Tryst Six Venom

by Douglas, Penelope

  Her red hair looks horrible against the dress, and I know there’s rules about the colors they’re allowed to wear, but progress, people. Come on.

  Heading back to the workroom, my phone buzzes with a notification.

  I lift it up, seeing a missed text from Clay. That’s two in the past hour. At least she waited until I was out of rehearsal before she started blowing up my phone to do damage control about Callum.

  I turn off the screen and go to set it down, but it buzzes again.

  I can’t stop myself. I glance over. I don’t want him, the text reads.

  Yeah, but you’ll choose him. I toss the phone down. I’m not mad. I just don’t want to act like it’s okay, because it’s not. While she’s mine, she’s mine, and no one else’s and that’s it.

  The phone buzzes again, and every muscle tightens. I have work to do, Clay.

  But then it vibrates again, and I can’t resist.

  You don’t care, right? She challenges me. We’re both leaving? This is just fun, right?

  My eyes burn. Yeah, it’s just fun, and...

  I want you to care, she types. I want you to come and get me and take me anywhere or just come inside my house.

  I stare at the words, my longing for her twisting unbearably in my stomach.

  I love that my bed smells like you, she writes. I love it when I smell like you.

  I smile softly, my anger fading.

  Do you ever think about doing what Alli did? she asks. We want out until we remember why we want to live. If only she had hung on. If only she’d felt this.

  I grip the phone. But when I don’t respond to her texts, she sends another.

  Hey, quick—what can jellybeans do that we can’t?

  I narrow my eyes.

  Come in different colors! she replies. Hardy-har *tap-step-hand clap*

  I snort, more at the fact that she’s trying so hard to get my attention than the actual joke.

  Please.

  I’m sorry, she texts. I just… I wish I was looking at you right now.

  God, she’s killing me. Why is she doing this? It’s not forever, right? We can keep this up for fun, but she needs to know she’s not the only one moving on to a different life when this is over.

  I’m not waiting for her.

  Megan asked me to go to prom, I type. With that new girl, Chloe. As friends.

  I wait, seeing the Read receipt, but seconds turn into a minute, and she’s not replying. She’s not even typing.

  If none of us have dates, we’ll go together. I hesitate, my mouth dry as my fingers hover over the screen. I’m going to say yes.

  She sees the text but still nothing. That’s good, I guess. This is the reality. If I’m not going with her, I’ll go with someone.

  I wait another few moments, and I text again. We’re meeting up this weekend to dress shop.

  I toss the phone down, but it immediately rings. I stare at it, the pulse in my neck kicking into gear.

  Great. I answer, no time to say hello before she speaks. “That girl doesn’t take a hint, does she?”

  “This isn’t about her, and you know it.”

  I know very well the shit she pulled with Megan was to scare her away from me, and while I kind of like Clay’s jealous side, Megan’s not the issue.

  “You don’t even want to go to prom,” she says.

  “When did I say that?” I lower my voice so Lavinia doesn’t hear. “I’d actually like to go. You’ll be with Callum anyway, so why shouldn’t I? You thought I’d stay home, waiting for your call afterward when you’re ready to have sex? When I’m good enough for that?”

  But not good enough to be seen with? We don’t have to go together, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get to go at all.

  Clay is silent for a few seconds, and when she speaks again, her tone is quiet. “Please don’t go with them.”

  “But you can go with Callum?”

  “I don’t want to fuck Callum!” she shouts.

  “And I don’t want to fuck Megan!” I fire back. “I never did!”

  I breathe hard, wishing she was here, so I could fucking grab her and kiss her crazy. Is she stupid? Does she not feel everything that happens between us when I’m on top of her?

  That it hurts to worry that she might go looking in Callum for what she might not find in me?

  I dip my head into the bulletin board on the wall, tears filling my eyes as I hold the phone to my ear. “Do you have any idea…”

  But I can’t say the rest. I pull my head up, blinking away the tears. It hurts. It fucking hurts to see her touching him, and I’m sick of tap dancing around her bullshit. Does she have any idea how much that cut today, to see her in his arms?

  “You’ve been the best I’ve had,” I tell her. “It’s like nothing else, Clay. Honestly. But I don’t want to ruin this. Maybe we should stop before—”

  “Baby…” she bites out, interrupting me. “If I think you’re not mine, I might make a scene. Be very careful what you say next.”

  Her hard voice cuts into my ear, the sudden threat a surprise.

  And I smile, despite myself. I do like Clay’s jealousy.

  “Are you threatening me?” I jibe. “You haven’t seen what I can do yet.”

  “Oh, I know what you can do.”

  And my phone buzzes with a text. I look at the screen, click on the photo, and see Clay on her stomach. She peeks over her arm, locks of hair in her face and her naked back visible just before her naked ass.

  Heat pools between my thighs, and I gaze at her skin and mussed hair like she always looks after I’m done with her.

  I groan louder than I expect before putting the phone back to my ear.

  “You can do anything you want to me, that’s what,” she says. “And I want to take you on a date tomorrow night, to Mariette’s.”

  I listen. A date?

  “You ever eat raw oysters?” she goes on. “I want to watch you eat and get you drunk and hot on tequila and sweat with you and fuck you in the back seat of my car. And I want to do that as many times as I can before we have to leave each other in August, because nothing feels better than you, Jaeger. Nothing.”

  I lick my lips, my whole body wired and hot, and she’s fucking right. She’s the only thing I look forward to.

  “Turn over,” I tell her. “I want a topless one.”

  She’s got pictures of me. It’s my turn now.

  A moment later, my phone vibrates, and I see her sitting on the edge of the bed, the phone up high with a view of everything from her little smirk down to her stomach. I strain my eyes, trying to see farther down than where the picture cuts off, but I’ll have to wait to see her in person, I guess.

  “I’ll meet you there at eight,” I say.

  “I’ll bring the booze.”

  And we hang up, an excited smile that I don’t release warming my blood.

  “God, I think I like you a little,” I whisper.

  She gets me going, and while I may not be holding her hand in public, I own her body. She loves it with me.

  My face heats up, thinking about tomorrow, and I look in the mirror, seeing a blush on my cheeks.

  I pat my face, shaking my head clear. “Snap out of it.”

  But I don’t stop smiling the rest of the night.

  “YOU HAVE TO stop,” I pant as she sucks on my neck. “I want to be crazy for you tonight.”

  I want to be starving for her.

  But she slides her hands up my skirt as I straddle her in the desk, her fingers digging into my ass. “I can’t help it. Those pictures drove me insane.”

  I dive into her lips again, unable to fathom wanting to ever be anywhere else.

  The abandoned woodshop classroom at the end of the second floor sits far away from any remaining students in the school. Most have gone home for the day, but athletics is still going on and I’m late to meet my friends, but I don’t care.

  The desktop cuts into my back, but I thread my hand through her hair, gripping it
at the base of her skull, and pull her head back. I stare down at her, keeping my eyes open as I come in for kiss after kiss after kiss. She’s so soft. I grind back and forth, loving the feel of her slender body between my legs.

  “It’s just fucking, right?” I whisper.

  She gazes up at me as I roll my hips, her hands pulling me in harder but nice and slow. “I just wish time would stop,” she tells me.

  I kiss her mouth. Her face. Her cheekbone. Her mouth again.

  Four hours. I’ll see her in four hours.

  The final bell rings, signaling the end of the teachers’ work day, and I growl, knowing we have to go.

  “I have to get to the theater,” she says, but makes no move to stop caressing me through my underwear.

  I kiss her one last time. “And I have to meet Amy and Krisjen.” I whimper, breaking into a sweat as I climb off her. “I’ll see you at eight, okay?”

  She rises, we kiss, grab our bags, and head for the door, stopping periodically to paw each other, giggle, and kiss some more.

  “Do you have it?” she asks.

  I smile, knowing what’s on her mind. Digging in my bag, I pull out the toy—a long, black, vibrating, strapless gadget that filled me with equal parts dread and excitement when I took it out of the package.

  “Whoa.” She pushes my hand down, trying to hide it from the window in the door. “You brought it to school?”

  I press the button, the vibrations humming through our hands.

  “Is it okay?” I ask, looking at her hesitantly. “It looked like something we both could, you know…” Get off on. “And the reviews were good.”

  We can both use it at the same time, the ends positioned perpendicular from each other, so one end goes inside her, and the other inside me as I straddle her. There’s a ribbed section that presses into her clit, so hopefully we can both come.

  But she stares at it, not answering, and I tense a little.

  Maybe this is too much. Or wrong, I don’t know. I want to lose my virginity to her. This is all I could think of.

  I lick my lips and stuff it back into the bag. “I guess I should’ve just let you pick it out.” I laugh nervously, shaking my head. “I’m not sure what you’ve used before, so I don’t know. Maybe—”

  “It’ll be amazing,” she says, taking me by the back of my neck and kissing me softly. “Bring it tonight.”

  I kiss her back, murmuring, “Okay.”

  My pulse races, and I’m not sure if it’s her or because I’m nervous, but these toys are a thing, so there must be something to them. I guess we’ll see.

  I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her in while I cover her breast with my hand.

  She moans, and I smother it with my mouth. “Shhh…” I laugh.

  It takes another twenty seconds, but I pull away from her and shove her toward the door. “Ugh, okay, we gotta go.” I kiss her again. “Go, go. Please.”

  She rights her clothes and opens the door. “Bye.”

  I follow her and pull her back, kissing her one last time. “Bye,” I whisper.

  She jogs down the hall, looking back once to flash me a smile, and I watch her disappear down the stairs.

  I let the door close, and then I twist my skirt right again and tighten my ponytail.

  “I was looking for you.”

  I jump. What? I follow the voice and see Amy step out from the other side of the lockers across the hall. My chest caves.

  How long has she been there?

  I swallow a couple of times, blink, and tamp down my rapid breathing. “Yeah, I know, I’m late.”

  I walk down the hall, hearing her footsteps fall in behind me.

  “What are you doing, Clay?”

  “Leaving.”

  I close my eyes, dread twisting my gut. That damn app. I completely forgot we all downloaded it years ago to locate each other. I’ve never used it to find my friends, so it didn’t occur to me that they would.

  She grabs my arm and swings me around. “What the hell is going on?” she barks.

  It takes a moment, but I recover. “Um…lots.” I step over to my locker and dial in the combo. “The House passed a cyber-safety bill this morning, although it will probably die in the Senate. The president ordered airstrikes in Syria. There’s a storm advisory for this weekend, and I scuffed my vintage saddle shoes at lunch.”

  I pull out my handbag, empty my satchel, and refill it with what I need for homework.

  “Clay, I’m your best friend.” She steps to my side. “Or one of them anyway. What the hell were you two doing in there?”

  The shade was down on the door. Could she have opened it and peeked inside without us hearing?

  But I guess she wouldn’t have needed to. We kissed right outside the door like idiots.

  “We were knitting sweaters,” I mock.

  “Bullshit.” Her voice sounds like she’s spitting out a bug. “God, Clay. Seriously? I’ve been naked in front of you! Slept in your bed. Are you serious?”

  I slam the locker door and keep walking. She follows.

  “I’ll tell your parents,” she says behind me. “I’ll have to.”

  I stop. Excuse me? I turn, glaring at her so hard my eyes feel like they’re on fire.

  “I don’t give a shit about what those ‘woke’ assholes try to tell us,” she spits out. “There’s something mentally wrong with people like Olivia Jaeger.”

  I reach out, grab her by the collar, and haul her ass into an empty classroom. She stumbles, and I let go, yanking the door closed behind me.

  “It’s not natural, Clay,” she argues. “Just stop. Right now. I’m not letting you throw your whole life away.”

  I advance on her, and she backs up.

  “Clay, you’re not gay,” she tells me. “She’s confusing you. You’ve been through shit, and you’re an easy target.”

  “Shut up.”

  I drop my bag to the ground, and she bumps into a desk, quickly stepping away.

  “So, you’re telling me we’re going to raise our kids next door to each other someday? You, a man-hating dyke with a shitty haircut and your sperm donor offspring, and me with my kids asking why Auntie Clay is groping the babysitter?”

  I grab her by the collar with both fists and slam her up against the wall.

  She whimpers and tries to push me off, but I grip her hair at the scalp with one hand and dig my fingers into her stomach, pinching the skin there with the other.

  She cries out. “Clay!”

  “Shhhh…” I whisper over her lips.

  She squirms, but her hair is wrapped around my fingers, and she’s trapped.

  “Stop,” she snivels.

  But I’m not listening. “If you ever speak to me this way again, I will knock your teeth out.” I stare down into her eyes, a new energy filling me that kind of scares me, but I won’t fucking stop. Nothing comes between Liv and me. “Do you understand?”

  Fear fills her blue eyes, and I squeeze harder as she tries to shift out of my grasp.

  “Do you understand?” I bellow.

  “Clay—”

  But I’m doing the talking now.

  “Now, Amy, I realize your sister is a Jesus-freak who mainlines coke to cope with her minister-husband getting another woman pregnant,” I say calmly but firmly. “And your father likes to court teenage boys for two weeks every summer in Thailand, so you’re just projecting your demons onto an easy target, but if you’re not my friend anymore…” I bite out my words and dig my fingers in harder, “I just don’t know how I’ll survive.”

  She groans.

  “Everyone will believe you and not me,” I tell her, both of us knowing that’s not true at all. “Because your word means so much more than mine, right?”

  Wrong.

  I continue, the sudden rush of power emboldening me. “I’ll lose all my friends,” I say. “The rest of the school year will suck. No parties. No prom. Can you imagine the TikToks and tweets? In fact, I think I have several gay-bashing tw
eets for you to find on my feed. I think I also have a picture of myself in blackface at a Halloween party from a few years ago.”

  The threat hangs in the air, her eyes widening as she remembers who’s really in fucking control here.

  “Clay…”

  “Those have probably been screenshotted already,” I say, feigning concern. “Won’t look good when I apply to Omega Chi or go for a fucking job interview in five years. Hatred for me will go viral.” I gasp. “Oh no, Amy. You’ve got me.”

  “I was Beyoncé…” she whimpers, trying to explain her Halloween costume, but I push her into the wall again before I let go.

  I swipe my bag off the ground and hook it over my shoulder as she stands frozen against the wall.

  If she talks, I will end her.

  “And don’t worry,” I say, casting her a glance up and down like I’m checking her out. Like I ever checked her out when she was sleeping over at my house or naked in a dressing room with me. “I was never tempted. You ain’t got what Liv’s got.”

  And I stroll out of the classroom—and the school—quickly logging into Twitter and screenshotting all the shit I just bluffed I had on her before she deletes it.

  • • •

  I check my face in my side mirror, feeling a little weird, less dressed up than when I go to school.

  But Liv isn’t into frills, and I don’t want to be beautiful or manicured or make her afraid to mess me up.

  Holding my phone, I walk toward Mariette’s, a little early, so I can pick the table. Saints don’t usually come here in the middle of the week, but I don’t want to take the chance. I want her to myself.

  The warm air caresses my bare arms, my stomach, and my chest, everything that’s not covered by my tank top as I walk inside in my jeans and flip flops. I put some waves in my hair with the curling iron and minimal makeup, hoping I look so positively kissable that she can’t wait to touch me.