Page 56 of The Venom We Bleed

After hitting send, I crawl out of bed and head into the shower. Standing beneath the spray, I think about last night. The woods. The dream. The Scorpion King that had chased me through both.

Do you want to be my friend, Juliet?

Lex’s voice penetrates the silence in my mind and I lean forward, twisting the knobs with jerky movements until ice-cold water slaps me in the face. With a gasp, I scrub both hands down my cheeks to ward off the freezing sensation but decide not to change the temperature back until I’m done. The feeling of someone else’s presence not just in my head, but in the safe haven my studio is supposed to be lingers as I get out of the shower and hurriedly dress in my usual black uniform.

There’s a red stain on the corner of my shirt, but I tuck it into the waist of my pants, thankful that the inside of the lounge is always dark unless we’re in the process of cleaning. Unlocking the front door, I pocket my keys and turn to go—nearly tripping over the plain brown box sitting in front of my apartment when I exit.

“Shit!” Catching myself on the opposite railing, I scowl down at the offending package before glancing down towards the end of the row of apartments.

I might think it’d been dropped off at the wrong place were it not for the name scrawled in big, blocky letters on the top. I stare at the box and then where the stairs wait, empty of people. Whoever dropped it off is long gone. For several beats, I contemplate leaving it right where it is, but at the end of the day curiosity killed the cat for a reason and I can’t deny myself. It has my name on it after all.

Picking up the package, I rip open the brown paper covering it, pausing only when I get to the electronic logo stamped into the side of the box. The lightness of the box alleviates some of my earlier anxiety and concern that it might be dangerous. Then I remember the legend of how the Silverwood Scorpions got their name and my grip on the box tightens and freezes.

Though Darrio Vargas might be today’s version of a crime lord, the power dynamics of Silverwood are ages old. Decades before, when an old Italian mobster had made Silverwood their home, he’d announced his enemies by sending them packages of scorpions. My fingers curve around the edge of the box and I wait, listening for any movement inside. There’s nothing though. No hint of little creatures hiding in the box’s contents. Slowly, though, I turn the box around in my grip.

“Just fucking open it,” I order myself as I let my nails dig under the edge of the cheap duct tape used to hold the flaps closed.

I slip the sides open and instant relief fills me. No scorpions. Inside the box is a second, smaller box, and immediately, I know who it’s from. As if the image on the outside doesn’t give it away, I lift the offending item out and scowl at it. I open the top part and stare at the black, brand-name knock-off. It’s a goddamn phone. A fuckingcellphone.

The image of stabbing Lex in the face comes to mind and I find that I don’t hate it. I’m not even slightly disturbed. If anything, I’m excited by the prospect.

He gave me a fucking cellphone. I’m so stunned by the fact that I can’t even contemplate his reasoning. I don’t know how long I stand there holding the box in a death grip, staring at the phone’s blank screen. A bubble of hysterical laughter escapes me and I release one side of the box to slap a hand over my mouth. With a shake of my head, I dive back into my apartment and fling the box onto the counter of my small galley kitchen.

Why?The question echoes into my head.Why would he send me a phone?Then I shake my head because it doesn’t matter. I’m not using it.

Shoving the top of the box back on, I debate chucking the gift into the algae hotbed apartment complex ‘pool’ on my way to work. A moment later, the sound of an engine approaching the building forces me to forgo that plan and abandon the box in my kitchen to be figured out later.

I leave my apartment, hurrying to lock the door before I catch sight of the public bus ambling up the street. Stomping down the creaking metal stairs, I race towards the bus stop on the opposite side of the parking lot.

Fucking Lex. Fucking arrogant son of a bitch. Fucking Scorpion Kings and their stupid faces and their reign over the gutters of Silverwood. No matter what I do, it feels like everywhere I go I’m reminded of them.

There’s just no getting away from the Scorpion Kings.

Not at school. Not at work. Not at the gym. Not even in my goddamn dreams.

23

JULIET

Iwork double shifts over the rest of the weekend just so I don’t have to think of the Scorpion Kings, but each night as I lie down on my futon—praying I’ve exhausted myself to the point of no dreams—I’m disappointed to return right back to that damn forest. By the time Monday morning rolls around, I regret ever wishing that my usual nightmares would disappear. I’d take being chased by zombies or falling from a twenty-story building over the three assholes now haunting me every night anytime.

When the bus arrives Monday morning to shuttle me and the others waiting in the pre-dawn light, I keep my hood up and over my head and don’t look at anyone. Despite my obvious desire to remain invisible, there’s really no avoiding notice at school now. Maybe I should’ve thought better about the bright, electric blue hair—but then, it’d been something I'd always wanted to do before and I have no parents now to tell me no.

“Bitch.” Someone hisses at me as they pass by.

The first bell of the day rings, announcing that school is about to begin. I ignore the stink-eye from a few of Silverwood Public’s finest and make my way to my locker to grab my books. Despite hoping I could avoid using it due to all the vandalism,the more assignments that pile up, the more space in my backpack is needed. That means resigning myself to dealing with daily trash and cruel notes.

A shoulder slams into mine as I turn, slapping the locker door shut.

“Whore.”

I grit my teeth and don’t respond. I’m doing so much better at this turning the other cheek thing—it’s hard, but hopefully the more I ignore the comments and general shitty behavior, the fewer people will go out of their way to antagonize me. After all, there’s only so much patience a person can have, and even if I try my best, I know I’m bound to snap one of these days. I’m honestly more shocked it hasn’t happened yet.

The first half of the day flies by. I spy Roquel in the halls, but keep walking when she ignores me in favor of the football jock she’d banged at the party. Mads waves to me with a remorseful smile as she hurries by, her arms laden down with a bunch of papers. I stop to consider whether or not I should offer to help her, but before I can make a decision she’s out of earshot as she dives around a corner and disappears from view.

With a sigh, I turn to head to my next period when something soggy hits the back of my head. Jerking to a stop, I reach back and my fingers come away covered in some sort of red-brown sludge. Laughter echoes back to me. I turn my head slowly, lifting my gaze to the end of the hall where a trio of girls stand against the lockers, smirking at me. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who launched the attack.

Megan White’s angular face twisted into a self-satisfied smile. Next to her is Lindsey and on her other side is some girl whose name I’m sure I know since she’s in at least two of my classes, but I can’t quite recall at this moment. The nameless girl is the one my focus lingers on. Her back is against the lockers, her hips jutting out as she rolls a piece of shit BIC lighterbetween her fingers. They’re banned from campus along with cigarettes, but that doesn’t stop students from bringing them in. I’m about to teach the bitch exactly why she should’ve left it at home.

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