Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

“Listen to me,” he says.
But I don’t. “Don’t come back,” I grit out. “We were always this weak,
weren’t we?” I head up the stairs. “Without him, we’re nothing, and pretty
soon, it will be as if he never existed!” I rip Henry’s portrait off the wall in
the hallway, my mother sobbing behind me. “As if we never were a family!”
I cry so hard, but I can’t stop myself. I drop the phone, charging down the
hallway and pulling all of our pictures off the wall, the glass in the frames
crashing onto the floor.
“Clay, stop!” my mom begs.
“It was always a house of cards!” I hiss. “Because we’re weak! We were
always weak!”
I was always weak, and now I’ve lost everything. I wanted to be perfect
and for what? For this?
I growl, taking our family portrait—the last one with Henry in it—and
slam it onto the floor, the whole thing shattering.
My mother grabs me, but I flail, running away. “Leave me alone!”
I scurry down the stairs, out the door, and past my car, racing into the
night. I don’t know where I’m going. I have no money, no phone, but I don’t
care about anything anymore. I don’t care if I never come back. I gave up the
one thing that made me feel alive—made me excited for tomorrow—and with
her I could’ve withstood anything.
But now, everything is foreign. School, my home, even my skin.
I run until the air in my lungs hurts, and I can’t tell if it’s sweat or tears on
my face, but when I stop, I realize I’m in front of Wind House.
I head around the back, down the small incline at the side of the home,
and up to the back door. The hall light glows inside, and I don’t know what
time it is, but maybe she’s in there. I’d forgotten my keys and everything.
I knock hard, hoping there’s work tonight, despite the fact that I’m
actually wishing someone has died so I have something to do.
I knock again and again, ready to crumple onto the ground, because I
can’t keep my legs under me.
The door opens, and Mrs. Gates stands there in her scrubs. I gasp in relief
and try to push past her.
But she stops me. “Clay, no.”
I wipe the tears on my face. “I can handle it. I’m fine.”
She doesn’t know what’s wrong, but she can see I’m upset.
I try to veer around her, but she fills the doorway. “Clay…”