Darling Venom

by Parker S. Huntington

I’ve flirted with cutting all year, and I only feel regret when I withdraw the blade from my skin.

I realized, with depressing clarity, that she wasn’t the venom at all. She was the antidote. But the quantities were all off.

Suicide is a war of two fears—fear of death and fear of the thing that pushes you toward it. The stronger side always wins. And if you lose, the penalty is death.

Once a year, for a stolen hour, I let myself be the venom. The toxin. The thing that poisoned her. But with one momentary lapse in selfishness, I pushed her away. I’ve regretted it every day since.

For the first time, I saw Kellan. The thing that made him breathe and bleed. Me.