Page 126 of Toxic Kiss

It’s in the way my body reacts before I can stop it. The way my thoughts go quiet when he gets too close. The way the anger he invokes somehow settles me. Finally, the anarchy that silently sits in my chest has someone to take the wheel. I don’t have to carry it alone anymore.

Fuck. All of this isn’t just about Cyrus. It’s about me. It’s the part of me that wants to give in and doesn’t fight as hard as I can. The part that lingers in the shadows of my mind, only surfacing and softening for him. I don’t understand, and I honestly don’t want to.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head, even though the truth is already sinking its claws in and there is no way out of the trap.

If I’m really fucking honest…in a way that makes my chest ache, and my skin feel itchy…I didn’t lose control in the kitchen. I gave it to him.

And for those few moments…I didn’t want it back.

“What the hell is wrong with me?”

What kind of person feels safer in the hands of the one who breaks them? How can I look at destruction and call it relief?

My eyes flick back to the mirror and something dark curls low in my stomach.

“I let him make me like this,” I whisper.

God help me.

I crave the destruction. That is the truth. I’ll walk straight back into the fire knowing exactly how it ends.

“That’s not normal,” I mutter, my voice fragile to my own ears. “It’s certainly not healthy.”

No kidding.

PROPERTY OF CYRUS VALE

“Like hell I am.”

I march back to the sink, grab the cloth, and scrub at it again. Not as frantic this time, but no less determined, until my skin stings and the ink fades just enough that I can pretend it’s gone.

But Cyrus isn’t going anywhere.

Giving up, I strip quickly and hop in the shower. The hot water that normally eases my muscles does nothing to calm my nerves. I go through the motions of washing my hair and body, and it doesn’t shock me in the least when I step out and still feel Cy’s hands everywhere.

With a heavy sigh, I leave the bathroom, jumping when my phone rings. The loud Venomous song has me clutching at my fluffy towel.

“Jesus.”

This had better be important. I march across the room and unplug my phone from the charger. Charles. Of course, he’s calling right now. Fitting. So-fucking-fitting.

I stare at his name, my thumb hovering. I’m about to hit ignore, but decide fuck-this-shit and hit talk.

“Charles? Why the hell are you calling at 4:16 in the morning?”

“Teddy Bear! Oh, thank god. You’re awake,” he slurs.

The words are clear, but slow and thick. He’s been drinking.

Fucking fantastic, just what I need right now.

“Teddy Bear. Oh, my sweet teddy bear. You are my sweet, sweet teddy bear. Kiss me like you do. Moonbeam ice cream, dancing with you,” he sings, ridiculously, and I’m instantly sorry I answered. “Sorry, baby, was at work karaoke. You’re so mystical, magical,” he belts out.

At one time, I would’ve thought this was cute. When we were in college, I didn’t know Charles was a cheating, lying scumbag.

“I’m not your Teddy Bear anymore.”

He laughs as if what I’ve said is ridiculous.