Page 56 of Toxic B!tch
“The bod?—”
“I did what I had to do.”
The silence that follows is thick, stretching between us like a canyon neither of us knows how to cross. My jaw clenches, frustration curling tight in my chest. I should have expected this. Indigo has been a hard door to open up, but I’m going to keep trying to pry it open.
She has to let me in this time.
“Indigo.” I exhale slowly. “Don’t shut me out.”
“I’m not,” she counters. “I just—” She cuts herself off, and I hear the faintest shift, like she’s pacing. “I won’t have this conversation over the phone.”
The words slice clean through the conversation, her tone suddenly sharp, controlled. “If you really want to know, if you actually want answers, then meet me.”
I run a hand through my hair, gripping the back of my neck, trying to steady the storm rolling through me. I could push. I could demand answers right now. But if there’s one thing I know about Indigo, it’s that she doesn’t respond to force. She only moves when she chooses to.
And she is choosing now.
“Fine,” I say, voice rough. “Where?”
“Somewhere neutral,” she says. “No games. Just the truth.”
My pulse kicks up. I don’t know if I’m ready for this. But I need to see her, to hear the words leave her lips, to look her in the eyes and decide if I can still find her beneath all of this.
Another pause. The hesitation is there, but it’s fleeting.
“The old train station,” she finally says. “Tomorrow night.”
My pulse spikes. That place—where the tracks are rusted, and the world feels like it’s been left behind. It suits her. It suits this.
“Alright,” I murmur. “I’ll be there.”
She breathes out, a sound so soft I almost miss it. “Malik…”
Something in the way she says my name makes my chest tighten. There’s something fragile in it, something unfinished.
But then the line clicks dead.
And I’m left gripping my phone, staring into the silence.
Tomorrow.
One way or another, I’ll finally get my answers.
The old trainstation is exactly how I remember it—forgotten. The tracks stretch out into nothing, rusted and worn, the weeds curling through the cracks like nature is slowly reclaiming what’s been left behind. The platform is empty, the once grand arches now chipped and faded.
I lean against a crumbling pillar, the cold biting through my jacket, my breath visible in the night air. The silence here is different—not peaceful, but hollow, like it’s waiting for something to fill it. And then, like clockwork, I hear footsteps against gravel.
Indigo steps into view, and for a second, I forget to breathe.
She wears a fitted black blouse, the top few buttons undone, teasing at something softer beneath all that edge. A sleek black belt cinches her waist, drawing my focus lower, to the full-length red trousers that hug her legs like they were made for her. That color—bold, impossible to ignore—demands attention, and I’m more than willing to give it.
Her shoes are practical, simple black flats, but even in them, she moves like a woman who doesn’t need height to command a room. And then there’s the red headscarf, knotted into those dark, cascading curls, a final touch that makes her look like she walked straight out of a different time—like she doesn’t belong here, but somehow, she fits.
I swallow hard, shifting my weight, but it doesn’t help. She’s already gotten under my skin. And the worst part? She knows it.
Her gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. The air between us is thick, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken.
Then, finally, she exhales. “You came.”
