Page 10 of Sweet Venom
He releases my wrist, and I think the nightmare is over, but then he traces a line on my cheek with the back of his bloodied hand, smearing the sticky mess from the edge of my glasses to the corner of my mouth. “When I’m done with you, there’ll be nothing left.”
My chin trembles, and I want to look away, to escape his black-hole-like orbit, but I don’t.
“Why are you doing this?”
“You’ll have to figure that out yourself.” His lips hover near my cheek, and with every word he breathes against the blood, a chill spreads across my skin. “Reflect on your sins.”
3
VIOLET
“Morning, Vi!”
I flinch when slim arms hug me from behind, nearly making me spill the soup in the saucepan.
Masking my nervousness, I turn to face my sister, who’s grinning wide.
Dahlia is about a year younger than me, and even though we’re not related by blood—we met in my last foster home—she’s the only family I have.
She’s curvier than me, with golden olive-toned skin, long, wavy brown hair, and the kind of bold presence that makes people stay away. But it’s her eyes that always strike me the most. Big, expressive hazel, sharp and bold, like they’ve seen more than they should and somehow refused to shatter.
Her smile drops. “What’s up with the dark circles? You worked too late and barely got any sleep again, didn’t you?”
“It’s nothing.” I pour the soup into a container and put on my practiced smile. “You know how it is at the bar.”
“Yeah, not sure the tips are worth it. They’re obviously exploiting you. How many hours did you even sleep?”
Three.
Despite the exhaustion, I couldn’t fall asleep. I kepttossing and turning in bed, my mind filled with that stalker and his threats.
“Reflect on your sins,” he said.
What sins?
The only person I’ve committed a sin against is dead.
So why…?
I kept thinking about it all night, searching for the possible reasons he’d say something like that, but I still came up empty.
Since I couldn’t fall asleep, I scribbled in my journal and sketched a few things, and then I was able to drift off, but my sleep was riddled with nightmares of dark eyes and a bloodied gloved hand squeezing my throat to death.
I woke up both terrorized and…disappointed.
It’s not the first time I’ve dreamt of death, and I’m always left with this niggling sadness at the realization that it’s not real.
That I didn’t die like I should’ve.
“I slept enough,” I answer Dahlia, who’s still watching me with a slight frown. “Look, I made you soup and a few sandwiches so you won’t eat junk food.”
“It’s not that I want to eat junk food. I don’t have time and can’t cook to save my life, remember?” She smiles sheepishly, opening the cabinet. “Cooking is overrated anyway.”
I laugh and fix the collar of her jacket. It’s leather.
My fingers twitch.
Why did it have to be leather?
