Page 3 of Toxic Kiss

Then Patrick’s face flashes in my mind…him laughing at my jokes, the way he used to sit in the corner humming as he scribbled lyrics with a cigarette hanging off an always-smiling mouth. Losing him gouged out all the good in me. I’m nothing more than a shell walking around on display.

He wasn’t just a friend. We were brothers, closer than blood. Losing him felt like losing a limb. I keep picking at the phantom itch.

“Cy, I know why you’re doing this, and Patrick wouldn’t want you traveling down this path.”

“Don’t you ever use his name against me again,” I say, voice as sharp as any blade. “He was my best friend, mine. You don’t get to tell me how or when I grieve, or where, for that matter.”

I grip Haven’s arm until my fingers hurt. She winces, and despite the rage, I immediately release her. She slumps as if someone has punched her.

“You’re wrong,” she says quietly. “You can say what you want and try to rewrite history, but I did know him.”

If looks could kill, Haven would be dead at my feet.

“Shut up or put that mouth to good use.”

“Fuck you, Cy.”

“Fuck you, Cy,” I mock and then smirk. “If you’re only here to satisfy your savior complex, get in your car and drive back to your boring as fuck life.”

I grudgingly step back, my body buzzing from the drugs and being near her. Haven pulls out her phone like it’s a loaded gun. I eye her as she unlocks it and then holds up the screen to show her thumb hovering over the number.

“Police,” she says, slowly as if daring me.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Get in the car now, or I’ll call the cops and have the entire party shut down. I’ll be sure to give them your name for the record so that all these people know what a royal asshole, snitch you are,” she says, all sweet and wholesome. “Your choice.”

“My mother already hates you. Do you have any idea what she will do if you get me arrested and ruin my record deal?” I growl, heat rising like a tide inside me. “You don’t have the balls.”

“Try me,” Haven snaps, fiercely.

There it is…Haven will play the hero rather than save herself. She’ll punish me instead of staying safe. I watch that stubbornness, and it enrages and fascinates me. How can one person act like they care so much?

“Fine. Whatever. I’ll leave.” My surrender is similar to that of a general with no troops left.

I can’t bear to even think about sitting through my mother’s intervention speech if she has to pick me up from holding. Anita is the fun police armed with high heels, a know-it-all attitude, and a laptop. Her lecture will be worse than any hangover. Still, when Haven turns for the car, I grab her arm one last time.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

I say it to be mean because cruelty is a muscle I keep well-oiled.

But also, because I need to know if she’s saving herself for someone…mainly me. The thought of another guy touching her—it makes me postal. She remains quiet. I shove her just enough to get her attention and let my next insult hit.

“Of course you are. Pathetic,” I spit. “No wonder you’re a stuck-up, tight-assed bitch.”

Her lips press together in a firm line. Sadness pools in those green eyes and for a second…just for a second…I want to gut myself for making her look like that. But…misery loves company, and I’m a collector.

“Since you aren’t getting on your knees, get out of the way,” I say, because I can’t stop. I need to keep cutting now that I’ve started.

She breathes in, calmly which angers me further when I want her chaotic, angry, and wild, but that’s not Haven.

“How did I get such an asshole for a stepbrother? I don’t know why I bother being nice.”

“You call this being nice?” I bark. “You’re dragging me away from a perfect night and threatening to ruin my buzz. That’s not nice. That’s spiteful, and you should be the one brought up on charges.”

She pokes me in the chest, right between two ribs that still ache from a pain that never leaves.

“What do you think will happen if you keep sabotaging things? You call this grieving?” She looks past me to the club. People arrive and leave as the music flows in constant motion. “Your band loves you, but they need someone stable as their frontman. Have you ever considered that you’re replaceable? They need to keep moving. Recording contracts don’t wait for mourning. My father is a patient man, but not that patient. So yeah…I call that being nice. In fact, I call it saving your career.”