Page 55 of Ivy's Venom

“What?” I huff out, “one minute.”

“It was only one minute,” Mother agrees and I stick my tongue out at Dad.

“You still win,” Dahlia grins. “Because you got my favourite syrup.”

“Don’t side with them.” Dad swings his finger between Mother and me, “I’ll ask Aunt Adri to come over and cook your pancakes next time.”

“Oh no.” Dahlia’s eyes widen and she looks truly terrified.

Mother and I burst out laughing and Dad keeps a straight face.

“Oh yes,” he nods, “I bet her pancakes would be todiefor.”

“I’m too young to die.” Dahlia squeals and we all break out into laughter.

“I can never sleep in on a Sunday.” Saxon comes into the kitchen yawning.

“Pancakes!” Dahlia exclaims and he smiles at her.

“With your favourite syrup, too.” He ruffles her hair.

“Ivy got it for me.” She nods.

“She’s a good big sister.” Saxon says as he sits.

I’m shocked momentarily by his admission because this is Saxon and compliments or sentiments aren’t his thing. And not because he’s mean but because he really doesn’t feel them or see a need for them.

“Thanks.” I mutter as I sit down beside him.

“Someone needs to tell you something good because I’m afraid you’re gonna drown in all the shit.” He shrugs and grabs some pancakes.

See what I mean?

“Ivy is a great big sister,” Dad agrees and Mother nods at the griddle.

“She’s the best big sister.” Dahlia says around a mouthful of pancakes.

“Alright, alright.” I wave them off and grab a pancake off the stack.

I’m looking over my homework later that evening when my phone pings, sending my heart back into my stomach. I pick it up and smile when I see it’s Neil.

Neil: My dick’s in my hand because I can’t seem to forget what you felt like last night.

Right, we fucked last night without a condom and even though it was irresponsible, I don’t really stress about it, I’ll grab a morning after pill tomorrow.

Me: About that. I am taking care of it. No more trysts without a condom though.

Neil: You sure? I can grab whatever it is you need.

He’s sweet and it makes me weary because it wasn’t too long ago that the guy hated me. He probably always will in a way.

Me: I’m good, now tell me more about what’s in your hand.

He sends me a few videos and before long I’m sliding my hand down my pants, imagining he’s there.

“What the hell does that mean, Charlotte?” I stare right back at her.

“It means,” she takes another sharp corner and the tail end of the car swings out, “that if you don’t give us a chance, there will be no others.”

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