Page 34 of Poisoning Ivy
Somehow, I have enough common sense not to tell them that I want them to ruin me.
Monty smirks like he knows what I’m thinking, though.
"And because it was fun." Killian rolls his eyes. "Until I got jealous and decided to kill her a little earlier than I'd planned. It's not that deep, Bambi. I just like blood, and I like games. You know that."
I do know both of those things. But what he just did was beyond all that. What he just did was...
"You kill people as a hobby?" I guess, catching Monty's eye as a laugh rolls through him.
"Not us." Theo chuckles. "We just help with the clean-up."
Something about that confession and the way that Monty passed the blade so seamlessly to Killian tells me that tonight wasn't the first time.
"You're murderers." I whisper, the word heavy and awkward on my lips.
"Killian'sa murderer." Monty grins. "We're just... his wingmen."
Hiswingmen?
My chest feels tight, disbelief making the world feel like it's closing in. What the fuck is wrong with me to have stayed here this long? What the fuck is wrong with me that I haven't tried to get away from them?
"Mmm." Killian nods. "That's what friends do, Bambi. So, tell me, are you a friend?"
Chapter nineteen
Ivy
Age Twenty
If I said anything other thanyesto being their friend, I was pretty sure I'd end up next to Tilly, floating in the water with my neck gaping open. I said yes that night because I didn't think I had another choice, because it felt like it may be true. But as that summer slipped away, it became clear that I wasn't their friend. It became even more apparent that fall, winter, and the spring after when I finally gathered the courage to write them… and I didn’t get so much as a postcard or a ‘return to sender’.
I don't know what I was to them, but I know what they were to me.
Everything.
Long days bled into quiet nights and though I listened for any mention of a missing woman, a body, anything, there was no mention of Tilly, no police car to come crawling up the gravel road, no mention of anything nefarious. By the time we pack it all up to go back to our penthouse, it's as if none of it ever happened, as if it was all a fever dream. By the time I see them the next summer, it feels like a bad trip, a moment of chaos that my brain corrupted with time.
I know it wasn't. I know what I saw. And I know that these men I am completely helpless to resist are capable of horrible things.
It doesn't stop me from spending my nights in Killian's parents’ basement, getting high while I watch them simply be themselves, talking about basketball and video games and mundane shit that I don't care about.
And yet, being with them feels right.Ormaybe it’s the drugs they’ve kept me on.
I’ve been happy to accept the continuous string of pills they feed me, which keeps away the withdrawal from whatever the country club pool boy has to spare. It’s also kept me from having to process the fact that the only people in the world who can even tolerate my presence are murderers, because I am a fucking accessory. Thinking about it makes me want to peel my skin off, so I don’t think about it. I stay high on Theo’s supply.
At this point, I don’t even know what I’m on, and while I wouldn’t call it an addiction, I crave it as much as I crave their attention.
My parents have been absent much of the summer, leaving me with Uncle Vitoli, who’s gotten increasing more uncomfortable to be around. Given a choice between known killers and the man who looks at me like the little red riding hood to his big bad wolf, I choose the killers. It’s why I’ve thrown caution to the wind, sneaking out on the nights when my uncle’s drank himself into oblivion to get my fix.
They don’t push my boundaries, don’t hurt me, don’t make a move, for the most part.
Until they do.
Killian’s parents are out of town, so tonight instead of sneaking around in their furnished basement like their dirty little secret, we have free reign of the cabin. It’s all very cozy, clean without being pristine. Photos of his parents in every stageof their relationship adorn the halls, creating a sort of timeline as Killian appears in them too. I watch him grow as I walk down the corridor on my way back from the bathroom and notice that he’s even smiling in some of them. Theo and Monty appear in a few, as well, and my throat swells at how much I missed, being dragged away from them every year when the leaves begin to fall.
Sometimes I feel like a ghost, like I’m insubstantial. Sometimes I think I’m nothing at all, because even a ghost is a collection of energy absent matter, and I don’t even havethatto give. The way I watch them sometimes acting as if I’m not even there supports my theory.
"I know you love a good game, Bambi." Killian smirks, daring me to try and deny whatever he’s about to suggest.
