Toxicity

by Katie May

  And yet…

  I knew all that when I made the vow. At the very least, a part of me did. Any man who pays for sex can’t be an outstanding citizen, if you know what I mean. But him? There was always something dark, malevolent, lurking just beneath the surface. I just failed to recognize the extent of his monster and hatred for me until it was too late.

  But those two little words in front of a small congregation meant more to me than anyone could comprehend. They were the turning point to my whole entire life. Suddenly, I wasn’t a slut anymore, a whore, a Dragon's Girl. I was a Mrs. and a wife. A step-mom. My fingertips could graze my future, and all I wanted to do was stretch further and hold on tight.

  But how do I explain that to Nat, the epitome of women's rights?

  Her face turns crimson as her hands pick at the hem of her dress.

  “Nat…” I say in my best “spill it” voice.

  “Her name is Mallory, and she’s super cute,” she blurts, dark skin tinged with pink.

  “And does this Mallory happen to work at the bar of the club we’re going to?” I ask, quirking a brow. I had thought it was weird when Nat texted about an elusive club a city over.

  Of course, Nat has always been eccentric, so it could’ve easily been another one of her crazy schemes to get me a suitable boyfriend.

  Or a harem.

  Yes, Nat believes I deserve one.

  “Why have one when you can have three or four or even five?” she’ll always say with a shit-eating grin.

  I can barely handle myself. I can’t imagine adding men to that equation. Besides, I wouldn’t even want to. I’m content to spend the rest of my life as a slave to my marriage.

  Girls like me?

  We don’t get love, and we sure as fuck don’t get happy endings. I’m the whore, the gold digger, the slut, the villain.

  And every story I’ve ever read ended with the villain dying.

  “Heading out, girls?” Byron’s blond head appears on the thick greenery separating our houses. A light dusting of snow covers the ground and shrubs, but it’s not cold. The sun has chased away the chill.

  I can’t help but admire how handsome Byron looks just then. Unlike me, he’s dressed for the weather in a flannel, long-sleeved shirt and a gray undershirt. I can’t see his lower half, but I imagine he’s wearing skin-tight jeans. His sinewy, muscular arms bunch as he leans over, eyes fixed intently on me. I don’t know whether to preen under his gaze or blush and hide.

  I settle for awkwardly doing both, ducking my head as a delicate flush erupts on my cheeks.

  Nat nudges me, garnering my attention, and flashes me a devious smile.

  “We’re going to the club. I thought my main girl here deserved a night out. What do you say, Byron? Do you want to come?”

  My mouth drops open as horror fills me. I subtly shake my head. Isn’t this going against girl code? Nat continues to smile, either ignoring me or oblivious to my unease. Knowing Nat, it’s the former.

  I can see Byron hesitate.

  Fuck, why would Nat do this?

  I know why. The damn girl wants me to get laid. Wants me to get a fucking harem. Crazy bitch.

  But Byron already has a girlfriend, and I have a husband. He’ll politely decline, and I’ll have to deal with the heartache the rest of the night.

  Byron surprises the shit out of me when he bobs his head once, a large grin cleaving his face in two. I’m struck by how beautiful he is once more. He’s handsome normally, but when he smiles, he’s otherworldly.

  “Yeah. Let me tell her where I’m going, and I’ll be right back.”

  I don’t even have to ask to know who the “her” is. Damn jealousy spears my chest, a knife cutting through skin, but I manage a carefree smile, waving him towards the house.

  “Go, we’ll be here!”

  He smiles once more, dimples appearing in his cheeks, before racing towards the front porch. I watch him go with a leaden, miserable feeling mixing with the ball of nerves in my stomach. Once he is inside, I level Nat with a scathing glare.

  “What. The. Hell?”

  “Calm down, Sweetcheeks. I’m doing you both a favor.”

  “A favor?” I screech before lowering my voice. You can never be too careful in this neighborhood. Anyone can be listening.

  “Yes.” Nat waves a hand dismissively. “That boy is so obviously in love with you, and I know you wouldn’t mind sucking on that—“

  “I’m back!” Byron hurries towards the shrubs, and, after a moment of hesitation, propels himself over it. I offer him a wobbly smile, but my mind is replaying Nat’s words.

  In love with me.

  Scoff.

  If only that is true.

  “M’lady.” Byron extends his arm to me, and I take it instinctively.

  “Dork,” I say with a small smile.

  “Always.”

  In love with me.

  It would be fucking amazing to have a man as kind and as gentle as Byron in love with me.

  But it would also be fucking death.

  Knowing love, seeing love, but being unable to fully embrace it. I can’t decide which one would be worse.

  It’s only as we’re slipping into my Prius and backing out of the driveway do I glance towards Mrs. Lumber’s house. The older woman is standing in the window, a surprisingly tender smile on her face as she watches us drive away.

  Why would she smile like that when her boyfriend is driving away with two females his age?

  One thing is certain: I’ll never understand people.

  The pounding music, blaring strobe lights, and the pervasive stench of sweat greets me when I step through the low-hanging entrance.

  Nat, in her usual glory, was able to bypass the line, much to the disgruntlement of every other patron.

  The interior is exactly what I expected from a run-down club. A combination of opulent and deteriorating, Zaco’s is different from the clubs I usually frequent. A bar stands off to the side, run by a petite woman with cropped blond hair, and the tiled flooring resembles more of a bathroom than a dance floor. Still, bodies dance and twirl and gyrate their hips against one another. A DJ is located in the far corner, head bobbing with the music.

  “Wow…” Byron murmurs, eyes twitching. “This place is—“

  “Amazing! Because you two are going to dance, and I’m going to get some nice lady vagina,” Nat cheers, wiggling her hips for emphasis. Byron’s cheeks flame even as I raise a brow.

  “Lady vagina? Really? What other type of vagina is there?”

  Ignoring my quip, Nat takes one of my arms and one of Byron’s, pulling us both into the mesh of quivering bodies. In a move too quick for me to stop, she pulls off my wedding ring.

  I flash her a glare, but she smiles unapologetically.

  “Have fun!” She flutters her fingers before bouncing towards the bar. And the cute bar keeper.

  And that is how I find myself alone with fucking Byron. The fucking Byron who makes my heart pound unevenly and causes my chest to tighten.

  Byron shifts to his heels, hands in his jeans pockets.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asks, cutting through the awkwardness in a way only he can. I turn to smile at him.

  “How about a Hot Mama Blowjob?” I tease, naming a popular drink at the club near my house. It was where we first officially met.

  “Nah, I think you’re more of a Nasty Fireman Fantasy type of girl.”

  Dangerous game, Mallie. You’re playing a dangerous fucking game.

  “I definitely prefer the Sexy Gardener Special,” I say, relishing in his sharp intake of breath and heated, hooded eyes. His expression clears instantly, and he shifts from foot to foot. The movement brings my attention to his pants...and the prominent bulge straining against it.

  Fuck, what are we doing?

  I’m married, and he has a girlfriend, if the rumors are true.

  And yet…

  And yet we’re walking in this strange limbo, our hands metaphorically intertw
ine. Around and around we walk in a never ending loop, desperate to break free. I’m both terrified and exhilarated. But more than any of that, I’m confused.

  “I’ll get you a drink,” Byron murmurs, running a hand through his blond hair. Before I can comment, can rectify my horrible flirting, he hurries through the crowd. I watch his retreating back, my stomach a tumultuous mixture of dread and anxiety. I promised myself I wouldn’t keep playing these damn games, and what do I do the second Byron shows me attention?

  I begin a new one.

  I suddenly become aware of eyes prickling the back of my neck, and I spin, eyes surveying the crowd.

  There, in the far corner, is Aurora and her friends.

  But she isn’t the one who’s looking at me, eyes both penetrating and caressing my skin.

  Phillip sits beside her, tattoos gleaming in the artificial lighting. Though Aurora is talking to her other friends, she’s obviously trying to capture his attention. Her hand occasionally rubs against his arm, and she throws her head back, breasts bouncing.

  But his attention remains solely on me.

  As if I’m the only girl in the world. No, not the world. His world.

  I’m pulled from his arresting stare by a rough hand clasping my shoulder. I jump, startled, before smiling sheepishly at Byron. He glances between Phillip and me with confusion, but thankfully doesn’t comment.

  “There was no Hot Lady in the Club, so I settled on a strawberry cocktail. Thunder Down Under is the name I believe.” He smirks.

  “Damn. No Hot Ladies?” I tease, enjoying his play on words as we discuss another popular drink.

  “Well, only one.” His eyes become hooded, and he gently pulls the drink from my hand, setting it on an empty table. Before I can even complain, he’s pulling me onto the dance floor, the pulsing music reverberating through me until it’s all I feel. I twist my hips, allowing the music to dictate each of my movements. Byron’s hands go to my hips as he moves to the song as well.

  I lose myself in the hypnotic techno beat. In the feel of Byron gyrating his hips against mine. With each thrust, I feel his prominent erection press against my thigh, and full body shivers skitter down my spine.

  What are we doing?

  Walking a dangerous line, that’s for damn sure. A tightrope over a steep cliff, each step precarious. Only he can decide if we stay on the rope or fall to our death.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers reverently. “Standing in the lights, sweat on your brow, my hands on your waist.” He pulls me towards him, and I practically groan when his cock presses against my sensitive pussy. “Do you see what you do to me? What you always do to me? How much I want you?”

  A part of me rebels, not wanting to be merely a notch on his bedpost, but something more. Another, larger part of me is painfully turned on by his dirty words.

  I want to ask him about Mrs. Lumbers, my husband, our friendship, but I choose instead to lose myself to the drumming beat. My body is alive for the first time in forever. In his arms, the turbulent storm has finally passed.

  A new pair of hands rest on my waist above Byron’s, but I don’t startle. Byron raises a brow, glancing from my face to the newcomer’s, and I give him a tentative nod. I raise a brow as well, asking him without words if this is okay.

  But fuck, it feels more than okay.

  The tattooed hands move further up, until they’re cupping my breasts. It’s entirely improper and indecent, especially in a crowded club, but I’m too lost in emotions and feelings to care.

  Byron stares at Phillip, expression inscrutable, before he nods once. I wish I could see the expression on the other man's face.

  What did Byron see to relent so quickly?

  All coherent thoughts fly from my mind when Phillip pinches my nipple through my thin dress. Byron’s breath hitches, eyes intently trained on where we’re connected. With a carnal, almost primal, display of lust, he pulls me further against his front, effectively sandwiching me between two unreasonably handsome men.

  Two men who have made my heart flutter for years.

  Is this a dream?

  I half expect to pinch myself and wake up once more in Jared’s bed.

  I moan low in my throat as Phillip’s hand settles back on my waist, and we continue our seductive dance. Maybe it’s the mysterious feel of the club, making everyone more brazen than normal. Maybe it’s the hypnotic lights, thrashing bodies, and pumping music. Maybe it’s the inevitable explosion of our feelings. Either way, I can’t complain, despite how wrong I know it is.

  But why does something wrong feel so fucking right?

  Phillip nuzzles his face against my neck, lips brushing the sensitive skin, while Byron thrusts his hips against me.

  The damn beautiful asshole is going to make me orgasm in the middle of the dance floor.

  “Do you see what you do to us?” Byron continues his dirty talk, dropping his lips to my ear on the opposite side of Phillip. His teeth graze my earlobe, and I melt further against their strong bodies.

  “Fuck,” I whimper, finally giving in to my desire and rocking my hips back and forth between their two lengths.

  Is it dancing?

  Or is it sex with clothes on?

  The world may never know.

  I’m standing in a fucking hurricane, the eye of the storm, but I know no harm will come to me. I just need to reach that crest…

  “What the hell?” a belligerent voice screeches, ripping me out of my lust-filled thoughts. It has the effect of water being put on a fire. I stumble away from Phillip’s and Byron’s warm bodies, my breathing embarrassingly heavy.

  Aurora stands a foot away from us, hands on her too-thin hips and eyes wide with horror.

  And pain.

  There is no denying that when she glances at Phillip.

  That pain is replaced by fury, white hot, as she levels me with a glare.

  “You little slut! How long have you been fucking them behind my father’s back?” she asks, voice cracking. I have always thought of Aurora as a literal ticking time bomb. One wrong word, one wrong move, would ignite her fuse. And this? Seeing me practically dry hump Phillip? That’s her breaking point.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” Byron says placatingly. His face is pale, and he moves to stand protectively in front of me, almost as if he can shield me from Aurora’s wrath.

  But if there’s one thing I know about the petite female, it’s that she fights with barbs and rumors, not fists and slaps. The old nursery rhyme about sticks and stones comes back to me.

  It’s wrong.

  Words can hurt. It can start wars and stop them. It can provoke a person to do something inhumane.

  Something like murder.

  Aurora’s eyes frosts over, and her gaze is as icy as I’ve ever seen it. I instinctively take a step back, preparing myself for the bitterly cold snowstorm fast approaching.

  “Once my father hears about this, he’s going to be furious. You’re his. His property. His whore. I don’t think he’s going to settle for a couple bruises and broken bones, do you? Not when you embarrass him like the little slut we all know you are. And Daddy? He has the power and money to make you disappear for good.” Her sly smile goes to the two men standing on either side of me, both with their hands clenched and bodies trembling with barely suppressed fury. She gives a five-finger wave. “Have fun loving a dead girl, boys. Because soon, that’s all she’s going to be.”

  Chapter 4

  I race out of the club, my heart in my throat and my stomach elevated to my chest. Everything hurts. A thorn that has embedded itself into my skin, unable to be removed. The pain isn’t unimaginable, but it’s not pleasant. But this thorn? It came from a fucking beautiful rose.

  Every beautiful thing in my life has to be tainted by a bad thing. That’s the law, it seems. Especially for someone like me.

  A whore.

  A hoe.

  A slut.

  A gold digger.

  I half expect it to beg
in raining, as if the universe wants to share in my torment.

  The sky, however, is sprinkled with barely visible stars, and the moon casts strange shadows over the parking lot. Light pollution has caused the sky to look sickly…an accurate representation of my mood.

  “Mal!”

  “Mallie!”

  I walk faster, painfully aware that snow still litters the ground, the air is cold, and I’m wearing nothing but a dress and heels. And I drove here in Nat’s car.

  My day’s going swell, how about you?

  “Mallie!”

  Byron is easily able to eat up the distance between us in a few long strides. His hand gently, tenderly, cups my neck before moving to my cheek and guiding my head to face him.

  I try to keep my mask in place, the mask I have perfected over the years, but it fractures at the adoration and pain in his eyes. Fucking dammit. Why can’t he look at me with disgust and loathing?

  “Where are you going?” he asks tenderly, his thumb stroking my cheekbone. I see Phillip standing behind him, hands in his pockets and expression closed off. When he meets my gaze, his brows furrow, and his lips curl down. He seems to be wordlessly asking me if I’m okay, if I need him, and I can’t fucking figure out how to reply.

  Of course I need him. I need him and Byron and anyone else who will choose to love me unconditionally. That’s all I ever wanted—to be loved and to love someone else in return. I believe that’s why I rushed into a marriage with Jared. Some tiny part within me, a seedling in desperate need of water and sun, just wanted to be loved. Nurtured. Able to grow and flourish.

  But fuck. The rose I became has too many thorns for anyone to properly hold.

  Maybe the world isn’t dangerous. Maybe it’s just me.

  I finally focus back on Byron, realizing he had asked me a question I haven’t responded to.

  “Um…”

  Where am I going?

  Such an innocent question, but it makes my mind reel. Where is there for me to go? Back home? I don’t know if I can face Jared yet, if ever. He’ll be furious. Livid. There’s a big difference between being merely mad and being murderous, and my husband? I have no doubt he’ll be the latter.