Filed To Story: Pretty Poisoned Novel by Elle Mitchell
I don’t know that I’ve ever needed a drink more in my entire fucking life.
“I can make it myself,” I say, grabbing a bottle of vodka from the center of the table. “See? I just made it.” I remove the cap and bring it to my mouth, swallowing a few times as it burns the back of my throat.
“I think I’m in love,” she says, taking the bottle from me and doing the same.
“Hazel,” a deep voice bellows. Declan stands in the doorway wearing a pair of tight, shredded jeans and a black v-neck shirt with his arms crossed in front of him. His presence is heavy, oppressive even. The entire room reacts to it. I wait for him to see me, to acknowledge me in some wayafter all, he broke into my hotel this afternoon, and I’m here because of him, aren’t I? But he doesn’t seem to notice; if he does, he certainly doesn’t react.
It bothers me.
I remind myself that I’m not here for Declan’s attentionthat I don’t want it. But he has mine right now, just like he has theirs. My eyes make their way over his biceps, his chest, and up to his perfectly angled jaw.
“Yes, Daddy?” Hazel replies.
“Come,” he says. He turns and leaves the room without waiting for her, and she stands and quickly follows.
“What was that about?” I whisper to River.
“Declan likes her tongue ring, too,” she says.
“I’m pretty sure he hates me. He’s been fucking awful”
She whips her head around, her blue eyes darken with anger as her bubbly, easygoing demeanor dissipates as if a switch has been flipped. “Don’t,” she says through clenched teeth.
Taken aback, I struggle to find the words for a few seconds. “I’m I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to to ”
But what did I not mean to do?
“He’s taken you in, hasn’t he?” she asks. I’m not sure how to respond because I’m not sure that’s what’s happening. I didn’t ask to be taken in. “He brought you here; he’s giving you a chance. And if he’s doing that, it’s for a reason, and you have to earn it. You should be more grateful.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I’m just confused. That’s all.”
I watch as she takes a few deep breaths, attempting to calm herself. “Can I have that back?” she asks softly.
I realize she’s talking about the vodka and wordlessly hand it to her.
She takes a long pull from the bottle, then says, “I’m sorry. You’re still learning the rules here. We don’t talk about each other like that. And there’s no fighting either, so I’m sorry, too.”
“It was my fault. And I don’t think we were really fighting, so it’s okay. I didn’t mean to offend you. I just want to understand him. You say you’re a family, and you all love him. He just seems really hard to get to know.”
“That’s fair,” she says. “He is very guarded. He doesn’t even fuck the bloodsluts. He’s very particular about who he lets in. That’s what makes it so special when he does choose you. There’s just something about him, you know? He is light.”
How the fuck am I supposed to respond to that? This girl really drank the Kool-Aid. She’s talking about this rockstar like he’s a god or something.
I’m starting to realize thatfor themhe is.
“That makes sense,” I tell her. Even though it doesn’t make any goddamn sense at all.
“Time to go,” Brady says as he and Alana pass us on their way out of the room.
She smiles. “We need to get out there, too. Let’s go.”
As we leave, River looks back and notices Layla still on the sofa alone, staring blankly at the wall. “Baby?” River calls.
The girl doesn’t respond.
River walks over to her and places a hand on her cheek. “Baby Layla, it’s starting soon. We need to go out there.”
“Okay,” she says, slowly pulling herself to her feet.
River guides her out the door in front of us. “Remember, Layla. You need to smile, be yourself. Be grateful.”
“I know,” Layla says.
She turns back to me, adding quietly enough that Layla can’t hear it as we make our way down the dark hallway, “And as you can see, it makes it that much harder when he takes it back.”
I don’t know what she means, but I nod as if I do and try to piece it together as we push our way through the crowd and down to a roped-off section at the front-center stage marked “Reserved.” A security guard moves it aside for us just as the lights go down and Luca strums a few notes on his guitar in the darkness. It’s silent again for a few seconds before the venue erupts in cheers, waiting.
For him.
A spotlight illuminates the space, settling on Declan with his microphone at center stage.
“I knew when we met, you’d be my demise,” he sings the first line of the song, pausing for applause before the band joins him.
“With my last breath
I’ll whisper your name to the skies
It wasn’t you, it wasn’t me
It was us in this thing
It was electric, but we knew what it would bring
And so it ends with a whisper
She drew blood when I kissed her
He smilesor something like itand then runs his hand through his dark hair, beads of sweat already forming on his brow as he belts out the lyrics under the spotlight. In person, he’s cold, closed off. He’s an untouchable enigma, barely human among the rest of us, operating seemingly without emotion and solely on instinct and yet somehow in complete control of everything and everyone around him. On stage, he’s something entirely different. He’s electric; he’s fire. He’s the sun, using his gravitational pull on everyone around them, and they have no choice but to stay there in his orbit or freeze. He makes it seem like you could touch him if you wanted to. If he’d let you.
And suddenly, I get it. I know what River meant in the hallway.
It makes it that much harder when he takes it back.
I scan the group, looking for Layla, who stands at Hazel’s side, cheering and singing along with the lyrics, even though it’s obvious she’s still suffering.
His light. That’s what she was talking about. Layla did somethingbroke some ruleand she lost it.
And it’s killing her.
There’s no party backstage after this concert. Instead, two limos pick us up and take us to an upscale club in Downtown San Francisco. I ride with the familynot to be confused with the bloodslutsand the band rides in a separate car.
When we get there, Alana approaches the woman at the front, who then escorts us through the throngs of people to our table. It’s one of maybe six on a mezzanine overlooking the main stage, where there’s a DJ and a dance floor.
“I’m so over this,” Alana says as she throws herself down into the booth. She grabs a bottle of gin from the table and mixes herself a drink. “I just want to go home.”
“We’ll be home soon,” Brady tells her. “I don’t think we’ll stay out long. I think they’re all ready to go home, too.”
“How long have you been with them?” I ask her. I’m not sure how else to word the question. I think that’s how River said it last night.
“About nine months,” Alana says.
I do the math in my head. So, that means she probably never met Bridget, either. Neither did River or Hazel.
“Wow, that’s a long time.”
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.