Page 96 of Toxic

Seeing how it progressed, I even had the thought that I should run away from Liam, find out where Skye lived, or jump off the building, or maybe just search for a therapist who could prescribe me electroshock therapy to reset my fucking brain.

Day after day it went on until finally day 40 came, and it was the first time I didn’t write to Skye.

This day… I gave up. I was especially tired, having an upset stomach the day before, and felt drained and depressed.

I sat down at the laptop several times, opened my inbox, started a new message, then closed it again. I didn’t see the point anymore. If he wanted to reply, he would have responded to the other emails I’d already sent out into the void. Those countless emails should’ve been enough for him to know where I stood and what I wanted.

Apparently, he wanted something else.

Exactly 50 days after I pushed Skye away, Liam came to me in the evening, lay down next to me, and touched my cheek again.

"Soren, can we talk about this now? Please, give me a chance. I’ll be there for you, I’ll be everything you need. I promise I’ll do everything I can to make you happy."

I wanted to tell him: ‘You can’t. You’re not Skye. You’re not an alpha. You’re not someone I can see myself with for the rest of my life. I’m not attracted to you…’ I so wanted to say all of that, but… I couldn’t. I would lose everything, be completely alone, no family, no friends, and because I hated the feeling of being lonely—it seemed like another trap. I was too worn out from suffering, too lost and scared, too exhausted.

The failure—another failure in my life—felt too strong, too tangible. So, I slowly nodded and said those damn words:

"Okay, Liam, let’s try. But let’s take it slow. I’m not ready for everything yet, but if you want, we can call ourselves boyfriends."

Liam’s eyes lit up. He wrapped me tightly in his arms and kissed my cheek. "Thank you. I promise I won’t let you down. You won’t regret this," he whispered.

Then he moved his lips toward mine. I shuddered with disgust as he pressed them against just the corner of my lips. I pulled away and whispered, "But not that—not yet. You’ll have to be patient."

"I will, I promise. I’ll wait. For now, I’m just happy we’re together, even if it’s only platonic…" He lay down beside me, and I lay there stiffly, staring up at the ceiling.

I hated my life so much. Once again. Another trap. Another year… another dreaded year was coming…

SKYE

How long can you live feeling angry? How long can you live feeling hurt, humiliated, or wronged? Some people say it’s easier to be a victim than a victor. People can get lost in that victim mindset for years, making it part of who they are. I think I might’ve been one of those cases.

There was almost a masochistic pleasure in feeling sorry for myself. It was pathetic, and I knew it, but it was stronger than me.

None of my brothers lived in our family mansion anymore, except for Snow, who stayed in the basement. Sun had already left for college to attend some summer courses.

On the first day back, when my parents brought me home, I walked inside and experienced the familiar atmosphere of my childhood, but it wasn’t sentimental. I didn’t feel anything. The only thing I wanted to do was open my laptop and ask Nathaniel to send me some code to work on. I was dying to go upstairs to my old room and close the door.

But then I saw my brother, Snow, staring at me from the basement doorway.

His almost-white eyes and snow-white hair reminded me of Winter, but their personalities were different. I nodded at him, but he didn’t move—just kept staring at me. Typical Snow.

I went upstairs and finally opened my laptop.

"Give me something to do, Nathaniel," I typed on Messenger. "Make it a lot, make it hard, make it engaging."

And he did.

The next few days were just all work, and it cut me off from the world.

My parents tried to ask me questions almost daily, but I gave them short, dismissive answers, knowing they would soon give up and go back to being lovebirds. I knew how it was with them.

They were True Mates—living for each other first and foremost, always had been. Their love was so powerful that sometimes I felt like we were just accessories to their never-ending honeymoon. Sure, they loved us with all their hearts, but personally, I thought they loved each other most of all.

Every so often, I’d sit on the porch, look away from my laptop, and watch them walking in the garden, which my dad was fond of tending. They’d hold hands, exchange kisses, like some young couple who just met and were still high on that first-love buzz. It made me cringe.

They were always like that—peering deeply into each other’s eyes, constant kisses, holding hands, that annoying sweet closeness.

I could almost understand why Snow spent so much time locked in his basement, avoiding interaction with the lovey-dovey couple our parents were.

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