Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

“MISS CLAY?” BERNIE calls out. “Your mother—”
“Can call me if she needs me,” I snap, racing up the stairs of my house.
I jog quickly past the housekeeper, carrying my duffel bag. I dive into my
room, slamming and locking the door.
Ugh, that bitch. I hate her. So calm. So smooth. So patient.
I gulp, running my hands through my hair. So beautiful with those tears in
her eyes.
Keeping the lights off, I drop the bag to the floor and fall into the door.
Why did I do that? Tears immediately spill down my face as I squeeze
my eyes shut. Too far. You went too far. I’ve never laid my hands on her.
Ever. I just…
I just…
It feels like there are hands on me instead. On my back and on my neck,
pushing me down. Pushing my head down and keeping it down. The earth
piles over my head, the dirt in my mouth and my nose, more and more every
day, and I can’t see me anymore. I’m small. I don’t know who I am. I’m
always mad. Bitter. Afraid.
That’s all I am anymore.
I turn, pressing my forehead into the door and sob. Why did I do that to
her? What does she matter anyway?
But even now, I still feel it. She’s bigger than me. She glows, and I don’t,
and it’s not like I even want to push her down and make her shrink. It’s
like…
It’s like being in her orbit, I can feel the shine, too. I feel bigger with her