Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

in love. Jesus.”
Clay stays silent, and I’m grateful. I don’t want to talk about it, but I feel
the tears spring up despite how many years it’s been and how I barely
remember what she looked like.
I swallow. “She slept with Iron that night.”
Clay’s head shifts just a hair, but she still doesn’t say anything.
“Turns out she was just looking for a way in the door,” I murmur,
dropping my eyes and remembering that slice of pain like it was yesterday.
Her attention was an instant addiction, and for a just a little while I felt like I
wanted to die. She wanted someone else. She wasn’t thinking of me every
second like I was of her. “He never found out.”
It isn’t uncommon for things like that to happen. Thinking back now, I
remember how girls would move from one bed to another in my house, using
Trace to get to Dallas or using Army to get to Macon. Sanoa Bay is a small
community. There aren’t many women at least one of your buddies or
brothers hasn’t slept with. It never struck me as anything other than normal.
Until I was the idiot who got played.
“How old were you?” Clay asked.
My eyes strain, aching. I close them. “Fifteen.”
Tears spill out, and I turn my head into my pillow to cover my face. Why
am I crying? My body shakes, and I don’t know if I’m laughing at how
ridiculous I am or trying to hide a sob.
I tilt my face to her again. “Why do people think sex doesn’t mean
anything to us?” I ask, but don’t wait for an answer. “I was alone, and it felt
good to have someone, but sex wasn’t all I wanted. I’d had nothing of my
own, and maybe she was an escape for me that afternoon, but in hours it went
from feeling like I finally had something to look forward to, to feeling like
nothing. Used. Degraded. Trash. Like it meant everything to me and nothing
to her.”
Even my own family. Not one of my brothers gives a shit about who I
sleep with, because they think pregnancy is the only way I can be hurt. They
don’t ask about girlfriends. They don’t think this is anything more than fun.
But Clay dives in, pressing her body flush with mine as she lays a hand
on my cheek. “Stop crying,” she whispers, pressing her forehead to mine.
“Please stop.”
I go to grab hold of her, slip my hand around her waist, but I hold back. I
already told her too much.