Pretty Poison

Thirty - One

The sunlight penetrates through the thin drape, casting warm rays directly on the bed. I squint my eyes and hold my hand up to cover the rays, heat instantly warming my body.

The memories of last night come crashing into my mind. I lift a hand to my lips, the skin tender to the touch. I relive the moment over again, savoring the feeling of his lips on mine, and how just a simple gesture can send my body down a road it's never been down. I smile slightly at the thought, my skin burning and yearning for his touch again. I craved him like candy, to taste his sweetness again.

I step into the bathroom a moment later, peering into the mirror at my changed body. My skin returned to a rich ivory, and my stomach was always full of food, something that rarely happened in my old life. I brush through my hair, the ends crispy from drying in the coldness of the room. I brush through the lengthy strands over and over again till it hangs straight off my head.

Content with my appearance, I head to the door and head downstairs. Few housekeepers walk around, their feather dusters in hand as they whip their wrists to clear the dust. They nod as I pass, but keep to themselves. Upon my aimless wandering the first night here I stumbled into the kitchen, committing its location to memory. I stride there now, my bare feet slapping against the beige tiled floor. I pull my shorts down a little, regretting not putting on sweats for the cold air down here is almost unbearable. My thin white T-shirt clings to my body, the material fitting and stretchy.

I walk through the threshold of the kitchen, no one else inside. The sun outside shines above the gardens, the flowers coming to life with instant animation. I pull open the fridge, searching for options to eat, settling on some eggs and peppers. I search for a skillet and find one just as footsteps become audible. A minute later Luca waltzes into the kitchen with a big grin on his face.

"Good morning," he chirps, "You're up early," he strides around the black quartz countertop and quickly places a hand on my waist. Before I can register his swift movement, he pulls my hair behind my shoulder to reveal my neck to him; he leans down and places a gentle yet passionate kiss there. My breath hitches as I struggle to breathe, my entire nervous system exploding like a bomb on the inside.

He pulls away in a flash, leaving behind scalding hot skin in the wake of his touch. He smiles, knowing full well the power he has over me.

"Why didn't you just have someone do that for you, love?" He questions, nodding to the skillet placed on the burner. He turns his back to me and reaches for a glass in the cabinet.

"It's better when you do it yourself," I shrug, turning back to turn the burner on and crack the shells.

"It's food, not something special."

"Exactly, I don't need someone to do such a simple task for me, I've been doing it myself for years. Besides, I didn't want to bother anyone," I say, reaching for a spatula in a can with other utensils on the counter.

He nods, opening the fridge to pull out a carton of fresh orange juice, pouring it into his glass then downing the whole thing in a single gulp. He pours another.

"We're going out tonight," he announces, leaning against the counter, watching me cook.

"Where?"

"A club."

"A club? Do you think that's really safe for me to come with you?" I ask, incredulous to his sudden relaxed nature.

"Of course, I wouldn't willingly put you in danger, love. Besides, everyone who goes wears maskarades, hiding their face. I have business that'll be waiting for me there tonight and I want you to come with me, it'll give you a taste of some real fun," he nudges my side and winks at me, a goofy smile spread wide across his face.

I snicker from under my lashes, hiding my blushing cheeks.

"I'll have someone bring up a dress to your room, be ready by six. In the meantime, feel free to do whatever you want," He kicks off the counter and pivots to place his used glass in the large dishwasher, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his black dress shirt.

He jaunts to the exit, but stops before disappearing around the wall.

"By the way," he pauses to look me straight in the eye, "Your lips taste like cherries, and I love cherries," he smiles, then leaves.

I stand there dumbfounded, my cheeks growing an even darker shade of crimson, which I never thought could be possible.

***

I sat in my room the entire day, my mind completely infatuated with the television. The thousands of channels I came across stunned me, everything from shows about animals, dramas, documentaries, English movies, and hundreds of news channels.

I surfed through them like waves, stopping every so often when something on the screen peaked my interest. I clicked to the next channel every commercial break, until I stopped when a bold "Breaking News" popped up on the screen next.

"We have just gotten wind from the lab that the poison in which has infiltrated Signore Bianchi's blood stream is in fact a direct match to the poison found in Signore Gargallo's blood who passed away over four years ago. Along with this, another body has been reexamined to directly look for this exact strand of poison, that body belonging to a young nineteen year old Alonzo Accardi who also suddenly passed away over four years ago in the Levada area. His body also contained a lethal amount of this poison, his overall cause of death changing to be death by said poisoning. Unfortunately, there still has not been a concrete answer of where this poison came from or what its composition is, but it is going under harsh analysis as we speak. No other deaths have been recorded so we do not believe this is an actual threat. More answers will be given as the investigation continues, in the meantime, tune in for other updates. And now to the weather-"

I flick the TV off immediately, my stomach churning inside me. I thrust myself off the bed, running straight to the bathroom, my insides letting loose into the toilet. Hot tears cascade down my face, staining streaks on my cheeks.

My mind spins out of control as I wipe my mouth with a tissue, leaning back against the wall with my head between my legs.

"Why? Why me?" I sniffle, warm mucus strolling out of my nose.

I had almost completely forgotten about that boy, almost forgotten what I did to him.

Why are you so selfish?

I left him there all alone, left his body for someone else to find. I hate this constant guilt that looms over me, it never leaves me be. It always comes back like an old stain on white sheets.

I don't understand. I don't understand any of this, why I'm different from everyone else. I live in fear of myself, always wondering what will happen next.

None of it makes sense. Why can I touch some but others die? This poison in me has the ability to take life away, and I can't control it.

This entity in me, whatever it is, makes me a murderer by force, and I have no control over it. My body doesn't belong to me, but rather the poison in me.

I lift my head from my legs, wiping away my glassy eyes with my thumb. Black dots crowd my vision as I struggle to stand, my legs trembling and hands quivering.

I contemplate over and over again in my head whether or not I should go. Whether or not I should be surrounded by so many people. Anxiety roots within me and sprouts like an ugly flower, it's scent repugnant to the nose. My eyes flicker over to the clock on the wall, the hands reading four o'clock.

Don't go. Don't do this.

You are selfish, you are cruel, stay behind and hide yourself from them.

Before someone else gets killed by your poisonous touch.