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Helen scrunched her face. “Pshaw. How could I pity you? I grew up in a trailer with a drunk-ass mama. You were born with a silver spoon to two doting parents. And you look like a fucking Disney princess, have a disgustingly hot wardrobe, and a decently functioning brain on top of all that. Honestly, I want to punch you in the face sometimes.”
Despite my foul mood, that made me laugh. “Just sometimes?”
Helen jerked her chin, the corners of her mouth tipping in amusement. “Used to be all the time. You were downgraded to sometimes when you bought us all matching bats.”
I held up a hand. “Don’t bring up the bats unless you’re going to allow me to bust Lachlan’s truck windows out.”
Zadie covered up her laugh with her hand, and Helen closed the door firmly behind her.
“No busting windows, sorry.” Helen waved the fatty at me. “But smoke this and you’ll be too mellow to even think about vehicular murder and won’t care about the crap he said.”
Conceding, I sighed and held out my hand. “Give it to me, baby.”
Helen was right and wrong. The mellow came over me quickly, and my desire to destroy was reduced to smoke. Even then, cushioned as they were in the very back of my mind, Lachlan’s words stayed.
Sweet like poison.
…like poison.
Poison.
