Page 91 of Toxic

After a moment, he said, "Okay, I set up a filter that’ll block stupid messages like that. You’ll thank me later—you don’t need that kind of stuff cluttering up your inbox."

He walked away from my laptop and sat down on his bed. I looked at him. His face still had that peculiar look, like a scared puppy, as if he had done something wrong.

After a moment of silence, he said, "I got confirmation today. My job application to D-Project was accepted."

It sounded like a desperate attempt to change the subject, but I didn’t push it. I felt like a quivering jelly, melting sleepily into the bedsheet—nothing was how it should be.

"Congrats," I muttered, though I didn’t really care. Nothing was ever going to be the same again, and I was just pretending to hold it together.

"I’m starting there next week. Don got in too."

Oh, no. No, no, no. I didn’t want to talk about that scumbag anymore, not while feeling so weak. I just grimaced and turned onto my side.

"Don’t ever mention that bastard to me again. I’m going to sleep—I can barely keep my eyes open."

It was strange, talking to him like everything was normal, like my world hadn’t collapsed yesterday. It really felt like I had split into two people—a charred, burned-out husk and a paper-thin pretender, faking that everything was okay. But it was all just a big lie.

As I lay there with my eyes closed, I remembered Soren had sent me a text.

A wave of anger washed over me.

He wanted to talk? Really? After what he said to me? After he went off to give Don a bj? After telling me never to contact him again, now he thought he had the right to anything?

Unbelievable. Maybe he regretted how he treated me. I knew how he operated—he’d say things impulsively in a fit of anger, then come back later to apologize. Maybe he wanted to end things civilly, in a friendly way. Perhaps guilt was eating at him, pushing him to try and make amends.

But I didn’t need his apologies.

Fucking bastard.

And then, that unwanted vision again—Don’s disgusting expression when Soren offered to blow him. Don was probably thrilled to get off in Soren’s sensual mouth.

Whore. Yep.

A disheartening conclusion, but an unavoidable one. Alvin was right—I was an idiot for getting involved with Soren. Bitterness and anger surged through me, effectively shielding me from pain. And reason.

If Soren didn’t want me and preferred to pull some dumb stunt with Don The Rapist, that was his choice. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of accepting his apology.

No forgiveness, no blessing on his way out.

There it was, the boundless rage, and it just kept building. Up. And up.

It was my typical modus operandi. I’d always hidden my pain that way, and now that mechanism kicked in full force. Like a massive flywheel, it made everything else disappear—fury, likea gray downpour, flooded my nervous system, leaving no room for anything else. Promising to give me some relief.

I had to close this chapter—the pain wasn’t just in my heart—it was all through my body, and I couldn’t let that continue. The effort to convert it into pure wrath felt like a rusty, grinding machine slowing down, draining me of life force. I was getting exhausted, worn out.

In a weird, paradoxical way, I understood what Soren meant when he said he had to save himself from the pain. I had to do the same.

I had to hate him.

HATE.

It was the only way.

Cut him off! Block him out!

Soon… I fell asleep.

***

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