Page 162 of Darling Venom
Charlie settled beside me. We watched a documentary about lions in the wild on the Discovery Channel while a birthing podcast played in my ears. The obstetrician, who sounded like he’d gotten his medical degree in the basement of his mother’s home, droned on about the beauty of the birth canal’s ability to adapt.
The vagina.
He was talking about the vagina.
Only, he couldn’t bring himself to say the v-word.
I switched the podcast off. Charlie had stopped talking, who knew how long ago. I slid my headphones into my pocket, waiting for her to pick up again where she’d left off.
She didn’t.
I don’t know why I did it—maybe sleep deprivation, maybe insanity—but I offered an olive branch.
An explanation.
“You don’t get it.” I stared straight ahead, at lions eating zebras. “It makes me physically ill to think about this book and what could be in it.”
“You just need to read it once, and you’ll know.”
But the way she said it, like even she didn’t want me to read it, spoke volumes.
We finished the documentary together.
This time, I didn’t wear the headphones.
This time, she didn’t talk.
When the end credits materialized, her stomach growled.
She winced. “I didn’t have time for a meal, and your place is a food desert.”
It was nearing midnight. Having her here was already dangerous. Having her here, late and alone and beside me?
Absolutely lethal.
I sighed, strode to the kitchen, and tossed a pile of takeout menus on the island. “Pick one.”
A grin lit up her face. She fanned out the menus, taking her time to choose. The logo for Pauli’s Kitchen glared up at me.
Don’t pick it.
Don’t pick it.
Don’t pick it.
Of course, she picked it.
She had a knack for making me fall apart. It was a marketable talent at this point.
She lifted her phone and dialed the number, covering the mouth of her phone. “Do you want anything?”
“No.”
“The chicken parm looks good.”
I froze, biting out another no. She gave me an odd look, placed her order, and hung up. While we waited for the food, my eyes darted around the kitchen, searching for a distraction. They fixed on the scar on Charlie’s wrist.
“What’s that from?”
