Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

THE LINE RINGS in my ear, Liv not picking up now or the last ten times
I’ve called since getting the packages this afternoon.
She’s blocked me. I could start another social media profile—one she
hasn’t blocked—on TikTok, Instagram, and Twitter, but I don’t have time
right now, and that would be a new level of low and pathetic.
I just want her to want to talk to me. I don’t want to stalk her.
I’m going over there. I’m done. I need her, and she loves me. I know she
does.
Standing up straight, I hold out the phone, snapping a selfie as I tip my
hat with my other hand. I post it, tapping out the caption, “This could be it. I
won’t let you go.”
She may have blocked me, but I haven’t blocked her. She’ll see it.
I post it just as a figure heads toward me out of the corner of my eye, and
I look up, seeing my dad. He approaches in a black tux, his dark hair combed,
and his crisp, white shirt making his skin look tan. He smiles gently, carrying
a clear case in his hand as his eyes fall down my matching tux. His eyebrows
rise to his hairline.
“I know, I know,” I mumble, hearing the hall fill up beyond the stairwell
where I hide. “Mimi will freak when she sees me.”
He leans into the wall next to me, and I know he wants to talk, but I have
no ambition. We haven’t really spoken since my phone call the other night,
and even though I feel a little guilty, I don’t know why.
Maybe because we’re all in pain, and I expect my parents to be stronger
than me. They aren’t, and I’m still debating on how mad I should be about