. Her tearful eyes tried to relate to all that.

"The what?"

"Hurry, on my desk!" Isla yelled, lifting her nightgown to reveal her flat stomach.

Harper scrambled her way to retrieve the bottle, her hands fumbling in haste. She quirked it open and poured all of its contents to the areas where it ached. She seemed to know where Isla's tense muscles were and eased them with her slow and cautious motions. The tension that formed in her body began to seep away with the ointment's touch.

When Isla was able to move her hands, she reached for the areas around her torso herself. The bottle Miss Terrence provided had emptied.

"Are you okay now?" Harper whispered, her forehead creased, "Shit, you looked like you were dying."

Isla had a lot to say—about all her fears, her pains, her regrets, her qualms, and her complaints. She had the chance to be a bitch but she muttered flatly, already exhausted by the prospect. "I hope this semester's over soon."