Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

dropping it to the floor.
I mean, if I did that with my boyfriend in a public place, I’d be a slut,
right? I might even get into trouble, because sluts don’t represent Marymount
at lacrosse games.
Marymount girls are good girls. We’re discreet.
And now she knows.
I stand there, the air grazing my bare breasts as she digs in her locker.
She brushes down her blue, green, and black plaid skirt as chills spread
across my body. She tightens her high ponytail, fluffing up the messy hair
and smoothing out the loose tendrils that hang around her ears, the posts and
small rings there glinting in the lights as the flesh of my nipples hardens.
I can’t look at her, but I see everything.
She stops moving and lets her head fall, both of us breathing in sync.
Quiet and alone, but so crowded.
“Why do you want me to hurt you?” she asks, her voice suddenly soft.
I don’t blink.
Why?
Why?
My chin trembles. Because…at least it’s something.
At least I have that.
My brother’s picture hangs inside my locker door, and I absently rub my
thumb over the faint, hidden tattoo on the inside of my middle finger. He
would’ve been fourteen this month.
My insides shake, and I grab the prescription bottle, tapping out a tenmilligram
blue pill. I pop it into my mouth, the bitter dust starting to dissolve
on my tongue before I swallow.
I pull out a clean sports bra and pull it over my head, followed by the shirt
as she takes off her dirty one. And I can’t help but look.
The contours of her stomach are tight and smooth, and I slide my eyes
down her legs, the curves on the backs of her thighs mesmerizing.
But then she holds her hand out to me, and I look up, seeing a package of
wet wipes. I stare.
“You want them or not?” she barks.
“Piss off.”
And she throws it. The package hits the side of my head, and I growl,
letting it fall to the ground.
“There’s a drop of blood on the back of your neck, dumbass,” she tells