Page 268 of Darling Venom
Though the idea of death by food had merit. On the scale of miserable deaths, it ranked far lower than getting trampled by an elephant stampede, falling into a sewage tank and drowning in literal shit, and other unpleasant options.
He pulled the cheesesteak from the bag and set it on my duvet, bleeding grease onto the Egyptian cotton. “Eat.”
I tore into the sandwich, but only because it saved me the time it would’ve taken to jog downstairs and consume half a box of expired cereal.
(Spoiler alert: it’s been a while since I bought groceries, too.)
Plus, eating this got Terry out of my hair. Birds, meet stone.
He tipped his head toward the ceiling and clutched his stomach, wheezing out raucous laughter. “Little Miss Richards do that?”
“The one and only.”
After I finished, Terry collected the trash (note to self: check the sky for flying pigs later) and headed for the door.
He stopped just shy of it, pointing at the poster. “You know, we almost got rid of this passage. That editor lady claimed it impeded the flow of the narrative. Miss Richards fought to keep it.”
He left me with that morsel.
I jerked the oil-stained covers off the bed and fell onto my back, staring up at the giant print. Made it through the first line before I flicked my lamp off, blacking out the world.
The words I’d read echoed in my head.
Over and over.
A broken record stuck on a piercing note.
I covered my face with a pillow, smashing it over both ears.
And still, I heard Kel’s words.
Not in his voice, oddly.
But in hers.
It’s time to talk about my brother.
No, it wasn’t.
I delivered a stillborn today.
His mother bawled, clutching onto him as if her pain could breathe life into him. Sweat leaked down her temples. Tears showered her cheeks.
Her husband hovered beside her, peering at their lifeless baby. Comforting his wife despite his own grief. Something I saw often in my line of work, yet never seemed able to duplicate.
This was the worst part of my job.
The part that usually sent memories of losing Kel rocketing through me.
But this time, I felt Charlie’s absence. She would know what to say right now. How to use her losses to help the people around her.
Even a stranger.
I nodded to a nurse, who signaled the staff to clear the room so the parents could grieve in private. We stood just outside, lined against the wall, heads bowed.
A symphony of wails crept past the closed door and whistled down the corridor.
By the time I arrived home, I felt like the collar of my dress shirt was out to choke me. I tore off the buttons, wanting them gone faster than I could unfasten them.
