Page 22 of Violent Little Thing

Poison

ADONIS

Si: What happened to just keeping her alive until her brother worked his shit out?

Me: That ain’t got shit to do with what I asked you

Si:

Si: Nah, let’s talk about it. You said you weren’t trying to make this a 5-star stay, now this woman got your chest hurt trying to make sure she’s okay

I throw my phone across my desk, just to pick it back up again to see the next message he sends.

Si: Her memory seems fine to me. She remembers she don’t like you

Me: She said that?

Si: Why? You care or something?

Me: Si, stop fucking with me.

Si: This shit never happens, gotta enjoy it

Me: I should have sent her to Alonzo

Si:

Si: You know that’s a sore spot. You ain’t shit

Me: He’s your twin, get over it

Si: Since you wanna fuck up the mood, I got you

Si: Gaps in memory are normal for anyone who experiences prolonged exposure to trauma.

Me: How do we fix it?

Si: It’s not that simple. You can’t force those gaps to close because it’s inconvenient they exist. There’s a reason her body is protecting her by forgetting. It’s up to her if she wants to work on getting those memories back. And even then, it’ll only happen if she’s in a supportive environment.

Me: Right

Si: So, away from you. Obviously

Me: You think she can’t get better with me?

Si: Adonis, you have her for three months. And one of those months is gone. What kind of miracles are you expecting?

Me: It was a yes or no question

Si:

Si: In all seriousness, keep an eye on her, Adonis. We can’t rule out absence seizures until I get her in with a neurologist.

Me: Seizures? What the fuck Silas?

Si: I’m not saying that’s what it is but come on, man, nobody just zones out in a swimming pool and almost drowns themselves. And I don’t know if that’s what happened during her appointment or not but I can’t ignore the signs.

Turning my phone face down on my desk, I face my computer and type ‘absence seizures’ into my search engine.

Five minutes of clicking through results has me feeling like my world is tilting.

A sickening mix of anger and panic tightens my muscles, until a cracking sound pulls me out of my haze and I realize how tight I’m holding the mouse.

Every symptom I read on the screen steals my ability to pull in air.

All those times she went quiet, and I thought she was daydreaming.

Her sinking in that pool.

The silence that would come out of nowhere in the middle of a conversation.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Me: When is her neurology appointment?

I’m going with her. I don’t care what I have to ignore to make it happen.

Si: Next Friday. Don’t worry, I won’t stop until we have answers for her. I really like her, Adonis. She’s sweet and I want her to be okay as much as you do.

I don’t send another text after that. I can’t. What I do is walk over to my bar cart and give myself a generous pour of tequila. I skip the ice and down it like a shot. I do that two more times until a numbness settles over the chaos thrumming through me.

But later, when the numbness begins to fade, I open the folder with a year of Delilah’s life on it and start watching again.

For the past few nights, nothing has stood out from what I’ve been able to watch. Delilah rarely shows up on camera and when she does, it’s only for short flashes before she disappears again for days at a time.

That changes in August 2024. After two months of barely seeing her, she’s in the first frame of footage for August with her father.

My back straightens like an arrow as I turn up the volume and listen to their exchange .

“Daddy, I don’t want to marry him.”

Marriage? She was supposed to marry someone?

“You’re going to do exactly what I tell you to do,” he roared, closing in on her.

Delilah stood her ground, chin angled in a proud tilt. “But I want to go to school. I’m twenty-four and I’ve never?—”

Marcellus’ fist connected with the side of her head until she stumbled back into the rickety railing near the stairs.

“Get up, lil’ girl. Let me hear your smart-ass mouth now.”

Delilah got up, cradling her ribs and shaky on her feet. “I’m not being smart when I tell you I don’t want to do something. Why don’t you ever listen to me? What the fuck did I do to you?”

Marcellus’ answer was his palm clapping the side of her face.

On impact, Delilah’s knees buckled, but she recovered right before she hit the ground, standing and facing the man twice her size.

“You always do this.”

It’s the first time I hear a crack in her voice and a matching one forms in my heart at the rehearsed way she holds herself together. I can tell from the set of her shoulders and the fists balled at her side that she’s done this before.

She’s used to the abuse.

That’s as far as I make it. Six minutes into the August footage and I tap out like a bitch.

I wasn’t breathing the whole time I watched it. My nose burns and saliva pools in my mouth as a sick feeling invades my gut.

What the fuck ?

What the fuck?

What the fuck?

Ignoring the bottle I left uncapped, I snatch open my desk drawer and shove a handful of mints in my mouth.

More than anything, I need the bitter taste of bile out of my mouth. I need to focus on something else. Anything else.

Leaving my office, my fingers find the buttons at my wrist and work until my sleeves are folded up to my elbows.

Without thinking, I walk until I’m standing outside of a room I haven’t entered in months.

The door opens with a creak and seconds later, I drag the bench against the floor, creating enough space for me to sit.

Muscle memory has my feet poised above the pedals and my fingers caressing the keys before I can stop myself.

Every note that fills the room works to subdue the rage trying to consume me.

It’s working. It must be. Because the music chases away the heat scorching my skin until I feel normal again.

And when I finally take a break, my heart is beating like I just finished a marathon. The mints are burning the inside of my cheek, only halfway dissolved because my jaw is clamped so tight they’re tucked into a pocket between my molars instead of resting on my tongue.

My shower is calling my name. That’s what I need, to wash this day away and act like this shit never?—

“Can I come in?”

It’s the quietest I’ve ever heard her speak, yet it registers in my mind as if she shouted the question.

Not looking up, I clear my throat. “What time is it?”

“Two a.m.”

Shit .

“Did I wake you up?”

“Yes, but it’s okay.”

A light sniffle has my head snapping in her direction, taking in her messy hair and the blue pajama top hanging off her shoulders.

Her face is the last place I allow my eyes to land and the pink staining her cheeks makes me seek out her eyes to see if they’re rimmed in the same color. Her glasses shield the answer from me.

“What’s wrong, menace?”

“Nothing.” Lie . “Can I come in?”