Page 2 of Poison's Promise

He sighs, and I can almost see him running a hand through his short-cropped hair. “Can I call you back? I’m in a meeting with a record label right now.”

“Why do you need to call me back?” I ask, feeling a twinge of annoyance. “Can’t you talk for a minute?”

He didn’t even tell me he had a meeting with a label. Isn’t that something someone would normally tell their girlfriend?

Asher is an up and coming rockstar. One who I think will do amazingly if someone ever gives him the chance.

“Polly, this is important,” he says, his tone growing firm. “It’s make my career kind of important. I’ll be there in a couple of hours, okay?”

“Fine,” I say, swallowing my irritation. “Good luck with your meeting.”

“Thanks, Puddin’. I’ll see you soon.”

I hang up and toss the phone onto the couch, feeling more frustrated than ever.

The shelf still needs fixing, and now I have even less patience to deal with it.

“Guess it’s time to get productive,” I mutter, heading to the laundry room.

For the next few hours, I throw myself into cleaning. Scrubbing the kitchen counters, vacuuming the living room, folding laundry—anything to keep my mind off the fact that once again, I’m left to handle everything on my own.

Hours pass, and the sun dips lower in the sky. I glance at the clock. Five hours have come and gone, and still no sign of Asher.

“Figures,” I mutter, tossing a pile of clean clothes onto the bed.

I flop down beside the laundry, staring up at the ceiling.

The silence of the apartment feels heavier than usual, pressing down on me like a weight. It’s not just about the shelf or the broken promises—it’s about feeling like I’m always waiting for someone else to make things better.

“Enough of this,” I say, sitting up and grabbing my phone.

I shoot Asher a quick text: “Still waiting. Everything okay?”

No response.

“Great,” I say, tossing the phone aside.

Determined not to let my mood sink any lower, I decide to tackle one last chore. The bathroom mirror has been streaked for days, and I’ve been meaning to clean it. I grab some glass cleaner and a rag, heading to the bathroom.

“Maybe I don’t need anyone to save me,” I say to my reflection, spraying the cleaner onto the mirror.

As I wipe away the streaks, my own face comes into sharper focus.

The silver blonde hair that frames my face, the determined set of my jaw—I’m stronger than I give myself credit for.

“Maybe it’s time to stop waiting,” I tell my reflection. “Time to take control.”

With the mirror sparkling clean, I feel a small sense of accomplishment. It’s not much, but it’s something.

My phone buzzes on the counter. I snatch it up, hoping it’s Asher. But no, it’s my best friend. Lila.

“Hey girl! Party tonight? Need some fun in my life, and you’re coming with!” her text reads.

“Why not?” I say aloud, typing back a quick response: “I’m in. When and where?”

“9 PM at Jake’s place. Be there or be square.”

“See you then,” I reply, feeling an immediate lift in my spirits. Screw waiting around for Asher. I’ve got my own life to live.

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