Page 19 of Pretty Poisoned

"I'm…so sorry. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. I'm just confused. That's all."

I watch as she takes a few deep breaths, attempting to calm herself. "Can I have that back?" she asks softly.

I realize she's talking about the vodka and wordlessly hand it to her.

She takes a long pull from the bottle, then says, "I'm sorry. You're still learning the rules here. We don't talk about each other like that. And there's no fighting either, so…I'm sorry, too."

"It was my fault. And I don't think we were really fighting, so it's okay. I didn't mean to offend you. I just want to understand him. You say you're a family, and you all love him. He just seems really hard to get to know."

"That's fair," she says. "He is very guarded. He doesn't even fuck the bloodsluts. He's very particular about who he lets in. That's what makes it so special when he does choose you. There's just something about him, you know? He is light."

How the fuck am I supposed to respond to that? This girl really drank the Kool-Aid. She's talking about this rockstar like he's a god or something.

I'm starting to realize that—for them—he is.

"That makes sense," I tell her. Even though it doesn't make any goddamn sense at all.

"Time to go," Brady says as he and Alana pass us on their way out of the room.

She smiles. "We need to get out there, too. Let's go."

As we leave, River looks back and notices Layla still on the sofa alone, staring blankly at the wall. "Baby?" River calls.

The girl doesn't respond.

River walks over to her and places a hand on her cheek. "Baby Layla, it's starting soon. We need to go out there."

"Okay," she says, slowly pulling herself to her feet.

River guides her out the door in front of us. "Remember, Layla. You need to smile, be yourself. Be grateful."

"I know," Layla says.

She turns back to me, adding quietly enough that Layla can't hear it as we make our way down the dark hallway, "And as you can see, it makes it that much harder when he takes it back."

I don't know what she means, but I nod as if I do and try to piece it together as we push our way through the crowd and down to a roped-off section at the front-center stage marked "Reserved." A security guard moves it aside for us just as the lights go down and Luca strums a few notes on his guitar in the darkness. It's silent again for a few seconds before the venue erupts in cheers, waiting.

For him.

A spotlight illuminates the space, settling on Declan with his microphone at center stage.

"I knew when we met, you'd be my demise,"he sings the first line of the song, pausing for applause before the band joins him.

"With my last breath

I'll whisper your name to the skies

It wasn't you, it wasn't me

It was us in this thing

It was electric, but we knew what it would bring

And so it ends with a whisper

She drew blood when I kissed her

He smiles—or something like it—and then runs his hand through his dark hair, beads of sweat already forming on his brow as he belts out the lyrics under the spotlight. In person, he's cold, closed off. He's an untouchable enigma, barely human among the rest of us, operating seemingly without emotion and solely on instinct and yet somehow in complete control of everything and everyone around him. On stage, he's something entirely different. He's electric; he's fire. He's the sun, using his gravitational pull on everyone around them, and they have no choice but to stay there in his orbit or freeze. He makes it seem like you could touch him if you wanted to. If he'd let you.

---