Page 92 of Darling Venom
It was all the more impressive when I remembered that the man who’d written it had the emotional intelligence of a walnut and at least two illegitimate children (that we knew of). Granted, if the state of New York accepted common-law marriages, Kellan would be legitimate.
Point was, every major literary masterpiece that came after had a piece of The Imperfections inside. And everyone who’d read the book or watched the movie became obsessed, Leah included.
She used to call Terry Marchetti—the Terry Marchetti decades older than her, who dressed in cocaine chic and was once caught smoking weed through a gas mask bong in a now-viral picture—hot.
“Do you want it?” I finally asked.
My heart bellowed in its cage, gaining speed with each passing second.
Please say no.
Please say no.
Please say no.
I already knew I would say yes, because I always said yes.
Just like I knew she would ask.
It was the same song and dance since that night. A part of me—a big part—didn’t want to admit what I suspected. That Leah did this on purpose to force me to make sacrifices in order to offset her big one.
I didn’t mind.
Not really.
I wanted to please her. I just wish we weren’t stuck in a toxic cycle.
Leah tucked a lock of hair into her mouth, biting down. “Really?”
Her bare skin stared back at me, a symphony of pinks and purples. I found her pretty, with or without makeup. In fact, I found her so insanely beautiful, she belonged on the covers of the magazines she devoured.
But I couldn’t force my opinions on her.
Only the side effects of my guilt.
“Sure.” I swallowed around the huge lump in my throat. “It’s not a big deal.”
Lie.
“It’s okay.” Her eyes darted to the paperback again.
Translation: I want it, but I don’t want to be the dick that asks for it.
Double translation: This doesn’t absolve you of your guilt over what happened.
“Take it. I insist.”
Snatching the paperback from the counter, I offered it to her. Nine years ago, I would’ve dumped it in her room and shouted, no take-backs! But now I never entered her room.
Ever.
And I never gave her things either. Not for a lack of trying. She just refused to accept anything from me. Wouldn’t want to even out her big sacrifice with a bag of Skittles.
The book hovered between us. I felt like a balloon, waiting for Leah to pump me with love, appreciation, anything and help me float.
Her hand latched onto it.
My pulse traveled up my throat.
