Page 46 of Craving Venom

The steady sound of rain hitting leaves drags me from sleep. Cool droplets slip down my face, soaking into my clothes, and I blink against the heavy gray sky.

What the fuck?

I push up on my elbows, my body stiff from sleeping against the goddamn tree. The once-dry grove is now a wet, muddy mess, and I realize my laptop is still on my lap, thank god it’s closed.

A shadow looms over me.

“You’re a raccoon,” Tria says flatly,

“The fuck does that mean?”

“It means you’re out here in the goddamn wilderness when you have a dorm room. Which, by the way, is already paid for.”

I wave a lazy hand. “It’sVeridian. What bad shit could possibly happen here?”

Tria snorts. “Oh, I don’t know. Serial killers? Cult sacrifices? Random fucking rainstorms?” She tosses a bottle of mouthwash. “Now fix your mouth before we go to class.”

I unscrew the cap, taking a burning swig, swishing it around before spitting it out onto the ground. My stomach churns, not from the mouthwash, but from the fact that my body still feels like it’s floating.

Tria watches me, clearly questioning my entire existence. “You should start making better life choices.”

I stand, rolling my neck until itpops, stretching my stiff muscles. “You’re the one enabling me by being here. So, really, whose fault is it?”

She side-eyes me. “Yours. Always yours.”

I huff a laugh, slinging my bag over my shoulder, and we start walking toward campus. The rain’s already slowing to a drizzle, but the clouds overhead are thick. The scent of wet earth clings to my clothes.

Halfway across the quad, Tria keeps talking—something about our professor being a cryptid and never actually grading shit—when she suddenly stops dead.

“What the fuck.”

I follow her gaze.

A couple stands near the library steps, wrapped up in each other like a goddamn movie scene. Hands gripping. Mouths pressed together. It’d be romantic if it wasn’t for one tiny, insignificant detail.

The guy?

I know him.

Iknewhim.

Tria’s voice is careful, hesitant. “Isn’t that—”

“Jason,” I finish.

“Faith… are you—”

I don’t let her finish.

My legs carry me before my mind catches up. I shove past students, my pulse pounding so hard in my ears it drowns out everything.

The rage doesn’t hit all at once.

It builds.

Crawls up my spine, sinks into my skin, grows with every step I take toward the one place I know won’t ask questions.

The college bar.

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