One Bite, Two Bites, Three Bites, Floor

Finally, I was free. I looked around my new apartment as the movers brought my stuff in. Filled with excitement, I jumped up and down, as any 18-year-old would, when moving out of their parents’ house for the first time.

My parents had always been both strict and hovering; I’d envied my friends when they got away with all the things I couldn’t. They even took my halloween candy away before I could eat any. Mom came in, to help unpack. “You don’t have to, mom. I know how to do it myself,” I told her. She glared at me, and opened a small curio cabinet, then began unpacking my figurines. I hated those figurines, but mom insisted I bring them. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and huff at her. Even though I was eighteen, I was still afraid of my parents. I just decided that rearranging anything I didn’t like would have to be done after they had left.

As if on cue, Dad came into the room, giving the overall appearance of the apartment a frown of disappointment. “I don’t like it,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

“Yes, you don’t have to do this, darling,” Mom cooed as she put a small carousel horse figurine into my small china cabinet. “It isn’t necessary right now. You can stay home with us just fine.”

That time I did roll my eyes, but I turned away first so they wouldn’t see. “I want this,” I insisted. “I need to figure out how to do things on my own.”

”Whatever you say, dear,” my dad mumbled, shaking his head. “You deserve better than this, though. How do we know if the neighbors are trustworthy?”

“Dad,” I whined. “Please, just leave it be. I’ll keep to myself, I promise.” He sighed, and then came to give me a hug.

“I just want the best for my little girl,” he responded, squeezing me tight.

“I’m not little anymore,” I insisted breathlessly.

“Victoria, mind your father,” my mom insisted, putting the last figurine on the shelf and closing the glass door. “We love you, and want you to be safe, that’s all.”

”I will be,” I promised, as my dad moved away and my mom gave me a hug.

“Don’t eat any junk. I mean it, Victoria. Sugar will rot your teeth,” she whispered.

“Yes, mom,” I conceded. I never understood the big deal. Dentists had a job for a reason. They finally left, and the movers finished moving my bed in and left too. I spent the afternoon putting things where I wanted them. I even moved the curio cabinet into my closet, where it was hidden. If mom asked, I would just explain that I didn’t want anyone to break in and steal them, or something like that.

There was a knock at the door. Not knowing who was there, and wanting to be cautious, I peeped through the door hole to see who it was. It was an elderly lady, and she was holding a tray of something. I carefully cracked the door open, and peeked around the edge to look at her. “Can I help you?” I asked.

“Hi, dearie. I saw you were moving in, and wanted to introduce myself,” the lady said with a smile.

“Hang on,” I said, closing the door, unlatching it, and opening it so I could see her properly. She looked harmless enough.

“My name is Edna, and I live across from you,” she said.

“Hi, I’m Victoria,” I replied formally. She held up the tin.

“I made a little something for you, just to welcome you to the new community. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to knock on my door. I’m always home, and rarely get visitors,” she explained, handing me the tin. Not wanting to be rude, I accepted the tin and nodded.

“Sure, of course,” I replied. She nodded, smiling and went back to her apartment. Overcome with awkwardness, I shut the door and took the tin into my small kitchen. I took a deep breath, and opened the tin. It was chocolate cake. I’d never had chocolate before, and I was seriously tempted to try it, even though my parents warnings echoed in my ears. It couldn’t be that bad, right? Biting my lip, I searched the kitchen boxes for a knife. It took me almost ten minutes, but I found one, and carefully put a small slice on a plate. Then I fished around for a fork. Found one.

Slightly shaking, I cut off a piece of the end, and put it into my mouth before I changed my mind. It was delicious. I savored it, chewing and swallowing slowly. As I went for a second bite, I started to feel strange. I put down the fork, trying to decide what was wrong. My chest was tight, and my throat was itchy. That had never happened before. I tried to take a deep breath and found I couldn’t. Oh gosh, I couldn’t breathe! Panicking, I tried to spit the chocolate out, but it was already swallowed. The world spun, and a moment later I was on the floor. Still struggling to breathe, I rolled onto my side and tried to grab onto something - anything - to pull myself back up. There were only cabinets, and my body didn’t seem to want to function anymore. My blood felt like it was pumping slower, and every moment seemed like an hour.

I would be found the next day. I guess I was severely allergic to chocolate, and my parents had never told me. Some warning would have been nice.