Page 59 of Toxic B!tch
He thinks for a moment before replying, “Strawberry and vanilla, swirled.”
Beth returns a few minutes later with two milkshakes. She sets them down in front of us, her eyes flicking between us briefly before she leaves us.
We sip in silence, the sweetness of the shakes an odd contrast to the tension thick between us. The diner hums around us—plates clinking, the low murmur of conversation in the kitchen, the faint buzz of the neon sign outside. But in this booth, it’s just us. Just the weight of everything I’ve already laid bare.
Finally, I break the silence. “You wanted to know more.”
Malik nods, his fingers tapping once against the glass of his milkshake. “I need to understand. How did you become this?”
I let out a slow breath, my gaze dropping to the table. “My parents died when I was six. Car crash. I don’t remember much, just flashing lights and the smell of gasoline.” I pause, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. “Foster care wasn’t kind to me.”
Malik’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing, waiting for me to go on.
“I bounced from home to home. Some were okay. Most weren’t. You learn pretty quickly that no one gives a damn about a girl with no family, no money, no future.” I press my fingers against my temples, a dull ache forming behind my eyes. “There were… men. People who took things from me I couldn’t get back. People who hurt me in ways I didn’t understand until I was older.”
I don’t look up, but I hear the sharp intake of Malik’s breath. His fingers tighten around the glass of his milkshake, knuckles white.
I force myself to continue. “By the time I aged out, I had nothing. No home. No money. No one who cared if I lived or died.” I let out a bitter laugh. “So I made a choice. I did what I had to do to survive.”
Malik’s voice is low when he finally speaks. “And that led you here?”
I meet his gaze, my heart hammering. “It led me to them. People who understood. People who showed me that power isn’t given—it’s taken.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I’ll ask again. How many, Indigo?”
I know what he’s asking. My stomach twists, but I don’t look away. “Enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I take a slow sip of my milkshake, letting the chocolate sweetness coat my tongue. “I don’t count, Malik. I don’t keep track like it’s some kind of tally.” I set the glass down with a soft clink. “But I can tell you this—not one of them was innocent.”
He exhales sharply, pressing his fingers to his temple. “That’s supposed to make it better?”
“No,” I admit. “But it’s the truth.”
He looks at me for a long time, his dark eyes searching mine, and I wonder what he sees. A monster? A victim? Something in between?
Finally, he speaks. “You could’ve walked away.”
I let out a dry chuckle. “No, Malik. I couldn’t.”
Silence stretches between us. Heavy. Suffocating.
Then he asks what I’ve been dreading. “And now?”
I grip the edge of the table, my nails biting into the laminate. “Now, I don’t know.”
His eyes flick over my face, and for a moment, I see something there—something I don’t want to name. He’s still fighting it, the pull between us, the war inside his head between reason and whatever the hell this is. He should walk away.
But he won’t.
“Indigo,” he says, his voice low. Steady. “If I stay?—”
I shake my head. “Don’t make promises, Malik. Not to me.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches across the table, his fingers brushing against mine. It’s not much. Just a touch. Barely there.
But it’s enough to make my breath hitch.
