Page 39 of Pocketful of Shame

"I spentmonthstrying to get over you," she hissed through her tears. "Trying to figure out why you would leave me like that. I came up empty." Clumsily, she hobbled towards me, dragging her boot-clad foot along. "I'mstillcoming up empty." A harsh sob escaped her and she closed the space between us. "Why'd you do it, Sketch, huh?" Sniffling, she reached up and slapped her small hand against my chest. "Why'd you leave me?"

"I didn’t leaveyou, Romi," I snarled, body rigid. "I stopped you from leavingme!"

"Wh-what?" Her eyes widened in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Forget about it." Trembling, I stepped backwards and out of her reach, but she kept coming, not stopping until my back was pinned to the wall with her small body caging me in. "Doesn't matter anymore."

"Yes, it does," she spat, crowding me, fucking killing me with those tear-filled eyes. "It matters and you know it."

I shook my head and looked away, body coiled tight with tension. "Just leave it alone, Ro." Swallowing deeply, I clenched my jaw and fought against the urge I had to reach out and touch her. "It's in the past."

"Tell me, dammit." Slamming both hands into my chest, she continued to push and shove at me.

"What good will it do?" I demanded, capturing her hands with mine and pushing them off my chest. "What goddamn bit of good will hashing up the past do? It won't change the present. It won't change a damn thing. We are where we are and I accept that, so just leave it alone, okay?"

"I can't leave it alone," she replied, hands returning to the bare skin of my chest. "I need the truth. I've been going crazy for two years over you. I need…I need something, Sketch. I need the truth about some fucking part of my life. Please?" Sniffling, she reached up and cupped my face with her hands. "Please."

"Fine. You want the truth? Here it is. Your dad wanted me out of the picture," I heard myself confess, repressing the urge to lean into her touch as I spilled my pain in as calm a tone as I could muster. "He wanted me away from you so badly that he was willing to uproot your entire world and ship you off to a boarding school in Europe to make that happen. So, I made a deal with him."

Her eyes widened. "A d-deal?"

I nodded stiffly. "If I broke it off with you and left you alone, if I kept my mouth shut about the deal, then you would get to stay in Pocketful." Reaching up, I took her hands and peeled them away from my face, unable to handle her touch. "I did what I thought was right, but he broke that promise when he sent you away." Frustrated, I shoved a hand through my hair and sighed. "I kept my side of the deal. Your father didn’t."

"Butwhy?" she squeezed out, eyes locked on mine. "W-why would he do that?"

"Why do you think, Romi?" I demanded, wounded. "He hates me. Always has."

"Iknewsomething was wrong," she cried, reaching back up to touch my face. "You lied to me."

"I had no choice! It was me without you, or noyouat all!" I hissed, turning my face away. "And don't touch me like that."

"Sketch –"

"Why does he hate you so much? We were happy. Why would he do that to us?"

"Look, it all worked out for the best anyway," I forced myself to say. "You moved on. You got over it. You were happy with Chris. That's what your dad wanted and that's what happened. It's over with now. It's done. You'll find someone else and we'll forget this conversation ever happened."

"I never got over it," she whispered brokenly. "Not even for a minute."

My nostrils flared. "Then you better start trying because we are not going back."

"Sketch –"

"I'm done with this conversation, Romi. You got your apology. You got your answers. I’m in the wrong. I'm the fuck up. Now, just… just leave me alone."

"Leave you alone?" she whispered. "That's what you want?"

Ignoring the fevered thudding in my chest, I shook my head. "Maybe not, but it's what I need."

Romi went completely still, eyes still locked on mine, and it was too much for me to handle. "Oh my god." Her words were barely audible. "You really hate me now, don’t you?"

My eyes burned, my chest ached, and I honest to god felt weak to the bone. How she could even ask me that just proved how little she truly knew me.

"Well, this is painful."

Both our heads snapped toward the door of the motel room where Presley stood watching us, armed with half a dozen shopping bags and a piece of licorice dangling from his mouth.

"Watching ya'll bleed your regrets all over each other genuinely hurts my soul."

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