Page 24 of Toxic Kiss

“Given what you’ve been through, it makes sense that this feels frightening. Has this ever happened before, hearing him like this?

“No, this is the first time. He’s been on my mind a lot lately.”

“Are you alone, or is there someone who can be there with you?”

I sniff and blink back the tears as the shaking subsides, and the door stops rattling.

“I have four friends with me. They’re in another room. I just…I don’t want to talk to them right now.”

“That’s okay. I’m glad you called us, Rick. Can we try something together for a moment? Just to help steady things a bit. Can you tell me five things you can see right where you are?”

I swallow hard.

“Um…the toilet, and a white towel on a rack. The sink, the shower, and my dirty clothes on the floor.”

“That’s good. So, you’re in the bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. What does this room look like? Give me as much detail as you can.”

“The tile is dark gray. The sink and toilet are white…there is a picture of a bubble on the wall.”

“You’re doing great, Rick. I can hear that you’re scared, but just know that I’m here to work through this with you.”

I drop my head and let it hang between my knees.

“Rick, are you still there?”

“Yeah…look, thanks for talking to me. I feel better, and I’m going to go talk to my friends,” I say, lying again.

“Okay. Before you go, can I ask if you are feeling safe enough right now to end the call?”

I wipe away the lone tear that is rolling down my cheek.

“I am. Thanks for…for talking.”

I hang up and tap the phone against my forehead.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

chapter

nine

“Every breath is a battle, every heartbeat a rebellion.” – Cyrus

HAVEN

The Nevada heat doesn’t just cling, it crawls along my skin. It seeps into my blood until I can taste metal on my tongue with a mix of dust and frustration. The air hums with static, and the pavement glows like it’s seconds from melting.

I slide my sunglasses higher, wipe my neck, and square my shoulders.

I belong here.

My stride is confident, but I’m caffeine, nerves, and false bravado stitched together.

A guard steps out of his booth, cool air spilling out like a taunt. The windows are fogged with frost, an icebox in the middle of hell. He squints at me over his clipboard, every inch of him radiating suspicion and sunburned arrogance that makes you want to fight.