Page 4 of Sweet Venom

Dahlia always tells me not to give them money, because they’ll buy alcohol with it, and maybe they do, but the other day, Bo was grinning wide after he showed me the shoes he bought from the thrift shop with the money I gave him.

I walk through the alley that leads me straight to our street. The lone streetlight that’s still working flickers with a buzz, highlighting the waste rotting on either side. I breathe through my mouth to avoid inhaling the stench of piss reeking alongside the walls.

Heavy steps echo behind me, slashing through the silence. My heart lunges and I grab my backpack tighter, my nails sinking into the straps as I quicken my pace.

The footsteps follow, bouncing off the alley’s walls with a threatening caress.

My hoodie sticks to my back and sweat beads on my temples. Could it be…?

No. He’s never approached me.

But then again, he’s also never shown up in front of HAVEN before.

Is he escalating twice on the same day?

I just need to get home and hide?—

A strong hand latches onto my elbow and pulls me back. I go into shock mode.

It’s… I don’t know what it is, but whenever I’m in danger, I just freeze completely, catatonically, almost. My limbs go numb and refuse to follow my brain’s commands to move.

Run.

Do something.

Anything.

People have fight or flight, but I have freeze.

I stare back, expecting to see the black helmet of my grim reaper, but all that comes into view is balding shaggy blond hair and a stained sleeveless white shirt.

“D-Dave…” I exhale, my heart still beating loudly, but at least my muscles unlock.

It’s the local alcoholic, Dave, who’s been drinking himself to an early grave ever since his wife took the children and left.

“Heeey, beautiful…” He sways on his feet, his meaty fingers digging into my arm as he takes a swig from his bottle of whiskey.

I pull my arm, but he latches onto it tighter, so I feign a smile. “Let me go, please.”

It’s not the first time he’s done this, and he lets go when I ask. Usually, that is. Right now, however, he looks terribly drunk. Flushed cheeks, beady eyes with bags underneath them, and he reeks so badly, I have to breathe through my mouth.

“Maria won the court case, and I can’t see my kids.” He slurs his words.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I speak softly, subtly pulling my arm.

“Stupid judge says I’m a bad influence. Why the fuck is that?” He growls, tightening his grip on my elbow, and I wince.

“I’m sure if you show you’re improving, the judge will let you see them?—”

“Shut your trap.” He’s in my face now, his alcohol-laced rotten breath skimming over my face. “All you women do is yap and fucking complain. You never appreciate a good man.”

He’s anything but a good man. Maria is the good woman who took a lot of abuse from him before she finally left, but I can’t say that, because he looks irritated and I’d bear the brunt of his anger.

If anything, I’m instinctively cowering, withdrawing into the broken shell Mama built for me one lash at a time. I’m back to being the little girl she screamed at, kicked for being a nuisance, and locked in the closet.

My mere existence used to vex her.

Just my trying to help used to annoy her.