Filed To Story: Pretty Poisoned Novel by Elle Mitchell
“Teagan, if you do this, then that’s it. When you come back, don’t call me, don’t text me. I’m done. And I’m serious this time.”
Looking up from my journal, I roll my eyes at the half-naked man in my bed. “You’re not my boyfriend, Hunter,” I tell him. “You don’t get a say in this. And if you don’t support me, you can just leave right now.”
“Support you in what? Becoming a groupie?”
“No in becoming a journalist,” I snap.
“You’re not a journalist, Teag. You have access to the internet and a hobby. If that makes you a journalist, then I’m a fucking male model.”
“I think you should go.” It comes out calm, even. But that isn’t how I feel. On the inside, my blood boils. I grind my teeth, waiting, and when he doesn’t move or reply, I turn to him. “Get out. Go! Now!”
“Teagan, be fucking reasonable. I actually care about youbelieve it or notdespite all of your quirky bullshit. That’s why I’m telling you this I want to help you.”
“What you’re doing right now isn’t helping, Hunter. It’s the same shit I hear from my mom and my sister every fucking day. I don’t need to hear it from some guy I’m fucking, too.”
“Some guy, huh?”
I shrug.
“That’s real fucking nice,” he says, shaking his head. He gets up, pulls on his t-shirt, and starts toward the door. “There’s something wrong with you. You realize that, right?”
I swallow hard, taking a deep breath, hoping it’ll steady the rage building inside of me. Maybe he’s rightmaybe there is something wrong with me. It isn’t the first time I’ve heard that. It certainly isn’t the second time, either.
“That doesn’t seem like something someone who cares about me should say,” I tell him.
“Teagan ”
“Just leave, Hunter. And don’t worryI won’t call you when I come back. I promise.”
I turn my attention back to the journal in my hands. I feel him watch me for a few seconds before he sighs, surrendering, and stomps out the door, slamming it behind him.
I refuse to cry. Hunter was never my boyfriend; I’ve never been in love with him. But he has been my only friend for a few months now. I’ve never been very good at making or keeping those.
When I realize I’m still just staring at the same empty page, unable to focus, I snap the journal closed and toss it onto the bed. I decide to make another cup of coffee. It’s late enough to drink, but I still have a lot to do tonight.
“Hey, Teagan,” Blakely says as I step into the main living space. The small apartment I share with my sister and, for the past six months, her fiancé, in Fullerton is two bedrooms and right around 700 square feet. We’re lucky enough to have our own bathrooms, but out here, we don’t have room for a real kitchen table, and the cabinet space is so limited that we keep the coffee cups in the entryway closet. I open that closet and grab one now.
“Hey.”
I feel her watching me; there’s something else my sister wants to say, and she will say it. Blakely never could just mind her own fucking business. Already in a terrible mood after my fight with Hunter, I feel myself getting pre-irritated with her, and I’m sure she can see it, too. I pour fresh grounds into the coffee maker, press start, then turn and wait.
“I saw Hunter leave,” she says. “He seemed upset.”
“Yeah, I guess he probably is,” I say.
“What happened?”
Here we fucking go.
“I’m going away this weekend,” I tell her. “Maybe for longer. He doesn’t think I should go.”
“Teagan ” she starts, shaking her head. “Why ”
“I think I really have something this time, Blakelyactually, I know I do. And if I’m right about this story, my podcast is going to blow up.”
“Teagan, if you want to be a journalist, you should re-enroll in school. That’s how you become a real journalist. Not running around the West Coast proliferating internet conspiracy theories.”
“That’s not what I’m doing”
“That is what you’re doing. And you’re further alienating yourself from the people who care about you and from reality, Teagan. I’m worried about you.”
“I was right about that murder in Black Rock, though, wasn’t I?”
“Maybe, but your entire hypothesis was based on the fact that the kid had ‘kind eyes.’ You had no evidence, and you have no resources, Teagan. You’re twenty years old. You need to get a job; you never should have quit Yard House. You need a plan.”
“I hated waitressing,” I tell her. And the truth is that if I had to deal with one more entitled old asshole screaming in my face, I would have smashed a plate against the table and slit their fucking throat with the shards. I couldn’t take it any longer. “And I have a job.”
“What you’re doing on social media does not count as a job.”
“It’s paid my fair share of the bills for the last three months, so I’d say it counts.”
She shakes her head. “Listen, I was talking to Austin, and he told me they’re hiring a receptionist. I asked him if he could get you an interview, and he said they could get you in tomorrow at 4:00 PM.”
“Blakely, no. I don’t want to be your fiancé’s receptionist.”
“You should at least go, Teagan. The pay is good, it has medical and dental. It’s not like waiting tables; it’s pretty low stress, so you could even start taking classes again.”
“I don’t want to take classes, either, Blakely. God, you never fucking listen to me, do you? I am fine. I don’t need your help. And I won’t be here tomorrow anyway.”
“So, you’re just going to stand them up? After Austin went out of his way to arrange this for you?”
“It’s not my fucking problem; I didn’t ask for it.”
“No, it’ll be my problem, as usual. You’re embarrassing me, Teagan! Do you even care? You’re always embarrassing me. I’m sure you’re embarrassing Hunter, too, right? That’s why he left? This is why you don’t have friends. Do you even care about any of this?”
I don’t. Not in the way I’m supposed to anyway.
“I’m sorry that I’m embarrassing you by existing and not having any friends,” I say. “What a terrible inconvenience that must be.”
“Please, take this seriously, Teagan.”
“Why are you always so concerned with what I’m doing? I’m not hurting anyone. Just fuck off, Blakely.”
I take my coffee and leave the room, slamming my door behind me.
I set the mug on my desk and sink into my chair. Dropping my head into my hands, I take a deep breath to steady myself.
Don’t cry, Teagan. Never let them see you cry.
It’s sort of become my mantra over the past four years. And I don’t. I won’t.
I pick up the backstage pass on my desk, examining it in my hands. Maybe I’ve been wrong before, but I know I’m right about this. I know there’s something heresomething big, something dangerous. And this is precisely what I need to put my podcast on the map. I could finally be taken seriously. At the very least, it’d make the holidays less awkward.
Oh, Blakely? Yeah, she’s doing great. She and her fiancé are both software engineers; they’re getting married on the beach in Mexico this summer. Oh Teagan? No, she dropped out. She’s still trying to figure out what she wants to do. We’re praying for her.
I wonder what I should pack. If things go my way, I could be gone for a while. I start making a mental list when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.
“Teagan? Can I come in?” Blakely asks.
“I guess ”
She pushes the door open, walks across the room, and sits at the edge of my bed. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” she says.
“You didn’t.”
New Book: Returned To Make Them Pay
On her wedding anniversary, Alicia is drugged and stumbles into the wrong room—straight into the arms of the powerful Caden Ward, a man rumored never to touch women. Their night of passion shocks even him, especially when he discovers she’s still a virgin after two years of marriage to Joshua Yates.