Toxicity

by Katie May

  Slowly, as to not startle me, Phillip pulls himself onto the ledge beside me, his hand gripping the opposite rail.

  “What are you doing?” I gasp as he balances on the edge.

  His eyes meet mine resolutely.

  “You fall. I fall. I’m never leaving you again.” He breaches the distance between us and interlocks our fingers. His skin is warm, rapidly dethawing my frigid body.

  “Everybody leaves me. My mom. My dad. Everyone.” A cry breaks through. “You.”

  “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. I never meant to leave you.”

  “But you did!” The words are ripped from my throat, the pain slicing at my chest. “Do you remember? You promised you’d help me, but you left. You left me!”

  “I had no choice,” he laments brokenly. Tears fall down his cheeks, but he doesn’t bother to brush them away. This man—this brooding, silent, broken man—is falling apart.

  Because of me.

  Because of us.

  Because of this splintered, chaotic bond vibrating between us.

  “Can you please step down, Angel?” he whispers. “Please. I need you. I need you more than I need anything else.”

  “Why did you leave?” I ask, not bothering to answer or even acknowledge his pleas.

  “Because I’m like you,” he repeats, eyes ensnaring mine. Still on the bridge, still dozens of feet above a turbulent river, he releases my hand and pulls up his sleeve. A familiar tattoo—one I’ve seen before but never connected—adorns his skin. “I’m a Dragon’s Boy.”

  Chapter 16

  His confession shocks me into silence. I stare at the tattoo—the tattoo I’ve seen a million times before—and gauge the differences. It’s completely different from my own, which may be why I never noticed the similarities. It curls up his bicep, just like mine. But while mine is black and nondescript, his is green and intricately detailed. Almost lifelike.

  I reach a hand out to touch the sensitive skin, but he stops me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

  “Not until we’re down, okay, Angel?” he says, eyes imploring. Almost mechanically, I nod and lower myself back onto the bridge. My head is spinning, pounding, somersaulting, as thought after thought battles for first place.

  I don’t know what to say, how to respond. My tongue is like cotton in my mouth; my lips are dry.

  As soon as Phillip is off the ledge as well, he pulls me into his arms. He buries his head in my hair as he rocks me back and forth, side to side. My hands hang limply by my sides—not because I’m scared of him and definitely not because I don’t want him to touch me. My body just seems incapable of moving.

  When he pulls back, his eyes lock on mine, and I fall into his gaze. Those beautiful orbs keep me grounded—keep me cemented to the here and now.

  “What?” I struggle to say. “What do you mean?”

  “We lived in the same apartment building,” he admits softly. I lean forward, barely able to hear him over the water below. “The boys lived on the floor above yours, and we were instructed never to interact with the girls.” His body shudders, and his eyes drop to our clasped hands. Almost absently, he rubs his thumb over my knuckles. “But I saw you. The moment you arrived, I saw you. This brave, beautiful girl. I think I fell in love with you right then and there.

  “Us boys were given different clients than you girls. Rich women. Skanky women. Anyone who would pay. Sometimes, though, there were overlaps with the Dragon Girl’s clients.” He takes a deep breath, his entire body rigid. Hewn from stone. Instinctively, I step closer to him, attempting to calm him by my presence alone. His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against his hard body.

  “Phillip…” I whisper.

  “I had Jared as my client as well.” His voice is soft, a hushed murmur.

  And with that one sentence, my entire world crashes down around me. My stomach plummets to my feet, swirling the meager contents around. Tears blur my vision, and my hand tightens on Phillip’s. His words race through one ear and out the other, but they don’t ever stop. They don’t settle.

  “What?” I croak.

  “Jared knows—knew—Gerald. The second I turned eighteen, Jared bought me from him under the stipulation that I continue warming his bed.” I can’t depict his face through my hazy vision, but his body shakes with sobs. “He bought me an apartment and sent me to school. And for awhile, I did what he wanted. But then you came along—the love of my fucking life—and suddenly, he had no use for me. He pawned me off on his daughter like trash.”

  He pauses, his breathing heavy, and I want to ask if anything ever happened between him and Aurora. At the same time, I don’t think I can live with his answer. The pain gnaws at my heart—along with an elemental fury towards Jared. I wasn’t the only person who he played so skillfully on the game board. I wasn’t his only pawn.

  I was just his favorite.

  “I tried to get you out of that fucking house, Mal,” Phillip cries. “I tried. I fucking did. If I went to the cops, he just hurt you more. When I confronted him, he beat the shit out of you that night. I even made plans for us to run away together, but he discovered it and sent you to the hospital. He knew you were my biggest weakness. He knew, and he used it against me. I was forced to sit idly by as he destroyed you, chipped away at the girl I loved.” His shaky hand runs through his dark, obsidian hair. “Do you remember that night when he was drunk? And I fought him?”

  Mouth agape—struggling to process this onslaught of information—I nod.

  “He sent me back to Gerald. Said he was tired of my disobedience.” Phillip releases a harsh laugh. “It only took the asshole a month to buy me back. A month. Do you know what that was like? Being forced to whore yourself to men and women? Not knowing what became of the girl you loved? Knowing that if you refused, you could hurt her? At first, I just did it for the money. But I knew I couldn’t leave you. I wouldn’t. Leaving you would destroy me, destroy what little bit of sanity I had left.”

  Both his arms encircle my waist, and I’m helpless to resist his magnetic pull. Not that I want to.

  I may not have processed everything he just told me, but I know I want to be in his arms. I want him to hold me and comfort me and promise that everything will be okay. And, more than that, I want to believe him.

  “I just don’t know what to think anymore,” I whisper into his neck. “What to believe.”

  “Believe me,” he replies just as hoarsely. “Believe in me. I’m not going to let you down again. I made a promise to myself that night in the club, when you stared at me with hurt and betrayal. I knew, then, that I would do whatever it took to protect you, fuck the costs. I didn’t kill Jared, but I’m glad he’s dead. I would’ve killed the asshole myself if I had the chance.”

  He places his hands on my shoulders and pushes me back slightly, eyes searching my own.

  Everything about Phillip is an enigma. He’s dark and brooding, the bad boy covered in tattoos. At the same time, he’s empathetic and sweet. Protective.

  And he’s not perfect. I know that, and he knows that. He’d hurt me more times than I can count.

  At the same time, he has been the one constant in my life—even before I officially met him, apparently.

  “Byron got arrested today,” I whisper, searching his face. He cups my cheek tenderly, reverently.

  “I know. Roman will get him out, Angel. And I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  “He said he loved me,” I admit, lowering my gaze.

  Phillip’s hand doesn’t leave my cheek, and his thumb doesn’t stop rubbing soothing circles into the skin.

  “It’s okay, Angel. We’ll figure it out. All of us.” He moves a step closer until our bodies are touching once more. I can feel every dip of his muscular body, carved from granite. “I know how Byron feels about you. We talked about it a year ago, when we first started planning. And I also see the way the professor looks at you. But it’s okay.” I detect a hint of amusement in his voice. “Maybe Nat is right. Maybe you d
eserve a harem.”

  And there, on the bridge where I had just been contemplating suicide, he kisses me. Unlike before, it’s not a harsh, angry kiss. It’s not possessive or hungry.

  It’s...innocent. Sweet. His lips tell a story—one of pain and loss. Of love and hope.

  We hold each other’s eyes through the heartbreaking kiss, and I can see nothing but love emanating from his eyes.

  “Please don’t try to leave me again,” he whispers against my mouth. “I need you.”

  And I need him.

  We’re both broken, fucked-up individuals. We’ve both been hurt by the same man. There’s a piece of myself, a piece of my soul, I know I can’t get back, but I imagine it’s the same way for him. A piece that he’s unable to heal in himself. A piece that no amount of alcohol or sex or self-harm can heal in me.

  But maybe, just maybe, we’ll be able to heal each other.

  Chapter 17

  We take Phillip’s car to Susie’s house. For a moment, we sit in the car, the silence long but companionable.

  All I can see is Byron’s defeated face as he was dragged away. His eyes staring intently at me, willing to give up his life to save mine. Hadn’t he promised to give me the world? I suppose that, in a way, he had. I should’ve been the one behind bars, the one interrogated.

  His world now consists of smelly cots, orange jumpsuits, and prison guards. Because of me.

  Because he wanted to protect me.

  Because he gave up his world to save mine.

  “Susie probably hates me,” I whisper to Phillip, and that realization guts me more than I care to admit. Phillip reaches across the center console to twine my fingers with his.

  “She loves you,” he reassures.

  “How could she?” I wrench my hand from his, unwilling to be comforted when I know I don’t deserve it. “I got her son arrested for fucking murder.”

  “You didn’t do anything,” he counters. “That was all Byron. It was his choice to turn himself in; not yours. He really, really loves you.”

  I exhale noisily, attempting to regain my composure. My lungs struggle to refill with air.

  “He shouldn’t.” Before Phillip can protest, I throw open the door and hurry towards the house. I’m not surprised when Phillip follows me, steps steady and even.

  When I spin around to glare at him, he pauses, immediately raising his hands as if to fend me off.

  “I’m not leaving you alone,” he says shortly. “Not after…” His eyelids flutter against his cheeks as he struggles to maintain his bearings. When they reopen, his eyes are haunted. I did that—I did that to him. “I’ll sleep on the couch. Susie used to let me sleepover when...when I was forced to pleasure Jared.” His lips curl in disgust, and I want to vomit.

  What he has been through…

  I know he won’t appreciate my pity or sympathy. Right now, he just needs to be with me, hold me, reassure himself that I’m okay. After everything he’s done for me—the things I’ve only just realized he’s done for me—I owe him that much.

  No, I don’t owe him.

  I don’t owe any man anything. But I want Phillip to stay with me. With him, the darkness isn’t too much for me to handle.

  I gesture for him to follow me.

  “Couch,” I say sternly. He mock salutes me, eyes twinkling with relief, and I offer him a tentative smile back.

  The hurt is still there—the abandonment I felt when I thought he left me—but it’s no longer suffocating me. I can hold my hurt with two hands, and I’m not floundering under its weight. Phillip’s confession both horrifies me and alleviates some of the ache. In a twisted way, I feel closer to Phillip than ever before. I understand him now, and he understands me.

  Before I can rethink it, I lean forward and press my lips to his cheek. He freezes, midway in the process of grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch.

  “Thank you. For telling me the truth. And for coming for me.” I blush, ducking my head.

  His hand gently touches my chin, pushing it up to meet his searing gaze. “I’ll always come for you. Just promise me you won’t do that again. Promise me, Angel.”

  I search his sculpted face, the tattoos crawling up his neck, the scar in his eyebrow, the sincerity in his eyes.

  “I promise,” I say truthfully. He nods slowly, still appearing unconvinced, but lets me go with a kiss to my forehead.

  My mind reels as I ascend the stairs, struggling to understand all that had transpired today. Byron was arrested, and Phillip revealed himself to be a Dragon’s Boy. Why haven’t I heard of them before?

  The answer is simple: Gerald didn’t want me to know.

  I have always suspected that Gerald and Jared kept in touch after my wedding. Gerald is too controlling to have just relinquished his claim on me without some way to check in. He’s controlling and domineering and makes Jared seem like a sweet, fluffy Care Bear.

  Gerald…

  Could my former pimp—the man who first destroyed me—be behind Jared’s murder? I know it’s not beneath him. I’ve seen and heard of Gerald killing for less serious offenses. Maybe he got sick of Jared purchasing his merchandise.

  The wheels in my head continue to turn as I step into my bedroom...Byron’s bedroom. My eyes immediately drop to a framed photo on his dresser. He looks younger, maybe in high school, and has his arm wrapped around a smiling Susie. My lips twitch instinctively at the infectious smiles lighting up both their faces.

  My smile is immediately replaced by terror when I glance at the bed.

  Resting against my pillow is a bouquet of wilted, dead flowers. A single strand of golden hair is used to hold the bouquet together.

  Byron’s hair.

  A slip of paper sits beside the flower arrangement, red paint glaring up at me. Or, maybe not paint. Maybe blood. I read the words once, twice, three times, my brain unable to piece the words together.

  You’re next, bitch.

  I haven’t even realized I started screaming until my door is thrown open, and Roman and Phillip rush towards me.

  “Mallie!” Roman’s hands settle on my shoulders, checking me for injuries. Phillip, after a glance in my direction ensuring I’m okay, walks straight towards the grotesque gift, expression perfectly blank. “Are you okay?”

  I blink rapidly, attempting to orient myself enough to answer Roman’s question.

  “I’m fine,” I say shakily. “I’m fine.”

  Lies.

  I’m a lot of things, but fine isn’t one of them.

  Who the hell is this person? I want to find and punch them. In the balls. Or boobs. I don’t discriminate.

  In the midst of all that anger is fear.

  This feels almost personal—if Jared was still alive, I would almost believe it’s another one of his twisted games.

  But he’s not alive. We have a new game master. A new set of rules. Why am I always the fucking pawn?

  “Call Deluca,” Roman instructs Phillip, still keeping a careful eye on me. He kneads my shoulders, the repetitive motion almost reflexive.

  Phillip hesitates. “Can we trust him?”

  “Yes,” I reply immediately. Roman and Phillip both exchange an unreadable look before Phillip nods, grabbing his phone and a business card from his pocket.

  Less than fifteen minutes later, Deluca is photographing the bed, lips pursed into a thin line.

  “I thought you said that you’ll have cops stationed nearby,” Roman demands of the officer. “What if it was a person waiting for her? The murderer?”

  I’ve never seen my normally stoic law professor so wound up. He reminds me of a lion preparing to strike. His body stalks forward with feral grace and elegance until he’s toe to toe with Deluca.

  “It could’ve been her blood on the bed,” he continues darkly. Deluca doesn’t appear fazed by Roman’s intimidation tactic. Instead, he pulls back his shoulders and straightens to his full height.

  “I wouldn’t let anything happen to her,” Deluca replies just as st
iffly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to send the blood and hair to the lab and run some tests.”

  “The blood in the car…” I stutter out. “Was that…?” I don’t dare breathe Jared’s name, as if that one word will contaminate the air in a sickly, toxic gas. The sooner I can cut him—and his legacy—out of my life, the better we all will be.

  “It was pigs’ blood,” Deluca assures me, sidestepping Roman to stand in front of me.

  “And the finger?”

  He hesitates, only briefly, but it’s long enough for me to see the confirmation in his gaze.

  “Post-Mortem,” he admits softly.

  “Oh God.” I only have enough time to make it to the trash can in the corner before I’m violently ill. A hand immediately wraps around my hair, pulling it out of my face, while I empty the contents of my stomach. Only when I’m sure I’m done, do I lean back onto my heels and smile sheepishly at Deluca.

  “Thank you,” I say softly. Phillip appears from the bathroom across the hall with a wet rag, and Roman carries the spoiled garbage can out of the room. Hopefully he burns that shit.

  I use the cloth to wipe down my face, ignoring the probing, worried looks from both Phillip and Deluca. When I’m sure I look somewhat presentable, I drop the cloth on the floor and stagger to my feet, Phillip and Deluca both holding a hand.

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay, Mallie? I don’t want you to be scared. I’m going to put the only officer I trust right now in your driveway all night long. No one—and I repeat, no one—is getting in here.” It’s difficult to doubt the sincerity, the earnestness, in Deluca’s dark gaze. I find myself nodding before I fully comprehend his words.

  With a reassuring hand squeeze and whispered words to Phillip, Deluca strides towards the door just as Roman returns.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Phillip asks, eyes caressing my body.

  “I’ll be fine. But I think I’m going to start sleeping with a knife under my pillow.” The biggest fucking knife I can find.

  While I meant my words somewhat jokingly, Phillip’s frown grows. Tiny crinkles appear in the skin around his eyes.