Page 159 of Darling Venom
Reached out to catch him.
And woke up.
My hand slammed on the nightstand, silencing the alarm. That organ in my chest threatened to burst. I felt like I’d run a marathon. In reality, I’d slept a cool seven hours.
I preferred the rotating dreams of my mistakes to this one.
The undoable mistake.
It was the one that turned me into an insufferable ass all day, but since that seemed to be my default lately, I doubted anyone would notice at work.
When I got out of bed, I felt just as shitty as I had the past couple of weeks. Maybe even shittier. I washed up, tossed on enough clothes to make myself look mildly presentable, and bounded down the steps.
A melodic hum traveled up the staircase, reaching me.
Charlie.
I checked my phone, realizing it was a Saturday, and she didn’t have work. Usually, I woke early and snuck out before she arrived.
Her questions about the manuscript formed a constant assault. I didn’t want to know a single thing about Darling Venom. But we’d started a cat-and-mouse game. I left earlier and earlier; she arrived ahead of schedule to match it.
Today, she won.
I entered the kitchen. A citrusy scent invaded my nostrils, followed by the faint smell of something dying. Which reminded me. The delivery food. I scanned the kitchen island for the package and failed to find it.
Charlie followed my line of sight. “I tossed it. All the meat went bad. I tried to keep the veggies, but they smelled like rotting flesh. I opened up a new bottle of air freshener. I’d say I hope you don’t mind, but I doubt you would’ve realized if I hadn’t told you.”
I wouldn’t have.
She ran a rag over the counters. They looked clean. Cleaner than this place had been since Terry gave my housekeeper Hilda the boot and she decided she didn’t want to return.
Note to self: figure out what Terry did and said to make poor ol’ Hildy run for the hills.
Charlie gnawed her lower lip. “Your fridge is empty. When was the last time you grocery shopped?”
I did what I often did when Charlie showed up before I managed to escape. I ignored her. Pretended she wasn’t here, and I didn’t want her. This was my best defense against the fact that I was at risk of kissing the shit out of her.
In my periphery, I saw her lift a frame, waving the gold clunker. It held a picture of me and Kel on the day we met. The only photo we had together. Growing up with paparazzi did a number on him. Didn’t help that he hated me.
Without the senior yearbook photo of him (where he looked ten seconds from taking a machete to the photographer, turning to witchcraft to unleash a tsunami on all of New York City, and finding refuge in a Hot Topic), I wouldn’t own a single image of Kel in his final year alive.
“I found this while cleaning the mantel. It was facedown.”
Another note to self: move the frame to my nightstand, where Charlie can’t see it.
And why the hell was she still cleaning?
A few days ago, I’d thought my housekeeper had returned, but this made more sense.
“I noticed there aren’t any other pictures of Kellan in
here. I have some…” She bit her lip. “If you want to see them.”
I froze, tempted for one foolish moment.
Not enough to break my silence.
“Are you ignoring me because you’re mad I barged in here?”
