Page 30 of Pocketful of Shame

"You were right," I stated in a quiet voice, keeping my eyes on Presley. "About her being the key."

"I usually am," he replied in a mild tone. "But the key right now is not to push her too hard. She's traumatized. Suffering from some major PTSD. We've gotta have some patience. Chris slowly leaked his secrets into her. We have to slowly siphon them out."

"You think she knows more?"

"Oh, I'm banking on it," he said with a nod.

"And you believe everything she told us back there?"

"Do you?"

"Yes." My response was automatic and honest. Ididbelieve Romi. I wished like hell that I didn’t, but there was no denying the truth in her eyes when she poured her heart out.

"Me too," Pres agreed. "She's not lying – she's petrified and some of her memories are probably distorted, but it's her version of the truth."

"And the journal?" I asked, quickly veering the topic away from brother's final moments. I couldn’t think too much about it. If I did, I'd lose myself in my hatred. "Where the hell is it?"

"No idea, but we need to find it before anyone else does," Presley replied. "If they haven't already."

"We're in serious shit, aren’t we?" I asked, surprised by how level my tone was.

"Affirmative," he replied with a heavy sigh.

"So, what do we do now?"

"Now, we don’t leave her out of our sights until we suck every last secret out of that pretty head of hers and unravel this shit storm," he replied. "Which, for now, means keeping her out of places that like to strap her to a bed and away from Pocketful. Can't have her asshole dad catching up to her. He'll toss her back in Tully House and we'll be back to square one, and us minus Romi equals an impasse, my friend."

"So, what? We're gonna move her from motel to motel?" I cocked a brow. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," he confirmed without a hint of hesitation. "Are you down?"

"Yeah, I'm down, but we should've packed some clothes for her," I noted, eyeing Romi as a swell of concern rose up inside of me. She looked so tiny. So fucking breakable. "She's gonna need something to change into when she wakes up."

"I think we passed a Walmart on the way into town," he replied, rummaging around in his bookbag. "We'll pick her up some stuff in the morning."

"I don’t like it."

He stopped what he was doing to look at me. "You don’t like what, Sketch?"

"Leaving her like that," I said, pointing at her. She was still wearing my hoodie and sweatpants and they swallowed her up. "What if she wakes up and wants a shower?" I shook my head in frustration. "She needs her own clothes, Pres."

"And we'll get her clothes," he repeated slowly. "First thing in the morning."

"And she'll need shampoo, and panties, and a hairbrush, and all that girl shit."

"Okaaay," he drawled, eyeing me curiously. "Sketch, would you like me to go out and pick some of that up now?"

I shrugged. "I guess it wouldn't hurt."

"Fine." He smirked and climbed to his feet. "Give me your keys."

"Don’t forget a toothbrush," I said, tossing him my keys. "And, uh, tampons – just in case."

"Tampons?"

"Yes, asshole, tampons," I snapped, flustered. "Girls tend to need those a few days each month. If we plan on harboring one, then we need to plan ahead."

"Sketch, man." Presley shuddered in the doorway. "I don’t even know what a tampon looks like."

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