Page 85 of Sweet Poison

I take a bite of my food, but it feels like lead in my mouth. The warmth of the house, the festive decorations, the spirit of Christmas—it all feels like a cruel joke. I glance at Mrs. O’Sullivan, her kind eyes sparkling as she talks with one of the uncles, and I want to scream, to tell her to run, to protect herself and Willow from what’s coming.

But I stay quiet, feeling guilty about my secret. I wish I could hold on to them, but deep down, I know they’re slipping away.

Lifting my gaze from the plate, I glance over at Willow, her sweet laughter ringing like music in the air, unashamed and authentically her. Here, with her family, she’s not afraid to use her voice. Here, she’s safe.

She catches my eye and smiles wide, her bright blue eyes sparkling with innocence and joy. I love her smile. I don’t love anything in this world but I do love her smile. That smile of hers—it pierces right through me, and I feel my heart crack a little more with each passing second. It’s so pure, so full of love and life, and in that moment, it feels like everything good in the world is wrapped up in her—in my fairy.

But then, the truth settles over me like a cold blanket. I won’t see that smile anymore. The thought feels like a punch to my gut. I won’t hear her sweet voice whispering about things that make her happy. I won’t get to see her twirl in the garden when she imagines she’s in a fairy land.

I. Won’t. Have. Her.

A life without this girl in it it’s going to be a sad and colorless one.

I want to reach out and hold onto this moment. I want to freeze time so I can keep her safe in my memory forever.

But it’ll only hurt more.

I try to smile back at her, but it feels like a mask. My lips move, but the joy doesn’t reach my eyes. It can’t. Inside me, there’s a deep pain that I can’t make go away, a hollow emptiness that grows with every passing second, I have to pretend that all it’s okay. I wish I could tell her that nothing will ever touch or hurt her. That she will always be safe and that I’ll always be here to play fairies with her but I can’t. Life doesn’t work like that.

At least mine doesn’t.

I’m leaving her—leaving the colorful world she’s created for me here. And the world outside these walls? It’s dark. Uncertain. Full of shit I can’t control, yet I’m used to it.

I don't want to say goodbye to her, but I have no choice.

Half an hour passes, the table is cleared, and everyone gathers around the tree, the room pulsing with excitement. I sit on the edge of the couch closest to the Christmas tree, watching as each of the family members take turns opening gifts.

Willow told me that her parents allow her to open one gift on Christmas Eve that is from them and on Christmas Day she gets to open the ones Santa delivers.

I didn’t tell her the truth that every adult and messed up street kid like me knows— Santa Claus is not real. He’s made believe.

But the idea of him makes her happy and if she’s happy well I am too.

That’s the Willow effect.

The family’s laughter and chatter swirls around me, but I feel distant, wrapped in my own thoughts. I don’t expect anything for myself, not really.

I didn’t expect presents from my own family either. Christmas means nothing to me.

But then Mrs. O’Sullivan leans down and hands me a small box wrapped with wrapping Christmas cactus theme paper. A gift?

For me?

I frown down at it as if it somehow offends me but deep down my heart skips a beat.

Looking up at Mrs. O’ Sullivan I think about rejecting it but then her kind smile won’t let me. I take it from her and carefully unwrap it, revealing a silver chain. At the center dangles a four-leaf clover charm. It looks expressive, and I can’t help but run my fingers over it, feeling the cool metal against my skin.

Mrs. O’Sullivan leans in close, her voice soft, just for me. “So, you always remember how lucky the people around you are to know you, sweet boy,” she says with a smile. “Merry Christmas, Madden.”

Her words settle in my heart, a warmth that fights against the cold creeping in. I look up at her as she tries really hard to maintain eye contact, and my throat tightens. Mrs. O’Sullivan is on the spectrum but even though her brain functions a little bit differently than most, she’s still the best person and the kindest human I know. She’s brilliant and clever. Funny and strong. She’s much more than just a disability just like her daughter.

I want to tell her all of that and how much this chain means to me, how her kindness has made me feel like maybe not everything in this world is going to hurt me. But all I can manage is a small nod, the lump in my throat too big to speak around.

While she smiles down at me, I slip the chain over my head, feeling the weight of the clover resting against my chest.

I can tell by the way her hand reaches out to me that she wants to touch me but then she stops herself and just smiles before going back to her family.

For a moment, I close my eyes, trying to capture this feeling, this warmth, before it slips away and turns fully into the ugliness I’ve always known.

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