Page 43 of Sweet Venom

Satisfaction coiled in my gut, knowing I’ve left the sick fuck in the hands of someone who will make him suffer in ways unimaginable. I stepped into the night, leaving Cato to finish what I started, his brand of monstrous pain far more fitting than mine ever could be.

Chapter

Thirteen

TO HATE OR LOVE

Poe

“Valentine’s Day is just the universe’s way of reminding me that I’m better off with my cat and a glass of wine.” – P

Icouldn’t sleep. Again.

Ugh.

Sleep never came easily to me. I was lucky if I got five hours a night, but ever since I arrived in this city, my insomnia has only gotten worse. I didn’t know what it was exactly.

Mom used to tell me that I was born for the night and that I was made of moon dust. “As a baby, you would keep me up at night while your brother slept like the dead,” she’d say, smiling like she knew something I didn’t. “Your brother’s the sun, you’re the moon,” she’d joke, her voice loving and playful as she’d point to Vade, the light of the day, and then to me—always the quiet, restless one.

That was what I was then—restless.

This damn book had been keeping me awake. It gnawed at me, demanding attention, refusing to let me sleep. I only ever seemed to feel inspired to write when the moon was out. There’s something about the quiet of the night, when the world is still and the only sounds are the whispers of my own mind, that brings my words to life and feeds my creativity. The day feels too loud, too chaotic. But under the cover of night, I feel alive in ways I can’t explain, as if the darkness unlocks something inside me, a part of me I don’t always understand.

There’s something else, too, that’s been robbing me of sleep.

Gray eyes.

Those damn gray eyes that are like weapons aimed straight at every wall I’ve built around my heart. Even in my sleep, the bastard haunts me. That’s why I’d been tossing and turning in bed for a solid hour, like a dying fish, scrolling through clips of my favorite K-drama and stalking the same man who’s been keeping me awake, before finally giving up. It’s more than clear that there’s no finding sleep tonight, and if I had to stare at my ceiling for one more second, I was going to start over-analyzing every embarrassing thing I’d ever done in my life, and that is not a road I want to go down.

So, I quickly threw off my blankets, revealing my ridiculously goofy black pajamas—an oversized shirt with a cartoon ghost flipping me off, and matching shorts patterned with grinning skeletons. This is an outfit straight out of my mother’s closet.

A total contrast to my usual dark, high-fashion wardrobe. I wasn’t exactly winning any style points that night, but who cared? No one was going to see me at that hour. Plus, no one knew me in that city.

Kind of glad about that, too.

My social battery always ran out quickly, and I’d much rather be left alone than pretend to be the outgoing person I’m not. I wasn’t rude, and yes, I enjoyed spending time with those closeto me, but at heart, I was more of an introvert. That was another reason why I preferred the night. It was solitary and peaceful.

When my stomach grumbled, I was reminded I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch—if you could even call that a meal. I had managed to drag myself off the sofa, barely functioning, to grab a bottle of water and a Snickers bar. A gourmet feast, clearly. I do love me a good Snickers bar. I could eat them forever and never get tired of them.

But right now, I am craving something else—something salty.

Without thinking, I had grabbed my keys and stepped outside, only to be greeted by an icy gust of wind that slapped me across the face. Right. February. New York. And, like the genius I am, I had forgotten my coat. In my defense, Prince had been napping next to the coat hanger, looking like a fluffy royal dictator. If I dared disturb his beauty sleep, it would’ve sparked an all-out battle of wills that could drag on for days. And frankly, I wasn’t in the mood to lose to the furry tyrant. I still shiver just thinking about it. Last time I pissed him off, he had turned my shoes into his personal toilet for weeks. Yeah, I didn’t want that to happen again.

Too stubborn to turn back, I had shoved my hands into my pajama pockets and power-walked through the cold streets, hoping movement would keep me from freezing to death. Around me, the city hummed, its neon signs flickering as if they were alive. A lonely taxi whooshed by, headlights slicing through the fog. The streets weren’t exactly empty, but they felt hollow, filled with a silence that pressed in, forcing you to think too much. And I don’t like thinking too much. It always leads me down roads that end with my feelings getting crushed under the weight of it all.

I don’t have time for that. I don’t have time to dwell on the fact that I’m alone. I know I’m a walking contradiction. I’m someone who doesn’t believe in love yet feels the sting ofloneliness like a fresh wound when the quiet settles in too deep. I begin to dwell on the “what ifs,” and those thoughts cut deeper than I’d like to admit.

Then, as if the universe wanted to rub salt in my open wound, I had spotted a couple cozying up under a streetlamp, sharing a scarf and feeding each other a cookie like they were in a damn romance movie.

I wonder how long they’ll last. Three months? Five? This generation, sadly, is not looking for a love that lasts forever. Most want something fleeting. It’s sad. So, I gave them until summer before one of them—probably the dude with the shady smile—got weirdly distant and started “working late nights” or “forgetting” to text her back. Or maybe the cute girl with hearts in her eyes got tired of him forgetting important dates or got tired of his inability to do chores around the house and dumped him over his inability to help out.

Either way, their tragic love story was already playing out in my head like a predictably bad romance story. I should consider writing about that. Maybe Azariel will like it.

I wandered until the red glow of a small Japanese restaurant caught my eye. Open at midnight? Yess.

I quickly entered the cozy-looking restaurant, inhaling the heavenly steam like it was a life force. Right now? It was. Maybe drowning my self-doubt in delicious noodles would help. Maybe I’d finally come up with an idea so brilliant that even Azariel would have to admit I was a literary genius.

I just… didn’t know what that idea was yet.

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