Page 205 of Toxic Kiss

“Yeah. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that night.”

Of course, she remembers. It’s in her journal. Stupid fucking question. I can add it to the list of all the other stupid shit I’ve done. I’m a fucking prick.

I lean forward, elbows on my knees, hands clasped so tight my knuckles ache.

“After you left… Patrick confronted me.”

Haven gives nothing away. She just waits for me to continue.

“We’d argued about how I treated you before but this was different. He was furious. I’d never seen him look at me like that. Not really. Not like he wanted nothing to do with me. He’d been angry at me before, but this…this was different. We started yelling. He said he was sick of my shit. Sick of what I kept doing to you.”

My chest tightens just saying it. Even now, even after everything, I can hear Patrick’s voice clear as a bell. Anger in every word. Hurt in his eyes. Done.

“I hated that you two were so close. I called you a loser with no friends, but I was the loser. I wanted to crush every bit of joy you had and the two of you shared.” I close my eyes for half a second, but it doesn’t help. “It was comforting to see you as miserable as I felt inside. I know it’s fucked up.”

My hand trembles as I finish off my cup of coffee and gather my thoughts. Haven hasn’t moved. She sits still as a statue while her gaze pierces my chest and silently calls me a fucking asshole.

“Patrick said that I spent years treating you like garbage, and he stood there letting it happen, because he wanted me to be his friend. Because he liked writing with me. Because he got caught up in all the stupid dreams we had about music and getting out and becoming something bigger than where we came from.” I swallow hard. “And then he said he was done. That was the last straw. He didn’t want to be my friend anymore.”

Haven’s mouth parts slightly, and I can see the shock.

“I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. Telling you meant acknowledging that it was my fault,” I say. “I let you believe whatever the hell you wanted to believe, because the truth…” I laugh again, the sound broken. “The truth hurt too much.”

The silence stretches.

“He turned to leave.” My voice drops lower now. “I should’ve followed him. I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve apologized. I should’ve done about a thousand things that weren’t standing there like some arrogant piece of shit, too proud to admit that I’d gone too far.”

Haven is watching me, but I can’t look at her.

“What about our songs?” My throat closes around the memory. “That’s what I said as he walked away. Can you believe that? I didn’t tell him not to go. I never said, “Let’s fix this.” I’m sorry never even entered my mind. I asked him about our fucking songs.”

Tears I’ve never let fall fill my eyes as I finally turn to my judge, jury, and executioner. Pain moves across Haven’s face so fast I almost miss it.

“He told me to keep them. He said he didn’t want them. And you know what?” I pause and swallow the bile creeping up the back of my throat. “I was relieved. Fucking relieved.”

My chest aches, and I know that if I keep pushing words out, I’ll choke on them.

Haven’s voice is gentle when she says my name.

“Cyrus…”

“I let him leave angry,” I say over her, because I have to get this out before I can’t. “I let him get in that car drunk, furious, and alone. And then he died.”

There it is.

The thing.

The wound under every other wound.

I lock eyes with Haven, and I don’t try to hide any of it. Not the grief, the self-hatred, or the part of me that has been bleeding out for years behind wild parties, expensive sunglasses and stage lights.

“I killed him. It’s my fault that Patrick is dead. Our friend died because…you’re right…I do everything in excess. And that night, the one night I should’ve tackled him to the ground and taken his keys…I let him leave.”

Haven’s whole face changes.

“No,” she says immediately, shaking her head. “Cy, no.”

“Yes.”