Love Poison

Chapter 1

There's a kind of quiet in the middle of the night that reminds me of my mother. The stillness, the soft whispers of the wind-just like her voice. There's a sense of safety in the darkness, a gentle blurring of all the things I'd rather not see, fading them into shadow-just like her embrace. When I close my eyes, the night takes me somewhere I can't reach when I'm awake, wrapping me in its cloak of fantasy and fiction-just like her fairytales.

My mother was a storyteller, it was her gift, almost like her purpose. No soul alive could resist the way she enchanted an entire room with her words. And she was beautiful, her smile an exclamation of kindness and sincerity, the kind of smile that softened even the hardest hearts. To know her was to love her, and that's why I understand the depth of my father's grief. He misses her fiercely, just as anyone with a heart would.

I miss her too, but not for the right reasons. And that only makes me miss her even more, because I know that if my mother were still here, she'd know how to lift this guilt from me, this ache that comes from not missing her the way I should. I miss her for who my father used to be when she was alive. I miss her for the girl I was back then. But it isn't fair. She doesn't deserve to be missed for anything but herself, and yet I can't untangle my longing for her from everything else I lost the day she took her final breath.

In the quiet of the night, it's as if the world understands, holding its breath in reverence, letting me linger in her absence. There's comfort in it, though some nights, that same comfort twists into a sharper sorrow when I think about Leo. He'll never have these memories of her to hold onto. He was just a baby, barely blinking awake into the world as she blinked asleep. Sometimes, I find myself hoping he carries a secret memory of her somewhere deep inside, in a place beyond words. Maybe she finds him in his dreams, whispering to him, comforting him the way she does with me. Maybe he just doesn't tell me, preferring to keep that secret between him and her.

I lie on top of my bed, gazing at the pale moonlight spilling through the window from across the room. With a sigh, I sit up, the quiet pressing down on me, urging me to check on Leo. I slip into the hallway and step softly into the living room, where the shell of my once-protector sits slumped in his armchair, like a piece of armor worn thin, no longer fit for its warrior.

My father is asleep, his face slack, a bottle cradled in his hand like it's the only thing keeping him afloat in an endless sea. I tiptoe past him, careful not to disturb the peace that hangs in the air-brittle and fragile, it might just shatter if I accidentally step on it.

Leo's door is barely cracked, and from beneath it, I see the soft, flickering glow of his flashlight. It's a familiar sight. I've lost count of how many nights I've found him like this, tucked under his blanket, escaping into stories the way other kids escape into dreams. I push the door open, slipping into the room on quiet feet, and there he is, my little brother, face half-hidden in shadows, eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear.

He doesn't notice me at first, so caught up in his book that the rest of the world has vanished. And I watch him, just for a moment, a surge of tenderness pressing against my chest. Leo is seven years old, small and innocent in ways I never let him know. There's a bruise on his cheek from a boy at school, a fresh scrape across his knee, and the sight of him makes me ache. He's just a kid, yet he's already learning how to build walls, to close himself off from the cruelty of a world he barely understands.

I clear my throat, barely sounding my voice as I speak. "Reading late again?"

He jumps, eyes darting up, but when he sees me, his lips curve into a shy smile. "I... I'm on the last page," he murmurs, the flashlight shaking a little as he lowers it. His voice is soft, hesitant, like he's afraid of breaking whatever spell he's woven around himself.