Toxicity

by Katie May

  At that, he quirks a blond brow. “You never asked.”

  Because I assumed you were lovers, I think snarkily.

  Silence stretches between us, the weight heavy on my shoulders. My gaze flickers from the tops of my knees to Byron’s...busted knuckles.

  Knuckles that were most definitely not bruised and red the night before.

  Following my stare, Byron shifts uncomfortably on the wooden chair, his fingers gripping the back tighter.

  “You got into a fight,” I whisper softly, eyes fixated on the bruises and lacerations marring his tanned skin.

  “People fight, Mal. Guys especially.” He tries for a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. My heart is beating erratically; I can feel it echoing through my body, drowning out even the roaring in my ears. Despite everything, I don’t feel unsafe. On the contrary. I have the distinct feeling Byron will never hurt me.

  But apparently, he’ll hurt someone else instead.

  Maybe I don’t know him as well as I think I do.

  “Who did you fight?” My voice is a hushed murmur, but it breaks through the silence like the crack of a whip. When Byron remains stubbornly silent, I continue doggedly. “Do you know they think I did it?” Snorting at the absurdity of something like that, I rub a hand down my face. “Me. It’s laughable, really. I put up with that man for five years, and I was more than prepared to deal with him for five more.”

  Byron is silent, his gaze dipping to his busted knuckles. One hand absently picks at the red skin.

  “Why only five?” he inquires at last, peeking through his fringe of dark lashes.

  “Because I didn’t expect to live longer than that,” I answer honestly. And it was true. I held no delusions that Jared would realize his undying love for me and devote himself. He wanted a young piece of ass, someone to hold on his arm and brag about to the world. The second I received a wrinkle or gained weight or—God forbid—got pregnant, he would discard me like yesterday’s trash.

  And…

  And I was okay with that.

  Fuck, what happened to me that made something like that sound appealing?

  Byron’s face loses all its color, and he stares at me with unnerving intensity.

  “Mallie…” He trails off, brushing a hand through his blond curls. “Why didn’t you just leave?”

  It’s a question that has haunted me for years. Since the first slap. I’ll lie in bed, and that one question would reverberate through my mind.

  Why didn’t I leave?

  The answer is simple: I had nowhere to go. No one to turn to. All I needed was a push, a shove, a hand willing to pull me from the ruins of my own life. Instead, I got false promises and a crippling depression that nearly killed me.

  “Why didn’t you save me?” I counter, tightening my arms around my legs. Byron makes a strangled gasping noise, but I hurry on before he can interrupt. “You and Phillip both promised to save me. Why didn’t you?” Tears burn my eyes and trail hotly down my cheeks. “I just needed to know someone cared, you know? I just needed to have someone believe in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. Someone to hold me up when I was too weak. But you weren’t there. Neither of you were. You came five years too late.” I risk a glance towards him, surprised to see tears cascading down his own cheeks. He scrubs at his face angrily, as if pissed at himself for his moment of weakness.

  “Mallie…”

  “You can promise me now that you’ll take care of me, that you’ll protect me, but I don’t think I’ll believe it. Because, Byron, you offered me something I hadn’t felt in a while. You offered me hope, and then you pulled that hope away.” I sniffle, catching the remaining tears with my hand. Moving to my feet, I stride briskly out of the room, only stopping to whisper, “Jared didn’t break me. You did.”

  Because I had stupidly relied on a prince and a knight when I should’ve relied on myself. Maybe then, Jared wouldn’t be dead, Aurora wouldn’t be injured, and I wouldn’t be a shell of myself.

  Funny how things work, am I right?

  Dinner is understandably awkward.

  But hey, at least the food’s good.

  Byron sits opposite me at the table, Susie beside him. The silence stretching between us is uncomfortable, the tension almost palpable. Only Susie seems undeterred, chatting excitedly about anything and everything. The basketball game coming up. Mrs. Wanda’s new husband. A recipe she wants to try.

  When dinner is finally done, Byron excuses himself without a backwards glance. I offer to help clean the table, but Susie waves me away.

  “You’re a guest, dearie. Go take a nice, long bubble bath or something.”

  Which is how I find myself a few minutes later standing on the ceramic tiles in the cute bathroom. It’s predominantly decorated in blues and whites, the claw-footed tub accented in gold. I grab a towel from the closet and glance over the various body washes and shampoos. Deciding on strawberry bubblegum, I fill the tub with steaming hot water.

  I unwrap my feet from the bandages Roman supplied, knowing I’ll have to redo the wrappings after my bath.

  The water feels good on my body, even though it does sting my feet, and the tension slowly drains from my muscles. I haven’t even realized how badly I am aching both physically and mentally. With the water sloshing around my naked body and a towel under my head, I allow the previously evasive sleep to consume me. It laps at the edges of my consciousness, as gentle as the water lapping at my bare skin, until darkness obscures my vision.

  The punch sends my head reeling backwards, blood forming on my lips. I groan, cradling my head, and prepare myself for the second blow.

  It never comes.

  Phillip stands between me and Jared, trembling with unsuppressed fury. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, and his chest heaves with rasping breaths.

  “Don’t touch her,” he hisses.

  Jared takes another swig out of his bottle before tossing it beside his half dozen empty ones.

  “Phillip, my boy. I thought you were with Aurora?” he slurs. He scrubs a hand at his forehead, wiping away the sweat, before flashing a belligerent grin. “Stay out of matters that don’t concern you. You know what happened the last time you interfered.”

  Phillip’s body tenses further at the threat I can’t quite understand. After a moment, he relaxes significantly and releases a pent-up breath.

  “I don’t care,” he answers at last.

  I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t understand anything, really, besides the throbbing in my temple. The agonizing pain reverberating through my body…

  When Jared remains silent, smirking maliciously, Phillip tears his attention from my husband and kneels down beside me.

  “I’m taking her to the hospital,” he says. His face considerably softens when his eyes meet mine. “Come here, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

  Phillip suddenly releases an agonized roar, moving away from me. I want to cry out, to scream, to plead, but I can’t get anything but blood to leave my parted lips. It drizzles down my chin, a pool of garnet red.

  Blackness descends, and I mercifully welcome it.

  I wake with a gasp, splashing water over the edge of the tub.

  I remember that encounter vividly. It was just one of numerous times Phillip promised me something...and never kept it.

  He never took me to a hospital. Instead, I awoke to Jared’s personal doctor standing over me, a tiny flashlight in hand as he checked both my eyes. Come to think of it, Phillip had been absent that entire month. I had thought he had left me for good until he returned one night with Aurora and had followed me to my room, curling his muscular body around mine.

  Fuck. What the hell is going on around here?

  Scrubbing a hand down my face, I don’t notice the intruder until he’s standing directly above me.

  Before I can scream, his hand is over my mouth.

  Double fuck.

  Chapter 8

  “What the hell, Phillip?” I ga
sp, bolting upright in the now cool water. The movement draws attention to my breasts bobbing just above the waterline, my nipples beaded from the cold air.

  Phillip’s eyes hungrily devour my body before finally meeting my own. Without a word, he drops to his knees at the edge of the tub and takes my hand in his. His thumb idly draws circles into my skin.

  “Phillip,” I repeat when it becomes obvious he’s not going to speak. “Why are you here?”

  I can’t decide if I want to cover myself or not. I decide on not.

  He’s seen me naked plenty of times before. What’s one more time?

  The last time.

  “I needed to see you,” he rasps at last. His dark tattoos stand out against my porcelain skin. His body is a canvas—a dragon, similar to mine, decorates his rib cage, and I see something that appears to be a pocketwatch on his wrist. Flowers and vines curl up his bicep, and even more trail up his neck. I imagine I could study him for hours and never tire of the perfection that is Phillip.

  “You don’t...you don’t have a right to see me,” I settle on at last. He’s not my boyfriend. Hell, I’m not even sure he’s my friend. He’s just...Phillip. The man who has always been there for me. The man who pulled me from the depths of hell before letting go.

  A part of me hates him.

  Another part of me, a louder part, kind of loves him.

  “I was worried something happened to you,” he whispers. “When I heard about Jared...my first thought was: is Mallie okay? How fucked up is that? I’m grateful the old shit died. I’m so damn relieved you’re free of him. But then I had a moment of panic thinking I’d lost you too...and I didn’t know how to breathe. I couldn’t seem to get air into my lungs. I tried to imagine a world without you in it, and I panicked. I called you a thousand times, but you never answered. I finally called Nat, and she said you texted her that you’re here. And I...I needed to see you.”

  “How did you get in here?” I ask, though I suppose that doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things.

  “Through the window,” he admits unashamedly.

  “You probably could’ve gone through the front door,” I say, dropping my gaze to my free hand playing with the water. I scoop it up before allowing it to trickle through my fingers. “Susie would’ve let you in.”

  Phillip lapses back into silence, eyes intent on mine.

  The tension between us snaps like a rubber band pulled too taut.

  Suddenly, Phillip’s in the tub with me, still fully clothed, and his lips are devouring mine. There’s been a lot of teasing between the two of us, a lot of play, but we never breached the thin line. Now, that line is blurred completely, and I can’t demarcate where he ends and I begin.

  His tattooed hand gropes my aching breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers. His tongue dives through the seam of my lips, and I open to him like a girl possessed. I honestly can’t tell you why. This man has hurt me, lied to me, burned me.

  But maybe a twisted part of me loves the heat.

  Fire explodes in my veins, and I reach underneath his sopping wet shirt to touch his bare skin. His abs feel like granite beneath my wandering hands, my fingers caressing every dip and crevice.

  Phillip pulls his lips away from mine, his breathing heavy, and rests his forehead against my own.

  “We need to stop,” he whispers, jerking his hips against my core. His painfully hard cock strains against the fabric of his wet jeans.

  His words are like a bucket of cold water being poured over my head. I push at Phillip’s shoulders, and he moves to sit opposite me in the tub. His clothing clings to his body, accentuating the many lean muscles.

  What the fuck did I just do?

  Kiss Phillip only hours after I discover my husband was murdered? What type of person am I?

  That’s the catalyst, the explosion destroying the dam. Tears trail down my cheeks, and I can’t stop the hiccuping sob from escaping. Everything hurts. My mind, my heart, my body.

  My fucking soul.

  I can barely see through the haze of tears, but I’m distantly aware of Phillip reaching for me and lifting me out of the tub. He wraps me in the fluffy, white towel, scrubbing at my arms to bring warmth back to my frigid body.

  With only the towel around me, he carries me back into my bedroom and sets me on the bed. When he stands, preparing to leave out the window the way he came in, I grab desperately—pathetically—at his arm.

  “Don’t leave me.”

  I hate when my voice wobbles, when emotion clogs my airways. But I know that I need Phillip to remain with me. To protect me from the monsters in my head.

  His eyes shine brightly with his own unshed tears, and he doesn’t hesitate to crawl on the bed beside me, wet clothes and all, pulling the blanket around the both of us.

  “Never,” he whispers into my hair. His lips brush against my temple, my cheek, until finally finding the corner of my lips. “Never again.”

  Chapter 9

  I’m afraid he broke his promise—again—when I wake up to a cold, damp bed. My hand desperately, feebly, pads at the space he had occupied the night before.

  Panic tightens my stomach until I feel physically nauseous.

  He left me. He promised me he wouldn’t, and he did. He left me.

  Tears fester in my eyes, and I can’t stop them from sliding down my cheeks. They seem to brand me, a pathway of salty liquid.

  “Hey. Hey.” Phillip scrambles to kneel on the bed beside me. “Don’t cry, Sweet Girl. Don’t cry.”

  “You left me,” I whisper, raw emotion clogging my airways. His hand reaches for mine underneath the heavy quilt and squeezes.

  “I didn’t. I promise. I’ve been here.” With his free hand, he reaches for something behind him and holds it up. The symbol on the red box is unmistakable.

  A first aid kit.

  “I need to rewrap your feet,” he explains, reluctantly releasing my hand and moving to the end of the bed.

  I hate how vulnerable I’m feeling, how broken. I hate that I’m shedding tears—and I especially hate that I don’t know what or who these tears are for.

  Jared?

  Aurora?

  Phillip and Byron?

  Heaving out a breath, I attempt to get my tumultuous emotions under control. I tell myself repeatedly I’m not the broken girl I was the night before. I broke down, I admit, but I’m stronger than that, stronger than her.

  But I’m only human.

  Phillip’s expression doesn’t change as he tenderly bandages first one foot and then the other.

  “Do they hurt?” he asks.

  “Not really.” Shrugging my shoulders, I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them.

  A part of me knows I’m talking about both the mental and physical pain.

  He opens his mouth to say more, but the door opening interrupts whatever he wanted to say.

  “I’ve brought—”

  Byron pauses in the doorway, a tray of food in his hands. It appears to be French toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Definitely more food than I can eat. His eyes widen slightly when he catches sight of Phillip sitting on the edge of the bed.

  Instead of commenting, he slides the tray in front of me, and I marvel at the selection of foods.

  “I poured you both coffee and orange juice,” he says, indicating the two cups. “I know you like both with your breakfast.” He shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly as if he didn’t drop a bomb the size of Alaska in my lap.

  “You know…?” I clear my throat, scrambling to articulate my thoughts. “You know what I like for breakfast?”

  “Yeah.” He scrubs a hand down the back of his neck sheepishly. “Remember that one time we met for breakfast? Me, you, Ma, and Nat?”

  I remember. It had been two years into my “marriage” with Jared, and the first time he had allowed me to officially introduce myself to our neighbors. Of course, I had known Byron for years before that, directly under Jared’s nose.

  Jared had been
called into a meeting before the breakfast—read as: one of his fuck buddies had wanted a hookup—and with a table reservation for four, and no fourth party, I had invited Nat.

  “You remember?” I ask.

  Once more, he shrugs. “I remember a lot about you. How you cried during the season finale of Pretty Little Liars and Glee. How your eyes twinkle when you read a book. How when you laugh really hard, you snort. How you always put the pepper on before your salt. How you—”

  “Okay, I get it,” I interrupt, suddenly overcome with emotion. I scrub a hand down my face, wiping the drowsiness away.

  There’s so much I want to ask them: how they know all that stuff, why they seem to care so much about me, why they never saved me. But what comes out of my mouth isn’t any of that.

  “I want to see Aurora,” I say, shocking myself. Byron blinks at me, seemingly as stunned by that declaration as I am. It’s Phillip who nods, squeezing my ankle gently.

  “We’ll take you.”

  “And then after, we have to go meet Roman,” Byron interjects. When I turn confused eyes onto him, he sighs. “Sweetheart, he’s your lawyer in this murder investigation. Hopefully, we can find the man who did this.”

  Instinctively, my eyes drops to the bandages now covering his knuckles, and he withdraws his hand, placing it behind his back.

  Phillip watches the weird exchange with dark, unreadable eyes.

  Taking a deep breath and mustering courage I don’t feel, I hop out of bed.

  “Let’s go.”

  Aurora is in the local hospital, only a few miles away from my home.

  After conversing with the nurse operating the front desk, we’re led down a long hallway and into a room at the very end.