Page 53 of Toxic B!tch
His breathing is sharp, uneven. He looks at me like he’s seeing someone else entirely. Like I’ve transformed into something foreign, something monstrous. But still, he doesn’t run. He doesn’t call the cops. He just stands there, processing, unraveling.
"I need time to think about this." His voice is hollow as he turns away.
Panic surges inside me, violent and unrelenting. "Malik!"
He stops but doesn’t turn. My throat tightens. My vision blurs. "Please…"
He finally looks over his shoulder, his expression defeated, like I’ve taken something from him that he can’t ever get back. "I’ll keep your secret."
I sag with relief, but it’s a bitter kind, because I know I’ve just forced him into something he never wanted to be a part of. And yet… I can’t bring myself to regret it.
I need to go home. I need to deal with this.
I grab my phone, my fingers shaking as I dial the number I know like the back of my hand. It rings twice before a voice purrs through the speaker.
"Little Snake. It’s been a while."
I take a breath, steady myself. "Another Mai Tai. 6359 Fern School Rd. The woods behind the house. Cut through the field so the owner doesn’t see."
A low chuckle. "Pricey. An outdoor drink behind a house? You’re losing your edge, Little Snake. What’s happened?"
"Nothing," I snap, too fast. Too defensive.
"Have you considered my offer? My friend is still looking for a hired man."
"I don’t like rules."
"Maybe you’d like his rules."
I chew on the inside of my cheek, my thoughts spiraling. "I’ll meet with him. That’s all I promise."
"I’ll set it up."
"Text me, and I’ll send payment."
"Looking forward to it, Little Snake."
The call disconnects, and I shove the phone into my pocket. My pulse is still erratic, my mind racing.
I need to go home. I need to breathe. I need to figure out how to make sure Malik never leaves me.
I change quickly,peeling off my bloody clothes and stuffing them into my bag. I change my shoes, the action swift and purposeful. My hands don’t shake, but there’s an electricity buzzing beneath my skin, a mixture of adrenaline andcalculation. It’s fine. This is fine. I’ve done this before—just not with Malik standing there, looking at me like I was something foreign and terrifying. He’ll come around. He has to.
I root through the bloody clothes in my bag, my fingers brushing over the fabric until I find the keys in the pocket. Pulling them free, I slide into the driver’s seat. Her car smells like vanilla and cigarette smoke. I crank the ignition, my mind racing even as my hands move on autopilot. The night is quiet, still. I drive, keeping my speed even, my breathing slow. A few blocks from the bar, I pull over, scanning for cameras, for witnesses, for anything that might screw me over. When I’m satisfied, I slide out, leaving the keys in the ignition and the door unlocked. Someone will take it. Or they won’t. Either way, it’s not my problem anymore.
Walking briskly, I make my way to the nearby gas station. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, harsh and clinical, making my skin crawl. I grab a pack of Sun Cruisers, sliding them across the counter with a twenty. The cashier doesn’t look at me, just hands me my change with a muttered, "Have a good one."
I walk outside and pull up my Uber app. My fingers tap against the screen with practiced ease, my mind already moving ten steps ahead.
When the car pulls up, I slide into the back seat, inhaling deeply as the driver murmurs a greeting. I nod but don’t speak, staring out the window as the city blurs past. The tension in my shoulders remains, knotted and stiff, even as the distance between me and Elle’s car stretches.
When I get home, I lock the door behind me, double-checking, triple-checking. The air inside is still, carrying the faint scent of smoke and something sweeter—my last drink, maybe, or Malik’s cologne lingering on my sweater.
I toss my bag onto the couch and unzip it, pulling out the bloodied clothes one by one. The fabric feels cold and stiff inmy hands, the memories of the night still clinging to it. I head straight for the wood furnace, the flames crackling hungrily as I throw the clothes inside. They curl and blacken instantly, the smell of burning cotton filling my nose. Evidence, gone.
I crack open a drink, the cold bite of alcohol steadying my nerves as I grab my phone and make my way to the bathroom. Steam fills the space as I turn on the water, the heat rising in waves, curling against my skin. I pull off my clothes, letting them pool on the tile, and step into the tub, sinking down inch by inch. The heat is almost unbearable, burning where it touches, but I force myself to stay under, to let it seep into my bones.
What the fuck am I gonna do?
