Page 73 of Sweet Poison

The world is quiet except for the soft crunch of snow under my dirty and old boots. I head toward the lonely back alley, where I know the trash cans wait with someone else's leftovers. As I walk, I take in the twinkling Christmas lights in the distance, colorful and bright against the dark sky. They make the night feel magical, even if my heart feels anything but.

I hear the soft hum of chorus Christmas carols floating through the cold air, cheerful and bright, a total contrast to how I feel inside. I stop, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to imagine what it would be like to have a real Christmas. A tree. Presents. A hot meal. A family that actually cares.

I open my eyes and look up at the stars peeking through the clouds, wondering how they can shine so bright in the dark sky. Are they even real, or if they’re just another thing I’ll never touch? I feel so small, so insignificant, like I’m nothing and no one.

“Please,” I whisper to the stars, my voice barely a breath. “Make the pain stop. Please, I just want to be happy.”

I wish for food, for warmth, for something that feels like hope. But all I have is the cold, biting air and empty ache in mybelly, gnawing at me like an ugly monster that can’t be stopped. The distant glow of the Christmas lights is the only thing that feels, but even they can’t fill the hole inside me.

But my wish didn’t come true and I knew only hunger, pain and anger until one fateful day… the day my life changed when I laid eyes on her.

Because I didn’t know it then, but my happiness had a name.

Willow.

Willow

I leanagainst the balcony railing, the ocean’s breeze wrapping around me like a soft blanket. The stars glitter above, each one a tiny reminder of how endless the universe feels.

My mother’s sweet and gentle voice crackles through the video call, her face glowing warmly on the screen. “And how’s the research going, Angel Girl?” she asks, her tone bright and cheerful, filled with that same excitement she’s always had for everything I do, no matter how small.

“It’s going awesome, Mom. I have so many samples to study. I can’t wait to show you and dad what we’ve been working on.” I reply, keeping my gaze on the sea in the distance.

Suddenly, movement catches my eye. I look down, and there he is—Madden. He strides through the resort’s garden below, the crowd parting for him like he’s royalty. He moves with such effortless swagger and confidence, the way a Formula 1 champion walks— head high, shoulders squared— but there’s something about him tonight that feels… lost.

I can’t look away.

Whispers ripple through the guests, and I can almost hear the collective intake of breath as they watch him pass in awe. Some take photos and some just stop and stare.

Ignoring the guests, I keep my eyes solely on him. On one hand, Madden cradles a guitar, the other gripping a bottle of something amber— whiskey, maybe. My heart skips. Where is his bodyguard? Shouldn’t he have someone watching his back?

“Mom, hold on a second,” I say as I turn my focus back to Madden. He pauses for a moment, tilting his head up toward the sky, and I catch a glimpse of something in his eyes— a kind of hollow emptiness I can’t place. For a moment, I’m caught in his spell.

What’s wrong, sweet man?

“Is everything okay?” my mother’s voice pulls me back, sounding concerned.

I blink, disoriented, realizing I let my mother on hold. I glance back at Madden, who’s disappearing into the shadows of the garden.

“Yeah, just... something caught my eye,” I mutter, my eyes glued to Madden until I lose sight of him.

“Are you sure? You sound distracted,” she presses.

Where is he going? And why is he drinking?

My stomach tightens. Something isn’t right.

“I’ll call you back, Mom. I love you,” I say, my voice trembling slightly, as I end the call. The second the call ends, I set my phone down, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest. I look out the garden, but he’s gone. He was just there. I can’t shake the urge to follow him to make sure he’s okay. Is he?

Without thinking, my feet move before my mind can stop them. I push away from the railing, step out of my suite, and slip into the quiet night air. The night feels heavier now, colder. I make my way down the path that leads to the garden, the soft glow of the Christmas lights and the stars above guiding me.

As I near the garden entrance, I see a flicker of movement—a shadow beneath the palm trees. My breath catches in my throat. I bite my lip, feeling nervous not wanting to bother him but the need to make sure Madden is okay is stronger.

I step into the garden, the scent of night-blooming flowers envelopes me, their fragrance both sweet and comforting. My eyes scan the area, searching for him, and I spot him leaning against a palm tree, strumming a few gentle chords on his guitar. The soft notes float through the air, and I can’t help but stand back and watch him.

My heart races as I watch him, the way his thick and tattooed fingers dance over the strings, completely lost in his music. The world around me fades, leaving just him and the stars.

What is he doing out here, alone?

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