Page 61 of Toxic Kiss

Now that the fear and adrenaline have worn off, I’m ready to pass out, and that is exactly what I do, and don’t care how it looks to anyone who walks in.

chapter

eighteen

“The Wicked Witch tried to make me a villain in the story, so I rewrote the damn book.” – Haven

HAVEN

Bang.

I jump up like a shot has been fired, but it’s not a gun. It’s worse. Anita…fuck.

She is a one-man demolition crew. Just like the song, she comes in like a wrecking ball, then she’ll drive the bulldozer and push your corpse out of her way.

“Where is he,” she asks, dramatically, looking around like he isn’t the only patient in the hospital room.

Cy tries to sit up.

“There you are, my poor, poor baby.”

Anita rushes to the bed in a flurry of white and black designer wear, her heels clicking annoyingly across the linoleum floor. If you want the living embodiment of Cruella De Vil, then Anita is it.

I will never understand in a million years what my father sees in the wicked bitch that I call stepmother. She is the exact opposite of my mom.

Anita drapes herself over Cyrus, and I have to look away. She acts like she always has his best interest at heart. This woman is as fake as they come. I used to think that she was just bristly with me, and actually loved Cyrus and my father. Then I got older. I’ve realized that she loves the dollar signs attached to her son and the prestige of being married to Auguste Gaillard. She couldn’t care less about the men themselves.

Anita’s perfume hits me like a punch to the face, and I step back. The flowery scent is giving seventies porn hoochie over couture.

“Mom, I can’t breathe,” Cy says, voice muffled with half his face covered.

Great, she’s going to smother him to death after the doctors save his life.

Anita is ridiculous. I’m not sure who she is acting for, because I won’t film or post this crap.

She pushes herself up and dabs at her eyes with a tissue that she pulls out of nowhere like a magic trick.

I glance at the door expecting my dad to walk in, but he doesn’t. Everything inside of me is screaming to leave, but I feel an obligation to make sure she doesn’t do something stupid. I trust Anita as far as I can throw her.

“Why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep worrying me? Another hospital. Another headline. Another rehab. I can’t take any more of this, Cyrus. You promised that there wouldn’t be any more of these scandals,” she says in one long breath, while putting on the thickest English accent I’ve heard her do yet.

I almost burst out laughing and turn my head away to get control of my expression.

Anita has lived here since she was ten, but her English accent gets stronger every time I see her. She seems to believe that having a fancy accent makes her sound sophisticated and more popular. She is genuinely certifiable.

“Mom, I didn’t overdose,” Cy says, his expression darkening.

“Cyrus, the first step in healing is to stop lying and accept who you are,” she says, like she is an authority on the matter. “It’s the only way you’ll get better.”

Her condescending tone is grating on my nerves.

“Mom, I’m telling you that I’m not using again.”

I know from the news articles I can’t escape that Cy spent time in rehab, but I never inquired about what.

“Please, son. I know when you’re lying. Just look at you. You’re a disaster.”

“He’s not,” I say, jumping in, unable to help myself.