Page 7 of The Bitterness of Venom

Feeling powerless is life’s fun little twisted game.

I slowly walk back to the apartment. Even if I became a stripper, I couldn’t make enough to cover the hefty fees here. I, one to never admit defeat, realize there is really nothing I can do. I can raise hell, but what would that accomplish?

With no other options, I walk up the stairs to my door. Bypassing the three sets of eyes that watch me. I must be giving off serious bad vibes since they keep their mouths shut.

Slamming my door, I walk to my closet, pulling down thejar of pre-rolled joints I keep there, pushing one to my lips as I walk to the window. Lifting the latch, I flick my black Zippo, lighting the end. I sit on the windowsill, folding my arms around my bent legs as I look out the window.

As I inhale, pure bliss washes over my body, helping my muscles to relax, but it doesn’t help my racing mind. If anything, it makes it worse. Especially when I see a familiar black car parked across the street. I flip it off for good measure, my head snapping to my door as it opens.

I release a big cloud of smoke, hoping it will make him disappear. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t. Desmond leans against my doorframe, all cool, calm, and collected as he watches me. I don’t know why it makes me feel uncomfortable, but it does. This is not the sweet boy I had to leave behind all those years ago. This Desmond is a fraud. Cold as ice with zero emotion.

“Can I help you?”

He stands to his full height and walks toward me, and I hate the advantage he has over me. As if his physical strength isn’t enough, his eyes have the ability to hold mine captive. Something he’s been doing since I noticed boys as more than friends.

He leans down, his male musky scent like a poisonous drug, caging me against the half-open window. I raise an eyebrow to let him know I’m not impressed by his intimidation tactics one bit.

“No, but I can help you.”

I snort. “Doubtful.”

He flashes his white, straight teeth in a snarl at me. “Did you or did you not lose your scholarship today?”

Blowing smoke in his face, I say, “What is it to you?”

His lip curls slightly and my stomach knots with dread. “I can fix it for you. Pay your full tuition… for a small sacrifice.”

“No.”

He mock pouts, leaning in closer. “But I haven’t even told you the offer, Freckles.”

If ice-cold water splashed over my face in the middle of winter, it wouldn’t chill me as much as hearing my old nickname does. “I want nothing to do with you.”

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head as if he’s disappointed. “I would hate to pull my connections and make sure you never set foot on any campus for the rest of your pathetic excuse of a life.”

Flicking my joint out of the window, I turn to face him, my legs forcing him back. “What the fuck do you want?”

He straightens, peering down at me as if I’m nothing but dirt under his expensive-looking shoes. “I’m bored.”

“Sounds like a you problem and nothing to do with me.”

“Ah, but you see, that’s where you are wrong. I want you to entertain me.”

I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with this shit. Not today, at least. “I don’t want to play your games.”

“Too bad you have no choice.” He grips my jaw in his powerful hand, squeezing my cheeks as he turns my face from side to side. And then he sighs. “As you remember, I wasn’t very good at taking care of my toys. I always… broke them.”

His dead eyes make me tremble on the inside, the detached tone in which he speaks as if I am a thing and not a person. My jaw begins to ache as his lifeless, bored eyes drill holes through mine. Finally, he releases me with a shove, my head hitting the window gently. He tilts his head to the side, considering me. “Do we have a deal or will you fade to nothing, just like your parents?”

The scars around my heart rip at his words and the cruel sadism in his eyes let me know he caught it. I swallow the lump in my throat, looking away. “Yeah.”

“Fantastic. I’ll see you around, my little toy. Until we play…”

And then he is gone.

Suddenly, my lunch reappears, and I run into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I throw up.

Even my favoriteromance novel doesn’t quiet the warning bell that rings through my mind. The email confirming my payment doesn’t help either. It feels as if I signed my soul over to the devil and the only way I’ll get it back is in tattered pieces.

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