Page 23 of Sweet Venom
I remain silent, not knowing what I should say that won’t annoy him any further. Because that’s how it starts—mild annoyance that escalates to shoves and curses, and then I’m beaten up and locked in a closet.
I can never go back to that closet. I…can’t do closets.
Just the thought quickens my breathing and fills my turbulent headspace with smudges of red.
“Why the fuck aren’t you running, Violet?” Jude’s booming voice pulls me out of my sinister thoughts and I jump a bit.
I hate how I immediately slide to the edge whenever anyone yells.
I’m not an idiot. I know it has to do with the cocktail of traumas Mama gave me instead of affection, but I don’t know how to fix it.
Or if I ever could.
“What’s the point?” I whisper, looking down at my shoes, at the neatly tied laces and the scratched-up white fabric.
“What’s the point?” he repeats with an edge, stepping forward until his black boots are in my field of vision. Big and intimidating like the rest of him.
“Yeah.” I lift my shoulder. “It’s not like I can outrun you.”
“Look at me.”
I lift my head because the firm tone suggests retribution if I don’t.
I immediately regret it.
Eye contact with Jude is no different than being dragged into the depths of a somber forest with no way out.
Prickling hate and volcano-level rage shimmer behind his brown irises, and the hopeless part of me that feels others’ pain before my own can actually see his.
It’s convoluted, like it’s become something darker and more vicious, but it’s there.
And some stupid part of me would love to ease it a little, make him…feel better.
Somehow.
Someway.
I can help him, screams my naïve side, knowing my death would do him the greatest favor.
“If you think you can’t outrun me, should that stop you from fucking trying, Violet?” He’s speaking in that tone again, somewhat angry but also frustrated.
And I don’t understand why he seems pissed off that I’m not running. Isn’t that what he wants?
“It would be a waste of both our time,” I say.
“With that mentality, it sure fucking would be.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say or do.” I release a breath. “If I run today, so what? You’ll be back tomorrow or the day after. It’s not like I can run or hide forever.”
“No, you can’t. Not when that’s your train of thought.” He steps forward, and my leg twitches to step back as I look down at the shortened distance between our shoes.
“I said. Look at me.” His order makes my body tense up with both discomfort and something else I can’t quite pinpoint.
I halt, my nails digging harder into the backpack straps, the wound from when I picked up the shards of the glass I dropped when I saw him across the street earlier throbs in needle-like pain. All I want to do is touch my wrist, but I don’t want to draw his attention to it again.
“How the fuck did you survive this long with that mentality, hmm?” He tilts his head, watching me like I’m something broken he’s trying to dissect. “It’s like you’re asking to be killed.”
“If that’ll give you the revenge you so desperately seek, I don’t mind.”
