Page 59 of Darling Venom
I felt one hundred percent responsible for what had happened to Kellan. I carried it with me every day.
But if Terry thought his first-grade psychology mumbo jumbo would work on me, he obviously hadn’t gotten the memo that I held the puking green slime emoji’s opinion of me higher than I did his judgment.
“See that hole you walked through when you got in? It’s called a door. See yourself through it.” I turned him in the other direction, pushing him out.
He spun with surprising nimbleness, balling the fabric of my shirt as he jerked himself forward, so we stood nose to nose.
“They’re going to kick me out of the apartment, you hear?” The stench of his alcohol breath fogged around me. This marked his sixth eviction since he’d defaulted on the mortgage of a Central Park high-rise condo he’d never been able to afford. “I’m going to be homeless.”
“Downsize. Move to Brooklyn. I’m not paying your rent anymore.”
As it was, the only reason I’d paid Terry’s rent so far was because I knew his ass would land on my couch otherwise.
He didn’t have anywhere else to go. Turns out that, without the money, movie deals, and prestige, women were not so keen on sharing a bed with him.
I liked my privacy.
I also liked not sharing a roof with a man I hated just a little less than Hitler.
“I can’t.” He lost his balance a little, stumbling back before jerking himself into my face again. “I have two hundred and thirty bucks in my checking account.”
“Time to dip into your savings.”
“I have no savings. Emptied ‘em all out last week.” He hiccupped, collapsing onto my couch and nearly pulling me down with him. Terry threw an arm over his head. “Maybe it’s time to give up the apartment.”
“Ya’ think?”
He belched.
Classy AF.
Hard to figure out how he was single.
Kicking his leg on the arm of my sofa, he added, “You do have a spare room here.”
“No, I don’t.”
I stood in my living room, hands parked on my waist, knowing the only things stopping me from kicking his ass were social etiquette, the remainder of my sanity, and the slight chance he’d slap me with a fruitless lawsuit in the hopes of funding his drug habit.
Terry removed his arm from his face, frowning up at me. “Whaddaya mean no? What about Kellan’s room?”
“No one’s walked in there for four years. Your sorry ass is not about to change that.”
He whistled low, shaking his head. “Still, huh? His room must reek.”
“So do you.”
“C’mon, son. I need to sleep somewhere.”
His usage of the word “son” whenever he needed something made me violent. To be fair, watching him convert oxygen to carbon dioxide was enough to put me in a shitty mood.
“How about the street?”
I ambled toward my kitchen. I lived in a small house, only eighteen-hundred square feet and in desperate need of a remodel. It cost a fucking fortune, being smack in the middle of the city, on one of the most picturesque streets of New York.
Around the time I’d taken Kellan in, I’d been young and dumb enough to have high hopes about what we’d be. I’d planned to work on the place as I moved to the private sector. Rip the walls out. Start from scratch. Make it a sick bachelor pad Kellan and I could share.
Now, there was no way I’d start moving shit around. Not when Kellan’s room still remained untouched.
