Page 16 of Poison Aches

We’re both already fucked up, so why not tell her?

“When you’re already dead, there’s no need to do anything else.”

“What?” she whispers. “What do you mean?”

“It means some people have a choice.”

“And you don’t?”

“I never stood a chanceto havea choice.”

Somehow, the admission falls from my lips easily, with clear words, no stutter in sight.

Why am I talking too much?

The girl sits up now, getting closer to me. She watches me, as if she’s studying me.

She peruses every inch of my face and then her gaze connects with mine.

“Then tell me,” she whispers.

My breath catches.

My lungs hold.

The thing in my chest slows down even more, as if my entire being is waiting for her next words.

“Tell you what?” I mutter, unable to stop myself.

“How does it feel?”

I freeze. The way she’s looking at me…

Keep beating…

The command is for the leaky thing in my chest.

Because for some reason, the way this little girl is looking at me doesn’t feel normal.

It feels critical.

Judgmental.

Precise and deadly.

“How doeswhatfeel?” I grit out.

“Dying?”

That last word catches me by surprise so much that if it wasn’t for the core-strength training I’ve been subject to since I was four years old, I would have been knocked over onto my ass.

I stare at the girl, watching the play of emotions in her eyes.

Stuck.

I feel stuck…

But before I can answer her, I see movement behind her.

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