Page 16 of Toxic B!tch
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MALIK
Indigo’s working late tonight, which means I won’t hear from her until around three in the morning. The thought gnaws at me as I sit on the couch, aimlessly scrolling through my phone. It’s Friday night, and while the world outside is buzzing with life, I’m here, alone and restless. We’ve been talking on the phone and by text for weeks, but we still haven’t met in person. The thought of her feels real, though. Too real sometimes.
You have hours before she’s done. Go out, I need to do something to shake the feeling of going stir-crazy that's been building all evening.
I push up off the couch and go to my bedroom, grabbing a long-sleeved green and white plaid button-up shirt and sliding my Hey Dudes on. Going to the bathroom, I refresh my deodorant and splash a little cologne on. I’m not sure where I’m going, but I need to get out of the house.
I pull out my phone and open up our message thread.
Me: Not sure what I’m doing but I’m bored at home so gonna go out and about for a little bit.
She doesn’t answer, but I know she’s at work, so I’m not worried.
I know she’s a bartender, but she’s never said where and I’ve never asked, not wanting to come across as creepy. It could be anywhere. It’s not like we live in some small little Podunk town. But there’s something about the mystery that I like. She lives around here since her area code matches mine, but I guess it’s possible she moved away and kept her number. Again, I’ve never asked. Sometimes I wonder why I haven’t, but maybe it’s better this way—for now.
I hop in my truck and drive toward downtown, seeing if anything catches my eye. It’s just one of those nights where nothing seems interesting. As I cross the bypass, I stop at a red light and see the neon sign for Crimson glowing in the distance. It stands out like a beacon.
I haven’t been to Crimson since that night with Elle. The memory still stings—how she gave me the wrong number after I spent half the night buying her and her friend’s drinks. That fake smile, the way she acted so interested, only to turn around and make a fool out of me. But that night led to something better: meeting Indigo. Even if we’ve never met face to face, our connection is real.
I wonder if Elle knows Indigo and gave me the number on purpose as a prank or if she just made some shit up off the top of her head.
I should ask Indigo.
When the light turns green, I make an impulsive decision and pull into Crimson’s parking lot. One drink, maybe two, andI’ll head home. I’m not looking for company, not looking to meet anyone—I just want to be around other people for a while.
Before heading inside, I shoot Indigo another text.
Me: Decided to stop at a local bar for a drink or two. Text you when I’m home.
I pocket my phone and step through the door. It’s packed—people dancing, laughing, drinking. The jukebox is blaringI Can Buy Myself Flowersby Miley Cyrus, which seems like a weird choice for this kind of crowd, but no one seems to care.
I make my way to the far end of the bar, where a petite bartender is darting around like she’s trying to put out fires. Sweat beads on her forehead, her cheeks are flushed, and she looks like she’s barely keeping up with the orders flying at her from every direction.
Finally, she makes it over to me. “What can I get ya?” she asks, breathless but still smiling.
“Busch Light, bottle,” I say, flashing a small smile as I hand her my card. “Start a tab?”
“Sure can,” she says, her fingers flying over the register before she slides my card. In no time, she’s back with my beer. “Here’s your card. Enjoy.”
“Thanks.” I nod, dropping a few singles on the bar for her.
I take a long pull from the bottle and step away from the bar, scanning the room for a place to sit.
No luck.
I end up leaning against a column, watching the crowd while I nurse my beer. My mind drifts back to Indigo, wondering what she’s doing and how her night’s going. The fact that we’ve never met in person doesn’t make the connection feel any less real. If anything, it’s like this magnetic pull—like we’re orbiting each other, just waiting for the right moment to collide.
The noise of the bar fades into the background as I imagine what it would be like to finally meet her, to sit across from her and hear her voice not through a phone, but in real life. Maybe one day. Maybe soon.
I watch as a group of people start gathering their things like they’re about to leave. The second they stand up and move away from the bar, I’m already halfway there, sliding into a seat like I’ve been waiting for it all night. The leather is warm from whoever was here before me, but I don’t care—I’ve claimed my spot now.
The bartender, the same one who’s been serving me all night, catches my eye from across the bar. She’s moving fast, juggling drink orders and cash like it’s second nature, but she still manages to throw me a quick smile. “Another beer?” she asks, her voice barely loud enough to cut through the noise.
I nod. “Yeah, I’ll take another. And can you grab me a bottle of water, too?” I add as she’s about to turn away.
“Sure thing, hon,” she says with a wink.
