Page 26 of The Bitterness of Venom

The campus has changed with the season. Mid-October brings cooler weather and with it, the hockey season. The bar is crowded more than when I first started workinghere these days. The guys are barely at the apartment and if they are, they're sleeping. Jasper won't look me in the eye.

The only person who even seems to think I exist at all is Elisha. I finally met his boyfriend. He's hot and broody.

I catch Destiny as she walks into the coffee shop. She smiles. "Hey."

"What's up?"

She shrugs, walking to the counter with me. "Not a lot. I get lonely during hockey season. Paul is always busy, and I'm left alone more often than not.”

“Same here, but I’ve enjoyed it,” I lie.

I should be happy he lets me be, doesn’t make meentertainhim, but I feel the loss of Desmond everywhere. It’s low-key making me crazy. Not crazy enough to think it’s my fault.

“Speaking of Desmond… Have you met the girlfriend yet?” I flinch away from Destiny like she physically hit me. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t know he did the girlfriend thing.”

“Yeah,” Destiny releases a breath, “neither did anyone else. And girlfriend is putting it lightly. It’s rumored they are engaged. Arranged marriage or some rich people bullshit.”

I leave quickly after making some excuse I can’t even remember, then head home instead of class. I feel sick to my stomach. Maybe I’ve caught something. At the last moment, I switch directions, heading toward the train tracks. I follow them until they leave town, forest-like trees stretch on both sides of the tracks. Once I hit the bridge, I hop off, walking down the hill and to the water stream that runs under the train track. I find a huge rock and throw my bag on it. Crawling on top of it, I make my bag my pillow and stare up at the gray clouds. Pulling a joint from the cigarette pack I keep them in, I light it up, inhaling deeply.

I could run, but how far will I get on my tiny savings? And who am I running from? Clint? He’ll find me. Desmond? I think he may find me as well. If he wants to.

Sighing, I close my eyes, listening to the running of the stream, the sway of the leaves as the wind rustles them. Allowing a memory to float back to me.

Desmond’s eyes squint as he places a butterfly Band-Aid on my cut cheek. It stings, but I bite my lip to suppress the moan that wants to break through. “You’re accident-prone,” he grumbles.

I wish I could tell him the truth. That I’m not accident-prone, I just have a shitty father, but I can’t tell him that. No eleven-year-old should carry that burden. So, instead, I smile, wrinkling my nose to make a funny face. He smiles back, looking away, and I think his cheeks are turning red.

“Where are your parents this week?” I ask, placing my glasses on and climbing into his bed.

“Seattle. Grandma is staying with me, but she goes to bed at seven.” He shrugs, playing with his navy-blue comforter.

“I think it’s cool you have a grandma,” I toss out.

He looks over to me, eyebrows raised. “You don’t have a grandma?” He looks doubtful.

I grab my book, a young adult romance. “I mean, everyone has a grandma, right? But I don’t know mine.” I shrug like it’s no big deal.

“I don’t understand your life, Freckles.” He sighs, leaning against his pillow, looking up to the ceiling.

I want to tell him I don’t either. That I understand my life is not like our classmates’, but I’m embarrassed, so I open my book instead. Desmond snatches it, plucking the bookmark out and clearing his throat, beginning to read. I listen to his voice, my eyes fluttering closed before I drift to a dreamless sleep.

My eyes flutter open as raindrops lightly tap my face. I push the emotions to the side. Shoving them down until I feel my comfortable numbness. I stub my joint out, rising on the rock.

There is only one thing to do. Move on, pretend the amazing orgasms never happened, and never look him in the eye again. The bastard.

I am no one's main chick, and I’ll be damned if I were a side one.

Desmond didn’t come homelast night. Not that I was waiting up for him. I don’t care what he does with his life. I shake the intrusive thoughts away.

As part of my studies, we have to put in hours at an orphanage, which is how I find myself standing in the middle of a room filled with unloved children. Some of them don’t seem to mind but others look as if the world has wronged them. Which it has. It's one thing to deal with the world’s brand of bullshit as an adult, but children should be shielded from it.

My eyes snag on one girl in particular. Her chestnut brown hair falls in tight ringlets to her shoulders, which are hunched over a drawing as her blue crayon moves over the page. I don't know what makes me go over there and sit in the child’s seat that has half my ass hanging over it. But something just draws me to her. She peeks up at me through her curtain of brown hair, her eyes assessing. She raises one single eyebrow and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

"Hi, I'm Blaise."

She wrinkles her noise. "Isn't that a boy’s name?"

---