Page 223 of Darling Venom
“It’s called DNA, Charlie, and unfortunately, he’s about half of mine. I’m not an expert on reproduction, but I hear it comes with the sperm donor territory.”
“Ha. Ha. Funny.” She released my hand to gesture at me, top to bottom, as if she found something concerning with every inch of me. “This isn’t sustainable, Tate. You’re drowning. Let me be your life raft.”
“I don’t need saving.”
“I think you do. You are a walking, talking cry for help. You loathe drinking and drugs, yet you’re the drunkest I’ve ever seen you. You harbor so much hate for the o
nly remaining family you have.”
“And I imagine fucking the love of my brother’s life often. Very often. Occasionally with my dick in my hands, like a fucking pervert.”
Her breath hitched.
I expected her to flinch, but she didn’t.
Instead, she flipped my hand over on her knee and toyed with my palm, following the lines from one side to the other. Her fingertips traced a scar along the curve between my thumb and pointer finger.
I got it from a surgical knife screw up in med school. It matched the one on her wrist in length, but mine was considerably thinner. I watched as she lined our scars up perfectly and pressed them together.
“Scars are supposed to heal. You’re not supposed to pick at the scab.”
“I don’t know where you got your medical degree, Miss Richards, but I strongly suggest you request a refund.” I pulled my hand back and let it rest on the steps, feeling oddly empty at the missing contact. “As someone who’s actually performed surgery, I can tell you… Scars are permanent. Most will fade, but they don’t disappear. If they’re gone, it’s not a scar.”
That’s another sign you missed.
The long sleeves Kel wore to hide his scars.
Allow me to repeat that—it took my little brother dying for me to realize he’d been cutting himself for years.
Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck.
Charlie stood, brushing herself off.
She held her hand out to me. “I couldn’t save your brother, but I will save you, Tate. Even if I have to lose myself in the process.”
No doubt words she’d never speak aloud if she thought I’d remember them tomorrow.
I accepted her hand, but only because I didn’t trust myself not to stumble over both of us. I already had one death on my hands, two if you counted my soul, and adding another one just seemed greedy.
“You’re welcome to try, Miss Richards.”
“I like it better when you call me Charlie.” She started to walk, stealing glances at me. “I know you visited Leah for me. Thank you.”
“I didn’t do it for you.”
“Sure, you didn’t.”
I liked that she called me out on my bull.
In fact, I liked a lot about her.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
We walked to a busy street, where Charlie flagged down a cab. She helped me in, giving the driver my address. Most of the ride passed in silence until she broke it a few blocks away from my brownstone.
“I’m taking you up on that offer, Tate.”
“To fuck?” And that was how I knew I was plastered. What the hell, Tate?
