Page 31 of Toxic B!tch
“Alright,” he says, finally. “Let’s get started.”
His blade flashes in the early light, cutting through the coyote’s fur with a precision that would make a surgeon jealous. I watch, my fingers itching to join him. He talks as he works, explaining the process, his voice low and steady. “You want to be clean and quick.”
“Like separating the seams of a well-tailored suit,” I add, my voice smooth as silk. My eyes stay on the way the blade moves, how it slips through the fur, the muscle, the sinew. It’s an art form, and I’m learning to appreciate it even more with every second.
“Exactly,” Malik murmurs, his eyes meeting mine with an approval that sends a flicker of warmth through me. He guides my hand to the right place, his touch firm but not unkind. There’s something about the way he teaches me, as if he knows I can handle it, as if he’s giving me more than just the tools to survive—I can see it in his eyes. He’s showing me a side of him that few ever get to see.
And he doesn’t know it, but I’m showing him a side ofme,too.
It’s intimate in its own right. The way he teaches me, the way we move together, our hands meeting on the coyote’s body, our breaths mingling in the cold air. Each moment feels like an unspoken promise. There’s power here, in this shared act of respect. We’re both creators and destroyers, honoring life through its end.
“You’re doing well,” Malik says, his voice a little rougher than before, a little more real. He’s impressed, and the compliment makes something inside me swell.
“Thanks,” I reply, my lips curling slightly. I don’t need much—just a glimpse of his approval, a quiet acknowledgment thatI’m more than the city’s shadow. I’m a part of something bigger. Something raw. Something that knows no limits.
Together, we finish our work. The coyote is a carcass now, but its essence remains. It’s an offering to the cycle of nature, to life and death. As Malik and I pack up our tools, our eyes meet, and the bond between us deepens. There’s a shared understanding now, an intimacy that goes beyond the surface. It’s respect. It’s power. It’s something darker, something only we understand.
As we leave the woods, the sun crests the horizon. The world around us is waking, but I feel like I’m still caught in the quiet, still caught in the darkness we’ve just shared.
Malik walks a few paces ahead, the weight of the coyote slung over his shoulder, his broad frame cutting through the morning light like something carved from the earth itself. He belongs here. In this world of blood and breath, kill and creation.
And so do I.
But not in the same way.
I watch him, my mind still tangled in the thrill of the hunt, in the way his hands moved with the same steady precision I use when I work. The same patience. The same quiet power. I wonder if he realizes just how much we have in common.
Or how different our definitions of prey really are.
The thought flickers, sharp and unbidden, and I force it down before it can take root.
I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t wanthim.
And yet, I do.
We step out of the trees, back into the world where I have to pretend—where I have to be careful. Where I have to hide. Malik doesn’t know it, but he’s walking beside something dangerous. Something that doesn’t fit in this world he’s built, no matter how much I wish I did.
I glance at my hands, still stained with the remnants of the coyote’s blood, the scent of it thick in the air. A hunter’s mark. A killer’s signature.
For a split second, I imagine another scenario. Another hunt. A different kind of prey.
Not an animal.
A man.
My fingers twitch at the thought, muscle memory kicking in, my mind already pulling up shadows of past work. The way flesh gives beneath the right amount of pressure. The way bodies go slack when the life leaves them. The way silence feelsdifferentwhen it’s the kind you’ve created with your own hands.
I close my fists and breathe.
Not here. Not now.
Malik glances over his shoulder at me, smiling. I smile back, slow and easy, like nothing in the world is wrong.
Like I’m not fighting the darkness curling at the edges of my mind.
I wake with a jolt,my heart hammering in my chest, skin slick with a cold sweat. The room is still, quiet—too quiet. My pulse races as my eyes snap open, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement, any hint of danger. It’s the familiar panic, the one that hits me in the tranquil moments when my guard slips. My muscles tense, ready to spring into action, but there’s nothing. Nothing but the soft rise and fall of Malik’s breath beside me.
I blink, disoriented, taking in the room. The shadows in the corners are harmless. The window is shut tight. The dooris locked. No sign of a threat. Just the silence of the night stretching out before me like a promise I can’t seem to escape. I sigh, trying to calm the rush of adrenaline that’s still pulsing through my veins.
