---
Toxic
He tasted like cigarette smoke and lies.
But she kept going back.
Rain poured as she stood beneath his window, soaked, mascara running like a ruined painting. She told herself this was the last time.
Inside, he was laughing with someone else.
Of course he was.
She turned to leave, but the door creaked open.
“Thought you’d come,” he said, voice rough from sleep or whiskey—or both.
“I didn’t,” she snapped. “I was just passing by.”
He smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “In the middle of a storm? You always say that before you come inside.”
She hated that he was right.
She hated that she wanted him to pull her in.
He did.
Seconds later, her back was against the wall, his breath on her neck. Her hands tangled in his shirt like they wanted to rip it—or hold on forever.
“You ruin me,” she whispered.
“I warned you,” he said. “I’m poison, sweetheart.”
“Then why can’t I stop drinking you in?”
He kissed her—rough, desperate, like punishment.
And she kissed him back like she didn’t care if it killed her.
Because love was never soft between them.
It was wildfire. A war zone. A scar they kept reopening.
After, she sat on the edge of his bed, half dressed, fully broken.
“You don’t love me,” she said.
“I never said I did.”
Silence.
Only the storm spoke.
She stood, grabbed her jacket, and finally looked him in the eyes. “Next time I come here... don’t open the door.”
He lit a cigarette, eyes tired, soul even more.
“There won’t be a next time,” he said.
But she heard it.
The lie.
Because they were toxic—
And nothing kills you faster than what you can’t let go.
---
