Page 6 of Toxic Wishes

“Great, I'll smell like a dirty slut that just got done smoking a bong.”

Blake laughed. “You know you’re kind of funny for a weird chic.”

“Is that an insult or a compliment? Because you need to stop with the flattery, you’re making me weak to my knees.” I say with sarcasm in my tone.

“Lighten up Abs. Here,” He pulls out a cookie that was broken and crumbled. “You are still rail thin; eat this.” He hands over a peanut butter cookie. The gesture took me off guard. It was sweet and thoughtful. My mom packed my lunch, but that’s the first time she’s done it in years. I can’t even remember the last time she asked me what I wanted to eat or made sure I had enough money for lunch at school. I had to constantly scramble for the loose dollars in her wallet to bring if I didn’t have anything in the house to pack my lunch.

“Thank you.” I reached for the cookie and slowly brought it back to my lap as if he was handing me over an entire birthday cake, and any sudden movement could cause it to fall and crumble.

“No problem, it’s made with real peanut butter. So they aren’t too unhealthy.”

A small smile forms across my face.

“Really?”

“Yeah, my dad's girlfriend made them. She’s a health nut.” He lifts his chin in the air, letting smoke out of his mouth.

“Listen, I know people and parties aren’t your thing, but you need to be around some people. I’ve been reading up on anorexia, and I think it’s time for you to let loose. Have some fun and not worry about calories or your same ol’ routine—anything of that nature. Just ya know, hang out.”

I stare at him.

“Are you serious right now?” I feel my body stiffen at the thought of being around a crowd.

“Totally. My dad is going out of town this weekend, and my brother said he isn't coming home from college, so I'll have the whole house to myself. What do you say? Have a few beers, shoot some pool, and meet my gang.”

“Your gang?”

He smiles, and his dimples deepen at the sides of his cheeks. I swear, if that’s not the sexiest smile I’ve ever seen, I don’t know what is. He’s the epitome of a bad boy. He has tattoos on his arms, and his wavy jet-black hair sits slightly past his shoulder.

“Yeah, I play guitar and get together with some guys. We drink and make music, but we are thinking about adding a feminine touch to the band, and your voice would do just the trick.”

I stare at him for a minute. He was being serious. Was Blake Killian inviting me to hang out with him?

“Okay, sure. I can ask my mom, and she can drop me off. I’ll just need to tell her when I get home.”

“Abigail, I’m sixteen; I started driving a few months ago. I can pick you up, or you can ride with me after school. If you would rather do that, I can always drive you back home.”

“You have a car already?”

“Ya, my da—” He stops mid-sentence, correcting himself. “Well, my half-brother helped me out with a car along with my dad’s new girlfriend. It’s a Subaru.”

My jaw drops. “Are you serious?”

“No, I madet that all up just to fuck with you.” He deadpans.

“Sorry. I’m just shocked your parents let you drive. You can date and do anything you want without them, and they got you a car.” I scoffed. “It must be nice.”

“It’s called overcompensating since they are never around. And it’s a parent. I don’t have a mom. She died when I was eight.”

I want to apologize, but I know that’s so cliche, so I ask, “How?”

“Overdosed on drugs.”

“Jesus, Blake. I’m so sorry.” My stomach drops at how calm he is about all this. He seems genuinely numb when talking about it.

“Ya, my brother said it’s my dad’s fault because he’s the one who got her on drugs. But he just wants me to hate my dad since he is finally coming around, trying to be a dad to me. My brother is the biggest narcissist you’ll ever meet. He wants my dad's attention all to himself.”

“So you both share the same dad. Different moms?”

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