Page 91 of Toxic Kiss

“Oh, look, you have two new fuck toys. Do they know you got tested for genital herpes last week and it came back positive?”

I scrunch up my nose and look pointedly at his crotch.

Cyrus’s smile falls, and the girls share similarly disgusted expressions as they cover their mouths.

“Or was it crabs? No, that was the last time. I guess at this point it could be HIV. It’s so hard to keep up.”

“Ugh…gross,” one of them says, letting go of his arm. Both girls step away from Cyrus, and it feels like a massive victory.

People are now eagerly tuning into the Cyrus and Haven show. We have one of these little showdowns at least once a week. It always takes place in a public spot for everyone’s continued amusement.

“She’s lying,” Cyrus drawls and rolls his eyes. “I mean, isn’t it obvious that the little virgin is jealous that no one will fuck her?” He practically yells across the room.

The cafeteria is dead quiet. I glance around as all eyes focus on me. My heart pounds harder, but my stomach sinks when I spot Addison standing near the entrance.

“Did you really think a new dress would make you less of a loser? Get it through your head…” Cyrus steps closer. “No one likes you, let alone wants to touch you. You’re a freak, a loser, and a nobody.”

Laughter ripples around us.

I suck in a deep breath.

“I’d rather never be touched than become a whore like you with a revolving door on my bedroom. I actually understand the meaning of emotions and connection with others. Something you, dear stepbrother, continue to fail to understand. Then again, I’m not surprised since you fail every class. If it wasn’t for your mommy paying off teachers, you wouldn’t even be graduating.”

I put every ounce of snarky attitude behind the insult, and those closest gasp. Whispers start, but I hold my ground. Cyrus’s eyes narrow, and his lip pulls up just enough to look like he’s snarling.

“It’s called being popular. Try it sometime.” He snaps his fingers. “Oh yeah…you used to be, then I arrived, and everyone realized what a loser you actually are. Oops.”

“Fuck you, Cyrus. You’re the loser. You are no better than a used-car salesman selling your sad life as cool. If it wasn’t for my father and his money, you’d be nothing but a low-level wannabe talent begging for someone to listen to his shitty songs.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me.”

My heart is in my throat. I’m never this mean, and I hate these showdowns, but they are always worse when we have eyes watching.

In one fluid motion, he snatches my chocolate pudding off my tray and pulls the wrap off the top. My eyes go wide, and I manage to take one step back, but it is too late. The bowl is already sailing straight for my chest.

The pudding explodes outward like I’ve been hit with a shit patty.

I gasp and look down, shock just settling in when Cyrus smacks the entire tray out of my hand, and the rest of my lunch goes flying with a crash.

The roar of laughter is immediate.

“Oh my god, you look like someone shit on you,” one of the girls with Cyrus says, pointing.

The bowl falls to the floor, and I just stare at the brown all over my new dress.

“Aww, are you going to cry? Poor, worthless little Haven,” Cyrus says, pouting and pretending to cry.

“What the hell is going on in here?” A teacher yells, but tears cloud my eyes. I don’t stop to see who it is as I run out of the cafeteria.

Even though it’s over five miles home, I push through the outside doors into the rain and keep on running.

I blink back to the present.

“Maybe she thinks dressing like a groupie makes her one.”

I swallow the bile rising in my throat.