Poison

“What’s going on with your epilepsy?” I asked her. “How long have you been having it?”

She smirked but shook her head. I didn’t get the humour in it.

“Like you give a shit about my epilepsy.”

But I did. I gave one hell of a shit about her epilepsy.

She was guarded to the max, that thick shell of her, and I hated it. I hated every scrap of protection around the most beautiful parts of Anna Blackwell and her stunning, addictive soul.

“Fine, don’t call me a taxi,” she cut off before I could carry on with my thread. “Let’s just fuck off to bed and you can drop me home in the morning before the world is awake enough to see us together.”

At least she’d be in my bed for the night.

She took her meds and I let the dogs out, then grabbed myself a water and got the lights on the way upstairs.

I noticed how she turned her head to stare for a few seconds at one of Millie’s Daddy paintings stuck to the wall and cursed inside that she wouldn’t let me open up to her about the whys and the wherefores, not even a little.

I washed up in the bathroom, hoping she would join me, but she didn’t. She held back until I was finished then took her own turn. I was already sitting up in bed when she came through, armed ready with her bottle of water for the bedside table when she threw the covers back on the other side and climbed on in.

“Goodnight,” I said, but she said nothing, just settled down with her back to me.

I flicked the lamp switch off, then couldn’t sleep, churning over things to say and staring at the ceiling like a total moron, lost. I despised myself for my fucked up life choices, and despised the universe along with me for how one fucking mistake can cost you everything, snowballing like an acorn on Everest until your whole existence is smashed beyond reason.

Fuck me, how that snowball had kept on rolling.

Fuck me, how I wished I could really apologise for it and have her listen.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, quietly, knowing full well she was still listening, bristling just as hard in the darkness as I was.

“Sorry means shit,” she said back. “It will never mean anything from you. Not to anyone else anyway, even if it ever did to me.”

She was right on that front. I couldn’t imagine anyone in her entire circle ever doing anything but spitting in my face before trying to stab me.

I heard her sigh. “Not that it will ever mean shit to me, either. It won’t.”

She must have finally been half asleep when she inched her way closer and laid her head on my chest. I was anything but half asleep as I shuffled down and pulled her closer, pressing my lips to her hair and breathing her in.

“I’m sorry, Anna,” I said, one last time, but this time it was a whisper.

And this time she was breathing so deep and so steady there was no way she’d ever hear it.Chapter ElevenAnnaThe room was barely lit – just a dull orange glow of light shining through from the landing. Still, it was enough to make out the obvious. There was no sign of Lucas.

The other half of the bed was empty, covers tossed back in my direction, just me alone in his silent bedroom before sunrise.

I didn’t expect to be alone in his silent bedroom before sunrise.

Along came a flood of dread that him bailing from the bedcovers was due to a flood of piss between my legs, but no. I patted down the sheets underneath me and found them dry. No seizures in the night. At least I could hold on to what tattered scrap of dignity I had left around the man who’d destroyed it in the first place.

I found him downstairs making coffee at the kitchen counter with a cigarette in his mouth, already suited and groomed for the day ahead, and seemingly immune to the hangover from the decent volume of wine he’d guzzled the night before.

I felt anything but immune to anything as I stared over at the creature who’d torn my heart to shreds and yet still managed to get me off ten times in a row.

“Breakfast? Coffee?” he asked, but I shook my head, wrapping myself tighter in the robe I’d taken from behind his bathroom door.

“No, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, and took a sip of his drink.

Silence.

We both stood in stupid silence, his stare on me, while I cast my eyes around anything in the room that wasn’t him.

He didn’t try to make conversation to ease the tension. Small talk wasn’t high on his agenda seemingly. Just as well since it had no place whatsoever on mine.