Poison Me Sweetly (Long Beach Series Book 1)

by Dani Matthews

  The guys are like mother hens; it's absolutely ridiculous, because men aren't supposed to be naggers. I always try to hide my crap from them, because when they know I'm struggling with the darkness that's always there, waiting to swallow me up, they watch me closely. They know someone would have to be around to pick up the pieces once it broke me. And it always did. It always broke me until I managed to slowly and gradually put myself back together, piece by piece, until the cycle ran its course. Then, it inevitably came back to knock me on my ass again.

  Life sucks.

  I shove open my car door and climb out, slipping my overnight bag over my shoulder before reaching in and grabbing my laptop case and my backpack. I just need some solitude for a while, and I need to work on my renovation project. I've sat on it way too long, and I really need to get into gear with it. The only reason I'm still going to my classes is because it provides a nice distraction when I'm not working or partying. If I didn't try to keep myself busy, I'd lose myself and likely fall into madness. Hell, I'm already halfway there considering I'm seeing my dead brother and actually having real conversations with him.

  After dropping my stuff at my feet near the main entrance, I dig out the spare key my parents insisted I keep. Once the door is unlocked, I pick up all my belongings and step into the foyer. I look around, and the empty silence of the house almost smothers me. I ignore it and close the door behind me before walking further inside.

  The house feels sterile to me. Our old house had been decorated in warm colors, and it had been full of odds and ends that had given it a lived in feel. This house isn't appealing at all. Last year my mom had worked up the nerve to ask me if I'd like to decorate the house for them, and I'd turned her down flat. Everything had changed. They could decorate their own damn house.

  And decorate they did.

  A grimace sweeps through me as I slowly walk through the interior of the home. It's not like I haven't seen it before. But it's a good reminder to me how much has changed, and how my parents were no longer the parents that I had once loved.

  The interior is a little more upscale than our old house. I can spy the touches of a home decorator that my mom hired. No way would she pick out some of the high end décor that graces the walls. And all those metallic accents made the place feel cold, rather than lived in. I don't live here, so I guess it doesn't really matter whether I approve or not.

  I trail up the stairs and walk down the hallway to my old bedroom. I push open the door and look around, thankful my parents hadn't touched it. My full bed is still in the corner with its stupid yellow lacy comforter. I hate yellow. Yellow normally alludes to cheerfulness. I am not a cheerful person. After dropping my stuff on the bed, I look around at the boxes and large bins that still hold all my belongings. The white walls of the room are bare of decoration, and my dresser and nightstand are unadorned with little knick knacks or picture frames that would give someone a glimpse into my life. Once we'd moved here, I hadn't bothered to unpack. There hadn't been any point. It wasn't home. It was just a place to sleep while a broken family struggled to continue to live.

  “Shit,” I whisper to myself as my eyes close. My emotions are so raw right now. I can't go there. The chime of my cell phone in my pocket interrupts the heaviness in the room, and I am thankful for the distraction. I pull it out to find a text from Ace. Not surprising. You still pissed at me or can we have a civil conversation?

  I reach up and pinch the bridge of my nose. No matter how I answer that question, it's going to get Ace started in on what went down last night, and where I'm at right now. I contemplate my options, then decide on turning off my phone. I toss it on the bed and run my hands over my face. I know running from your problems is a piss poor way to deal with them, but running from them is my only option sometimes. It's better than facing them.

  My stomach growls loudly in the silence of the room. “Well, I guess that's the first thing I should tend to,” I mutter as I make my way back downstairs. I hadn't bothered with breakfast. I'd showered, hastily packed, and then left the apartment before anyone figured out I was bailing for the weekend.

  After I make a quick sandwich and grab a can of soda, I go back upstairs and decide to work on my project. I spread out my stuff on the bed, and as I eat, I momentarily lose myself in the world of ambient, decorative, and task lighting.

  By that evening, I've succeeded in accomplishing more of the project and feel content to put it aside until next week. When my stomach begins to rumble, I go back downstairs to whip up some spaghetti. It's so easy to make that even I can't screw up the simplicity of it. My parents are into wine, so I grab an entire bottle before going out onto the deck with my meal. I settle in and eat.

  It's inevitable that my mind would begin to wander. Old hurts begin to resurface as I'd fled to my parents’ house of all places. I could have gotten a hotel room, but for some reason I'd felt the need to come here. Maybe I need a reminder as to what all is broken within me. What my life has become. Or perhaps it's punishment. Punishment for me and punishment for them. I'll leave just enough things out of place before I go back to Long Beach, so they’ll know I'd been here this weekend. I want them to know that the only time I willingly come here, is when they're gone. It's childish really. I'm twenty-years-old, and I still want to hurt mommy and daddy like they've hurt me.

  I can’t help it, though. Everything has changed.

  God, I hate this house. All it is to me is wood, cement, plaster, and sheetrock. There’s nothing to show that a real family lived here. This home holds none of the holiday memories our old one had. None of the excitement or laughter has seeped into these walls, bringing to it a ‘lived’ in feel that only a happy household can bring. There were no memories of Micah playing practical jokes on my mom, who is extremely gullible. There were no paper airplane fights at the kitchen table while working on homework. No piggyback rides from dad or ping pong tournaments in the basement. There were no memories of being awake and hearing my dad quietly opening my bedroom door to check up on me. Even at the age of seventeen, he’d peek in at me and Micah, making sure that all was right in the house before going to bed each night.

  The night Micah died, was the night he quit opening my door. I became invisible. I became the daughter that survived, only to be abandoned, because their grief was stronger than their will to see me. How many nights did I stare at that door, waiting to see it open, so I could reassure myself that they still loved me. That Micah hadn’t held most of their heart while I owned just a sliver of it.

  I take a long drink of wine and stare broodingly out at the sinking sunlight. They sold the old house only two months after Micah's death. Sold it right out from underneath me, saying that it'd be easier this way, that life had to move on. At the time, I hadn't had a say in the matter, I'd been too lost in my grief to really realize the significance of the change. By the time I realized what they'd done, and that they had erased Micah from our lives, it'd been too late. All his stuff had been packed up, and they’d never mentioned his belongings again. Had they gotten rid of it all? I have no idea.

  Tears sting my eyes as I realize how fast things can blow up and shatter with no warning whatsoever. My parents had adored Micah, and I know that his death hadn't been easy on them. But they'd had each other. While I'd sank into the darkness that the isolation brought forth, they'd leaned on each other and forced themselves to move on by keeping busy. I was simply left behind.

  I'd been left behind.

  Had they truly forgotten about me while they dealt with their grief? Or had it been a punishment of sorts? If I hadn't been trashed that night...

  The agony of knowing that their love is no more, is what still chips away at my broken soul. I will never allow anyone close again. I won’t give them the power to break me, to cause me the kind of pain that has ravaged me from the inside out these past few years. I don’t think I could survive it. I’m barely living now as it is.

  Bitterness rears its ugly head.

  I rise to
my feet and angrily heave the wine bottle across the lawn; it shatters thirty feet away on the grass. Sometimes I hate them for leaving me behind. Micah too. I've been alone for three years now, and each year it gets worse and worse. I'm not suicidal, but sometimes I think it would be a whole hell of a lot easier if I was no longer among the living. It's too hard to live.

  It hurts too much.

  Chapter six

  Ace corners me Monday afternoon. I'm sitting at one of the outdoor tables at the University Dining Plaza, sipping a smoothie while studying for an exam, when Ace drops into the empty chair across from me. With a silent resigned sigh, I brace myself for the coming conversation.

  “Why are you avoiding me?” he asks, his gray eyes narrowing on mine. “It's not like we had a fight or anything. Or are you avoiding me because of Jeremy?”

  “I'm not avoiding anyone,” I lie.

  He gives me a look. “I sent you text messages Saturday and a few yesterday. It's Monday, and you still haven't responded.”

  “I was out of town and forgot to bring my phone.”

  “Out of town, eh?” He studies me. “At your parents?”

  I manage not to tense up, and instead, I calmly sip my smoothie. Ace knows enough to know that I treat my parents like the enemy, but yet I go back to Pasadena on and off anyway. He doesn't know all the details of my past, and I'm content to leave it that way. “Does it matter?” I ask. “Out of town means out of town. Last I checked, I didn't have to ask any of you for permission.”

  Ace sighs, running a hand over his face. “Guess that answers that question. You're always all pissy after a trip to Pasadena.”

  I shoot him a warning look that tells him the topic is off limits.

  His expression clears and he slants me a look. “Jeremy and I had a bit of a talk while you were gone.”

  “Congrats for growing a vagina over the weekend,” I say as I pick up my notes. Last time Ace caught Jeremy having a heart-to-heart—but a manly heart-to-heart, mind you—conversation with Charlie, he’d called him a pussy.

  “Christ, you've got something up your ass today,” Ace says with a grimace.

  “It's called a thong.”

  Ace mutters something under his breath. I'm betting it’s about me and something nasty being shoved up my ass. “Jeremy thinks it's a good idea to drop the whole 'friends with benefits' for a while,” he announces a second later.

  This causes my head to snap up, and I stare at him. “You told him about our conversation?”

  “Hell, no. I just happened to bring you up in conversation, and with a few well-placed suggestions, Jeremy came up with the thought that it'd be a good idea to keep things strictly platonic from now on. That's what I wanted to talk to you about yesterday when you were ignoring my texts. He's on the same page, so just deal with it and move on.”

  Relief hits me, but I hide it well. “I left my phone in the apartment. I wasn't ignoring you,” is all I say to him.

  “Yeah? What's your excuse for this morning?” he presses with challenging eyes.

  “The battery is dead.” Of course, at that moment, my phone chimes in my back pocket, announcing that I have a new text message. I've always had some fucked up karma.

  Ace shoots me a patronizing look. “Nice anal acoustics.”

  I'm caught in my lie but shrug it off. Instead of apologizing, I pull out my phone and glance at the newest text message. Where the fuck were you this weekend? We’re good, aren’t we? Well, that just solved one of my issues. Looks like Jeremy’s not holding a grudge. I’m glad, because I suck at apologizing. I pocket the phone without replying to Jeremy’s text. I’ll find him later.

  “So if you’re not avoiding me, I can ask about Caleb,” Ace says simply.

  “Caleb?” I look at him sharply.

  “How’s that one going to play out?” Ace asks, reaching out for my smoothie and sucking on the straw.

  I should have known. I can't help but narrow my eyes as I wonder if Caleb had blabbed about my nightmare. “He's one of those types that brags about his conquests, I see,” I say as my arms fold across my chest a bit defensively.

  “Actually, he hasn't said a word about you. Didn't take much to figure out, though. You and Caleb disappeared from Playground around the same time.” He gives me a pointed look. “You make it clear that he knows the deal?”

  “What do you take me for?” I demand as my eyes snap at him angrily. “You think I go around deliberately leading guys on?” I start grabbing my things and shoving them in my backpack.

  “Hey, that's not what I said, Z.”

  “Whatever,” I mutter as I rise to my feet.

  Ace quickly stands up and puts a hand on my arm, stopping me from walking away. “I meant that he's only been here for a few months. He hasn't been around you enough to know what you're all about,” he explains, his eyes holding mine.

  “If he read more into it, that's on him. I didn't even want to sleep with him, but he followed me around all night and got into my head.”

  Ace goes completely still, eyes glinting with a look that makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck. “Were you drunk, Zoey?” He's using my full name, which meant Ace means business. I look at him with confusion, trying to figure out what set him off. “Did he take advantage of you?” he asks through gritted teeth.

  Realization dawns as I realize I need to back pedal for Caleb's sake. Ace doesn't usually get mad, but when he does, you hit the deck and pray his anger isn't directed at you. “No, I wasn't drunk,” I assure him. “In fact, he stopped me from getting tanked like I wanted.” My nose wrinkles and I say, “He made me drink water.”

  Ace's expression shifts from anger to disgruntlement. “So you were sober. What do you mean you didn't want to sleep with him? Why did you?” he asks gruffly, a hint of concern in his tone as he tries to cover it up.

  Someone bumps my shoulder as they walk past our table, and it has me looking around at the crowded tables surrounding us. This place is getting packed. I look at Ace. “I'm heading out. You have another class?”

  He pulls out his phone and glances at the time. “Yeah, I have Biology in about fifteen minutes.”

  “I'll walk you,” I offer as I toss my empty smoothie cup in the nearest trash bin. We begin to walk in the general direction of the Molecular and Life Science Building.

  Ace looks at me expectantly as we walk down the sidewalk. “You going to answer my question?”

  I sigh, and my fingers play idly with the strap of my backpack near my shoulder. “I decided that night that I need to slow down when it comes to guys,” I grudgingly admit. When Ace's mouth opens, I shoot him a look. “Don't ask. That's the only answer you're getting out of me.”

  “So why sleep with Caleb?”

  “He wore me down, plain and simple. It won't happen again,” I say firmly.

  A couple of girls walk past us, and the blonde on the left flashes Ace a come hither look that states she'll drop her panties for him if he's interested. I shake my head, fighting the urge to tell her to have some damn pride. I will never act like that for a guy. Never.

  I’ve just left Ace at his building when I spy AJ and Jeremy walking towards me in the distance. My mood immediately brightens as I rush towards them. I don’t see AJ nearly enough these days. He’s always busy, or his time is taken up by someone else.

  When I get close enough, I all but launch myself at him for a hug. He laughs and pulls me up into his arms, hugging me tight. “It's only been two weeks, Zo.”

  I look up and grin as I take in his short, dirty blond hair and quietly confident blue eyes. He's such a handsome devil with his surfer boy looks. With that dark tan, he looks like he lives in the sun twenty-four-seven, though his personality is the opposite. He’s the voice of reason within our small group, and his height and muscular build rivals Ace's. He’s used that athletic body of his to pull Ace away from numerous fights when Ace is in one of his own moods. “Don't knock my hugs,” I tease as I squeeze him harder. He chuckles and tickl
es me around my ribcage.

  When I pull back, I see that Jeremy looks hesitant. “Yo, Zo,” he says lightly.

  I walk over to him and playfully slam my fist into his gut. “Don't be downloading porn on my laptop.”

  He grunts, rubbing his stomach as he peers down at me. “You didn't like it?” he teases with a grin.

  My eyes narrow on him. “Nothing like opening an unnamed file in class and having porn open up. Go watch slutty threesomes on your own laptop. Or better yet, go make it a reality, go find two bimbos and screw them senseless.”

  “It's your own fault you fell asleep and left me with nothing to do last week. You didn't even wake up while I jerked myself off next to you. Take my advice and get a TV.”

  A strangled sound escapes me as I stare at him. “You didn't.” And then I ask, “Did you?”

  Jeremy starts to laugh as he pulls me in for a hug. “No. I didn't.”

  And just like that, things are okay between us.

  ~*~

  On Wednesday, I'm still feeling a little ‘off’ from what had gone down over the weekend, but my mood has slowly began to lift. Ace never mentioned my nightmare at Caleb’s, so it looks like Caleb’s keeping it to himself. I’ve seen him around here and there, and once in a while his eyes will lock on mine, and I’ll be the first to break the connection. He saw me during a vulnerable moment. And he made me scream during sex. The look in those blue eyes tells me that he remembers distinctly how I’d lost control.

  Yeah, well, I’ve decided he can go fuck all those dumb blondes that seem to gravitate to him. I won’t be going back for seconds. Never. Ever.

  Of course, around the time things seem to be looking up, I begin to crash and burn—as usual. Like I said, there's a sick cycle I seem to be stuck in that I can't shake. When I see Ashley Turner, my brother’s ex-girlfriend, I know the lightness in my chest will fade, the tightness will come back, and the darkness will once again settle in. It's inevitable.