Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

I CHEW THE pizza, glancing up at her as she sits showered, hair wet, and
dressed in sleep shorts with blue octopi on them and a white Henley on top.
Despite the small, round table and two chairs behind me, we sit on the carpet,
under the window of our sixth-floor hotel room, with the open pizza box
between us.
Our eyes meet, but we haven’t said much since she broke down in the
bathroom an hour ago.
For now, we enjoy an awkward silence, but it’s not fighting, and that’s
something.
Maybe this is a play. A way to reel me in so she doesn’t lose her favorite
chew toy.
But I think what happened in the bathroom was real. It’s just hard to trust
anything genuine from her. As much I want to.
And whyyyyyy do I want to? I keep looking for the good in her. Why?
“I’m sorry about your dad,” she says in a quiet voice.
I look over, seeing her pick at her slice and put it in her mouth.
I shrug. “It was eight years ago.”
I take another bite, almost ready for my second. She ordered old world
pepperoni. My favorite.
She nods. “I know. At least he went quickly, though.”
Her brother didn’t. The Collins’ could afford to put up a fight with
leukemia, but it just prolonged his suffering. I guess they had to try, though.
“I’m sorry about Henry.” It comes out as a rasp, and I don’t know why. “I
saw you with him sometimes. You were a good sister.”