Page 32 of Poison Aches

Why do I never talk when I know I have plenty to say?

Why have I always cared about the thing in my chest when it’s done nothing but hinder me from doing what I want to fucking do?

For some reason, I’m intensely aware of this girl’s cheek pressed against my body.

And as the seconds tick by, the tightness in my chest becomes more painful than before.

Only a handful of people know about my condition. But most of them are adults.

The only one around my age who now truly knows…is this girl.

This girl, whose life is now in even greater danger simply because of the very thing she’s doing right this moment.

Just knowing about my condition is reason enough for my father to get rid of her for real, but in this moment, she not only knows but she’s actively listening to the abnormal, torturous beat of my heart…confirming the existence of a lethal weaponthat if hidden enemies know about, it will definitely be used against me.

No one can know.

Anyone who does is already a dead man walking, and that includes the girl’s grandmother.

And I just dragged her down the same path, guaranteeing her death.

I might be fascinating to her now but the day she realizes what I’ve just done, she will wish she had never met me.

“Your heart,” she whispers so low, so gentle and soft, as if something might shatter if she speaks any louder. “It sounds like…”

“Like a monster’s,” I say simply and clearly.

She blinks at me, but I press on, feeling like this is the defining moment.

“No,” she whispers.

“No?”

“It feels like…it’s straining, fighting not to break.”

Jesus Christ.

Who is this girl?

She goes to move but then she does the most insane thing. She hovers her lips close to my chest and then she starts whispering, “Don’t break, Emmett’s heart, you now have a friend. Don’t break anymore.”

Don’t break…

“Don’t break,” she whispers softly. “I’m here.”

It’s as if my entire life just collapsed on this moment right here.

I have no idea what to do or say to this.

Is she being for real right now, and why the hell is the thing in my chest actually beating a little more eagerly than it’s ever done before, as if it’s obeying her?

I need to change the topic.

“You’re wrong,” I groan. “That sound, Angel, remember it.”

There’s a solemnity to this moment, a weight that I wasn’t expecting, but I can’t let this go. I need her to understand even if no one else ever will.

“That malfunction, that stagger, that rough engine in my chest is as you’ve heard… that’s a monster’s heart and, Angel, I’m the monster that will one day come for you.”

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