Page 53 of Sweet Poison

Milton doesn’t matter.

Thought even in death the motherfucker is fucking with me.

I pull out from my pants pocket the bottle of whiskey I brought along. The amber liquid swirls as I take a deep, and long pull.

The warmth of the alcohol spreads through me, dulling the edges of my anger and frustration. As the drink takes effect, my thoughts drift away from my bastard brother and the trash headlines. Instead, her image comes to the forefront of my mind—her blue eyes, so expressive and full of light, and the way her soft, melodious voice seemed to quiet the noise in my head.

Her sweet and soft voice washes over me and I still hear her laughing as her eyes shone so brightly while she followed the path of glowing mushrooms.

The almost kiss flashes through my mind and the way she looked up at me as if she felt the same magnetic pull I did and as if she wanted me to kiss her lips.

Shit, how I wanted to taste her lips but that fucker appeared and ruined the moment. But maybe it was for the best. A man like me has no business tasting the lips of someone so sweet and so kind.

Picking up the guitar again, I rest it on my knee, the music fading into the background as I take another sip of the bottle.

I was being truthful when I told her I wanted to believe in magic. I wanted to feel something else aside from anger and hate.

I wanted to feel… her.

Chapter

Seventeen

A HOLIDAY FRIENDSHIP

Willow

Past

“Do you feel what I feel?” — W

Isneak down the hallway, clutching a stack of my mommy’s magazines close to my chest. My cochlear implant buzzes softly in my ear as I move, and I’m excited to share the pretty pictures with my new friend.

The magazines are filled with pictures of cute dolphins, colorful coral reefs, and far-off places—places I dream of visiting once I grow big and strong like my parents.

Mommy told me that I will have many magical adventures once I grow up and explore the world.

I can’t wait.

Madden’s door is slightly ajar, and I push it open just a little not wanting to wake him up if he is sleeping. But he’s not sleeping. Instead, he’s lying on his bed, grumbling as he flipspages of a book I’ve seen in my mommy’s library but from her I can't tell which one it is.

With the magazines spilling from my arms, I hold my breath, trying to stay as quiet as possible, and tiptoe inside his room.

I like his room.

Mommy and aunt Maeve decorated it with things he might like to make him feel extra special and super welcome.

I hope he likes it and feels happy here.

I always want him to be happy.

“Madden.” I whisper, dropping the magazines on the floor with a soft thud. The pages flutter open, displaying vibrant pictures of sea creatures and beautiful beaches. I plop down cross-legged beside them, looking up at him with eager eyes.

Madden doesn’t look up right away. He keeps grumbling, but then he sees the pile of magazines and sighs. Slowly, he sets the big book aside and drags himself over to the floor, sitting beside me.

As always, he doesn’t say much but that never stops me. With him, I feel like I can talk for hours and he won’t judge or get tired of me.

He’s… different.

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