Page 25 of No More Jocks

"No, thanks, I’ll be good," I said, waving her off. I looked at the house before me, a knot forming in my stomach. I hated confrontation, but I had to find out if Marcus had left me alone in the room or if something else was happening.

Now that I was here, I didn’t know exactly what I would say. I had spent the time in the Uber talking to Cindy when I was supposed to be rehearsing the profanity-laced lashing I would give him. The Pisces in me wanted to walk my ass right up to the front door and knock loudly until he came out. But I decided against it when I thought about his relationship with his mom and realized I didn’t want to worsen matters. I didn’t see his mom’s car in the driveway, so I assumed she was at church, and he was probably up there watching TV or something.

I headed to the back of the house, my heart pounding in my chest. This neighborhood looked better in the dark because it looked rough in the daytime, and I wished I had driven my car, but good dick makes you do crazy things. I grabbed a few pebbles and threw them at the window, my heart thumping like the bass in an Ariana Grande song.

I was surprised when a tall, chocolate, buff guy that was not Marcus peeked his head out of the window. My heart plummeted, a lead weight sinking to the pit of my stomach. He had another guy at his house hours after we had made love? My heart was crushed, the pain radiating through my chest like a physical blow. Tears trickled down my face, hot and bitter.

"Who the fuck are you? And why are you throwing rocks at the window?" he demanded, his voice rough and angry. I couldn’t even speak. I was speechless, the words stuck in my throat like shards of glass. All I could do was turn, walk away, and keep myself from experiencing any further embarrassment. I had fallen for a jock again and wound up with a broken heart, but this time, it wasn’t a girl getting the dick that should have been mine. Marcus was cheating on me with another guy.

The walk back to the main road was a blur, the world around me a haze of pain and betrayal. I felt numb, the shock of what I had seen rendering me incapable of coherent thought. I booked another Uber. When the car pulled away, I looked back at the house, the sight of it searing into my mind like a brand.

The ride home was silent, the weight of my pain too heavy to bear. I couldn’t believe I had been so foolish, so naive. I had given Marcus a part of me, a sacred part that I had only shared with one other person. And he had thrown it away, discarded it like it meant nothing. The thought sent a fresh wave of tears streaming down my face, the salt stinging my cheeks.

As I stepped out of the Uber and walked up to my house, I felt a profound sense of loss. I had been betrayed, my trust shattered into a million pieces. I had fallen for another jock, and once again, I was left with a broken heart. But this time, the pain was deeper, the wound more profound. This time, it felt like a part of me had been torn away, leaving a gaping hole in its place.

I collapsed onto my bed, the weight of my emotions too heavy to bear. I curled into a fetal position, the tears flowing freely now, a river of pain and betrayal. I had been so sure, so certain that Marcus was different. But he had proven to be just like the rest, a liar and a cheat. I had been fooled, my heart played like a fiddle in his hands.

As I lay there, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting the room in a soft glow, I made a promise to myself. I would never again give my heart so freely, so recklessly. I would guard it, protect it from the pain and betrayal that I had experienced. I would learn from this, grow from it, and emerge stronger.

But for now, I would mourn. I would cry for the love that was lost, for the trust that was shattered. I would cry for the part of me that had been given so freely, only to be discarded like it meant nothing. And I would heal, one tear at a time.

17

MARCUS

We pulled up to the county jail, a bleak, run-down building ten miles on the other side of town. As I stepped out of the car, a sense of dread washed over me. This was not where I belonged. The people milling around looked rough around the edges, their faces etched with lines of hardship and despair. The jail itself was in dire need of repair, its walls pockmarked with holes that had been hastily patched with plaster, the attempts at repair only serving to highlight the decay.

The air was thick with the scent of stale cigarette smoke and something else—a underlying odor of fear and desperation that clung to the very fabric of the place. I knew I would need a shower just from stepping into this godforsaken building.

My stomach rumbled, a harsh reminder that I hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. A dusty vending machine stood in the corner, its glass front smudged with fingerprints, the snacks inside looking as forlorn as I felt. The wooden desk at the front was littered with large stacks of papers, and the landline phones looked like they belonged in a museum, their once-shiny surfaces now dull and scratched. This place needed a severe upgrade, a thought that was quickly overshadowed by the reality of my situation.

A middle-aged woman named Peggy Sue sat behind the desk, her plump figure spilling over the edges of her chair. She was taking turns drinking Coke and throwing handfuls of peanut M&M’s into her mouth, the crunch of the candy echoing in the otherwise quiet room. When she saw me, she winked, a playful glint in her eye. I winked back, hoping that my kindness would pay off in the form of a phone call or a phone charge soon.

There was only one thing on my mind: Caleb. I needed to call him, to explain, to make things right. I knew him well enough to know that he was probably freaking out, that he had woken up to find me gone after we’d shared something so intimate, so profound. The thought of him alone and worried gnawed at me, a constant ache in the pit of my stomach.

I gripped the bars of my cell, the cold metal biting into my palms. “Can I please get my phone call?” I asked, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. Not long after I made that statement, a Caucasian cop with a noticeable paunch came to my cell and unlocked it. He pointed to the phone on the desk, his expression bored.

“Five minutes,” he said, his voice gruff.

“I was hoping I could use my cell phone. Unfortunately, I don’t know anyone’s number,” I explained, my heart sinking at the thought of not being able to reach Caleb.

The cop shrugged. “You Generation Z kids have short attention spans. Back in the day, we had to remember everyone’s number. Ask Peggy Sue if you can use her charger. If you ask nicely, she might let you.”

I turned to Peggy Sue, my heart pounding in my chest. “Hi, Miss Peggy Sue. Do you mind if I use your charger?” I asked, my voice filled with desperation. Miss Peggy turned around and eyed me like a piece of meat, her gaze lingering a little too long.

“Oh, Harold, this one is a cutie,” she said, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She reached into the drawer and handed me a charger from her desk drawer. “You still only have 5 minutes,” she warned.

“Thank you, Miss Peggy,” I replied, my fingers trembling as I plugged her charger into the outlet on the desk. I prayed that it would turn on quickly, that I would have enough time to call Caleb, to make things right. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the phone turned on.

I had thirteen messages, seven of which were from Caleb. My heart ached as I scrolled through them, the words blurring together as I tried to make sense of what had happened.

I didn’t have time to text, so I called, my fingers shaking as I dialed his number. But it didn’t ring. It was disconnected. I looked at the number again, my heart pounding in my chest, and redialed it. Again, I got a disconnected message.

“Fuck!” I yelled, the frustration and fear boiling over. What had happened? Why was his phone disconnected? A thousand questions raced through my mind, each one more terrifying than the last.

“One minute,” Miss Peggy said, her voice firm.

I quickly dialed my brother’s number, my heart pounding in my chest. “How are you guys on bail? I promise I will pay you back,” I said, my voice filled with desperation.

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