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Darling Venom: A Broken Love Story
Darling Venom: A Broken Love Story Read online
Copyright © 2021 by Parker S. Huntington
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial use permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead; events; or locations is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products, brands, and/or restaurants referenced in the work of fiction. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Editing: Emily Hainsworth
Proofing: Janice Owen, Emily Hainsworth, Paige Smith, Michelle Casper
Cover: Dean Isidro, Kacey Carrig
contents
Darling Venom
Blurb
Trigger Warning
Playlist
Special Audible Deal
Prelude
Prologue
Part One: The Fall
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Part Two: The Imperfections
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Chapter Eighty-Two
Chapter Eighty-Three
Chapter Eighty-Four
Chapter Eighty-Five
Chapter Eighty-Six
Part Three: The Antidote
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Chapter Eighty-Nine
Chapter Ninety
Epilogue
Sneak Peek: Devious Lies
Emery
Emery
Eastridge Daily News
Emery
Nash
Parker S. Huntington
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Parker S. Huntington
From Wall Street Journal bestseller Parker S. Huntington comes an angsty, broken love story.
I wasn’t supposed to be on that roof on Valentine’s Day.
Neither was Kellan Marchetti, the school’s designated freak.
We met on the verge of ending our lives.
Somehow, the tattered strings of our tragedies tangled and tightened into an unlikely bond.
We decided not to take the plunge and agreed to check on each other every Valentine’s Day until school ended.
Same time.
One roof.
Two restless souls.
We kept our promise for three years.
On the fourth, Kellan made a decision, and I was left to deal with the consequences.
Just when I thought our story ended, another one began.
They say all love stories look the same and taste different.
Mine was venomous, disgraceful, and written in scarlet scars.
My name is Charlotte Richards, but you can call me Venom.
Note: Darling Venom is available exclusively on Amazon Kindle. Copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
trigger warning
This book deals with sensitive subject matters. It may contain triggers. For a full list of triggers, visit shor.by/triggers.
hope ur ok — Olivia Rodrigo
Kill This Love — BLACKPINK
We Are — One OK Rock
Sorry — The Rose
bad habit — GSoul
Fake — Lauv & Conan Gray
Monster — Henry
traitor — Olivia Rodrigo
The Cut That Always Bleeds — Conan Gray
NO ONE — LeeHi, B.I
BODY — MINO
Way Back Home — SHAUN ft. Conor Maynard
She’s In the Rain — The Rose
Eyes Nose Lips — Tablo & Taeyang
It’s You — Henry
illa illa — B.I
Listen on Spotify here.
In memory of Khanh Võ.
For Chlo, Bau, Rose, and L.
To those walking the edge of the roof, don’t do it.
And to those who make them, good luck surviving yourselves.
Click HERE to add Audible Narration of DARLING VENOM for only $7.49!
“What’s selfish is to demand another to endure an intolerable existence, just to spare families, friends, and enemies a bit of soul-searching.”
David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas
If scars tell stories, I have none. No bumps, valleys, or grooves. No blemishes to remind me of the damage I have caused. My skin is a liar. It is smooth. Unmarked. An empty canvas. One day, my sins will catch up to me, and when I die, it will be with a scar.
age thirteen
“Please don’t go out tonight. Puh-leaseeee.” I pressed my palms together, flashing Leah my best puppy-dog eyes from my position on her multicolored quilt. “ Pretty please with a cherry on top.”
I crawled on my knees across her bed. My big, goofy smile hid the ball of panic hiking up my throat.
It felt like the world would end if my sister walked out that door.
In front of the mirror, Leah finished curling a lock of ebony hair with a flat iron. It bounced past her shoulder like a spring.
She ran her tongue over her teeth, wiping off a lone lipstick stain, glued to her flawless reflection. “No can do, kiddo. It’s my first college party, and Phil is super pumped. Raincheck for next weekend?”
Phil was Leah’s boyfriend. Things Phil liked:
Hogging her time.
Calling me Plan B in a totally serious way.
Glaring at me until I was sure he saw beneath my skin whenever Leah wasn’t looking.
Leah grabbed her little sparkly clutch. Her hips swayed as she exited her room. She wore a bubblegum-pink miniskirt that would garner a heart attack from Dad and indefinite dishwashing duties from Mom.
Luckily for Leah, they were both fast asleep.
“Penny!” I burst out, jumping to my feet, sounding as desperate as I felt. How’d I not think of it sooner? “Penny, penny, penny. Don’t go.”
Penny was our safe word. It meant business.
Penny trumped boys.
And parties.
And losing your virginity to a sociopathic tool.
I wanted so badly for Leah to not lose her virginity to Phil tonight. I’d overheard them discussing it on the phone the other day and hadn’t slept since.
Leah didn’t even slow down. My heart was a kaleidoscope of glass shards. What was the point in having a secret word if it meant jack shit?
“Sorry, Lottie. Next time, boo.”
I noticed she’d forgotten her pack of menthol cigarettes on her vanity. Out in the open for Mom to find.
My rage simmered, spilling over the surface.
Screw this.
I hope Mom wakes up and sees you.
Leah stopped on the threshold, swiveling her head in my direction.
“Oh, what the hell.” She shoved a hand into her clutch, rummaged through it, then flicked a penny into my palm, humoring me. “Hey, Lottie, a penny for your thoughts?”
Accepting defeat, I twisted it between my fingers.
I hoped she didn’t get pregnant. I would’ve told her to be careful, but last time I’d broached the subject of Phil, she’d nearly decapitated me. She knew I hated him.
They say love has no eyes or ears. They forgot the brain. That’s missing, too.
“I hope I never fall in love. Falling in love makes you so dumb.”
Leah rolled her eyes, ambling back into the room and dropping a kiss on the crown of my head. “I hope you do. Falling in love makes you feel immortal. Don’t you want that?”
She didn’t wait for me to answer, charging out to the hallway. Her footsteps turned into fast thuds as she torpedoed down the stairs before Mom and Dad could catch her leave. She blasted past the front door, straight into Phil’s arms.
I poked my head out her window, knowing seeing them together was going to hurt, but looking anyway. I watched him lean over the purring Hummer as he caught her.
He grabbed her ass, shoved his tongue into her throat, and raised his eyes, staring right at me.
A smirk formed on his face as he devoured her.
I gasped, turning off the lamp and sliding under Leah’s colorful quilt. The dread I’d felt all night rocketed, seeping out of my pores.
Falling in love makes you feel immortal. Don’t you want that?
No, I thought bitterly. Death doesn’t scare me.
age fourteen
I’m going to die without scars.
Without experience, battle wounds, signs that I’ve ever lived.
Without ever bungee jumping, learning a second language, or being kissed.
The thought lodged in my brain as I scowled at the couple in front of me on the subway. They’d been making out since I’d hopped in the car in the Bronx, and I was willing to bet they would continue until I got off in Manhattan.
He cupped her inner thigh, leaving scarlet dents on her flesh under her minidress. I pretended to read a book, watching them above the horizon of the softcover I held. On the Road by Jack Kerouac.
Their kisses were dirty. Greedy slurps laced with the unbearable screeching of the pink heart-shaped balloon he rubbed against her leg.
My eyes glided to the other passengers. Young professionals. A few corporate guys holding flowers and wine. Women reapplying their makeup. A couple in the corner in matching cherry-colored I’m With Stupid shirts.
Some were short, some tall.
Some large, some thin.
Some old, some young.
They all shared one thing in common, though.
They didn’t give a crap if I died tonight.
Not that I’d tattooed I’m suicidal on my forehead before I left the house.
Still…
I was a kid, alone, and I looked like a mess with my hair, which hadn’t seen a brush in weeks, haunted eyes, and the tooth gap Mom used to insist was endearing so she didn’t have to pay for braces.
The mascara streaks under my eyes were courtesy of my five-hour meltdown prior to hopping on this train. I wore striped knee socks, a short black kilt, hand-me-down Doc Martens, and a denim jacket on which I’d scribbled quotes of books I loved with a Sharpie.
“Her future needed her, so she turned her back on her past.”
“Perfection is profanity. Icy, hostile, and unattainable.”
“She believed she could, so she did.”
Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.
I changed trains.
Platforms.
Stations.
The underground clung to my clothes. A whiff of earthy engines, cheap takeout food, and sweat. Hot wind blew from the train as it approached, fanning my hair over my face.
The idea of hurling myself onto the tracks and getting it over with crossed my mind.
I tsked to myself.
Nah.
That’d be hella basic.
First of all—worst, most painful death ever.
Second—I loathed people who did that. Especially during rush hour.
What was up with assholes who insisted on launching themselves down the rails when everyone was either headed to or leaving work and school?
Every time I got trapped underground, crammed between human sardines, their sweat so tangible I could taste it on my tongue, and the driver said we were stuck due to a person under a train, I wanted to bash my head against the plastic windows.
Third—I’d gotten the idea of plummeting to my doom off a roof from a Nick Hornby book, and I liked the literary touch.
Yup. Back to the original plan.
I hopped onto the train, pushed my AirPods knockoffs into my ears, and scrolled through my phone. “Watermelon Sugar” drowned the outside noise.
I wondered if Harry Styles ever thought about committing suicide, decided that he hadn’t, and rolled On the Road into a cone, tucking it into the back pocket of my skirt.
I’d told Leah I was going to a party, but she’d been too wiped out from her double shift at the bodega down the street to notice fourteen-year-old girls weren’t supposed to go to parties on Valentine’s Day at ten at night.
She’d also forgotten my birthday today.
Or maybe she’d pretended not to remember because she was mad.
Not that I blamed her.
I didn’t know how she could look me in the eye.
Don’t worry. She doesn’t.
It wasn’t the only reason I was killing myself tonight. But it was one of them.
That was the thing about despair. It built up like a Jenga tower. Higher and higher, on shaky ground. One bad move, and you were toast.
My sister hated me.
She hated me every time she looked in the mirror. Every time she went to a job she loathed. Every time I breathed.
Coincid entally, she was the only person in this world I had left. My death would come as a relief.
Sure, at first, she’d be shocked.
Disturbed.
Sad, even.
But once those feelings began to fade…
My suicide was a tightly knit constellation of tragedies, sewn together by bad luck, circumstances, and despair.