Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

• • •
I wake with a start, blinking my eyes open in the dark.
It only takes a few seconds, but I register the sheer white canopy
overhead, the frigid air conditioning, and the scent of Clay everywhere.
Her bedroom. Clay lays plastered to my body, more on top of me than
off, our naked skin pressing together and her head resting on my shoulder.
Our legs are entwined, and I look down at her face, feeling her breath on my
chin.
I kind of have to go to the bathroom, but I don’t want to move her. My
arms tighten around her, and I lightly brush my fingers down her smooth
back.
God, her bed feels like a cloud. I could get used to this.
“You’re drunk!” a man yells somewhere down the hall.
I freeze, training my ears. Did Clay lock her door?
“Keep your voice down,” a woman snaps.
I glance over at the clock, reading one-oh-eight a.m., and try to be as still
as possible. I should get out of here before her parents find me.
“Is she even home?” the man—Clay’s dad, I assume—asks. “Are you
sure? I don’t think you know anything that’s going on with anyone but
yourself!”
“How dare you!” Gigi yells. “How dare you! I’m the one here. You’re
gone! You’re always gone!”
I hold Clay, wondering how often they don’t guard their volume to save
her from hearing them.
“Grow up, Regina!” Mr. Collins growls. “I support you. I pay for that
closet full of handbags and shoes. Now I gotta dry your tears because you
need attention like a five-year-old?”
“I hate you!” she sobs.
I stop breathing for a second, hearing the tears and agony in her voice.
Like she wishes he was dead.
“You don’t hate me,” he replies. “You hate that I finally decided not to let
you drag me down with you.”
I swallow, but my mouth is dry. Clay’s breathing has changed, and I look
down at her, just making out her eyes staring up at me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, hearing everything I just heard.