Page 41 of Pocketful of Shame

"I'm bored," he tossed back at me.

My blood ran cold. "Wh-what?"

"It's getting old, Ro –weare getting old," he choked out, sounding pained. "We've been together forever and I…fuck, I need to be free. To figure out who I am."

"You already know who you are," I cried, feeling completely cornered.

"And I can't do that with you clinging to my damn coattails, Ro," he continued, ignoring me. "I need my freedom."

"You're lying." I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling my heart race violently. Pain. It was all I could feel. Overwhelming me. My legs shook so hard, I was surprised to still be standing. "This isn't you, Sketch. You're lying. I know you are."

He shook his head. "I'm not."

My face caved. "Stop."

"I'm sorry," he bit out, jaw working. "But it's over. We're done."

"Don’t say sorry," I choked out. "Just take it back."

"I can't do that."

"Take it back," I begged, moving for him. "Please just take it back."

He refused to give an inch, body stiff and rigid.

A tear trickled down my cheek and his nostrils flared.

"You're done with me?" The pain inside of me was so severe that I could barely get the words out. "Is that what you're saying?" Keeping a hand clutched to my chest, I blinked away the tears blurring my vision and stared up at the only boy I had ever loved. The boy who had just cut me open. "You don’t want me?"

His only response was the slight shake of his head.

Not fucking good enough!

"Say it," I demanded. "If you don't want me, say the words, you fucking coward."

"I. Don’t. Want. You," he snarled, enunciating every word, eyes wild with heat. "Happy now? I don’t want to be with you, Romi. I'm done with you and I'm done with us. I won't change my mind. Not now. Not ever. So, get the fuck over me because I'm already over you."

I could feel the tear as my poor, thudding heart slowly started to split down the center. A combination of arctic ice and red-hot fire spread like wildfire throughout my organs, spilling over every inch of my skin.

Teeth chattering, I staggered backwards and crashed into a desk. Unable to breathe, I clawed and gasped for air, knowing full well that I was having a panic attack and needed to calm down, but I couldn’t.

"You'll be okay," Sketch told me, not meeting my eye. "I promise, it's better this way. You'll get over this."

I wouldn’t.

Not ever.

Grabbing his bag off the floor, he tossed it over his shoulder and moved for the classroom door, leaving me staring after him. "I'm sorry, Ro," he said, stopping in the doorway with his hand clutching the handle so tight that his knuckles had turned white. "More than you'll ever know."

And then he was gone…

Chapter Fourteen

Sketch

My life, post-Romi, was dark, dreary, depressing, and I was done. Completely fucking done. I didn’t want to be here anymore. Not in the shithole town I hailed from or the frigid family I belonged to. Dragging myself out of bed this morning took more effort than usual. I wanted to stay right under my covers and wallow. I wanted to never have to face her again. Since I couldn’t do either, I showed up to school and went through the motions. Football was my saving grace since our breakup and I threw myself into the grueling schedule, not daring to come up for air for fear I would choke on my bitterness.

I hoped Cal Dillon was happy with himself. No, scratch that, I hoped he burned in hell for taking way the one good thing I had going for me…for making me break his daughter.

---