Page 2 of Pocketful of You

Death would keep us safe.

Life was too dangerous.

The world we lived in was full of betrayal and horror.

Paralyzed, I observed the madness with a detached sense of reality. I was floating above my body, my soul lifelessly levitating above Sketch as he bled out on the floor of the motel room with his father beside him, while my own father carted me away from the scene.

Was it the shock of what I had just witnessed that rendered me motionless, or could it be the alcohol still flushing through my veins?

If you love him, why are you leaving him?a persistent voice echoed over and over inside of my head.Fight back, Romi!

It's happening, Romi,Chris's voice pierced through my mind, full of remorse and regret.I told you they were coming for you. I told you to run. Now it's too late...

"I'm sorry it's come to this," my father said in the least sincere tone I'd ever heard while he roughly shoved my now-hysterical frame into the backseat of the awaiting Hummer. "But it was always going to end this way, Ramona."

"Oh my God!" Jolted back to reality by the sound of my name, I scrambled for the opposite door, desperate to get back to Sketch. "You sh-shot him!" I screamed, yanking in vain on the locked door handle. "Sketch! Sketch, hold on! I'm coming – get the hell away from me –"

My words broke off when my father dragged me away from the door. Scratching and tearing at his hands, I tried and failed to free myself from the danger hiding beneath the surface of the man that raised me.

"Relax, Chris is too sentimental to let the boy die," Dad snarled, keeping a firm grip on my throat. "More's the damn pity," he added in a petulant tone. "He should have been killed years ago." Shoving me against the leather interior, he barked orders to the driver, listing off a vaguely familiar address, before turning back to face me. "You havenoidea of the danger that boy represents to our family." His voice was laced with venom, his eyes icy cold, as the car I was trapped inside pulled away, taking me further away from the one person Iwassure of in this fucked up world. "You have no idea who he really is." Releasing his hold on my throat, he sat back and adjusted his silk tie. "But you'll soon find out."

"What are youtalkingabout?" I strangled out, heart palpitating. Trembling from head to toe, I desperately fought against the panic and fear threatening to consume me. "That boy has never done a thing wrong to you, Daddy, and youshothim!"

"Hasn't he?" my father roared back, grasping my throat once more. "Wake the hell up, Ramona!"

"I am awake," I screamed. "And Sketch is innocent!"

All of a sudden, a memory of a conversation I'd shared with Chris trickled through my mind…

"…Chris, we need to call our parents."

"No! Don't call them."

"What? Why the hell not?"

"Because we can't trust them…"

"Oh my god," I breathed, panic-stricken, as awareness dawned on me with crushing strength. "Chris said Sketch and Presley, but not them," I repeated. "When he really meant notyou!"

"Not me what?" my father demanded. "I'm not what, Ramona?"

"Trustworthy." I exhaled a ragged breath. "I can't trust you."

"No?" he quipped, lips curving upwards in a cruel sneer. "You can't trust the man that raised you?"

"No." I shook my head. "Ican't." It all made perfect sense now. Chris's words of warning. The dreams that had always haunted me. The faded memories of another lifetime that refused to disappear…

"…Don’t you think it's strange that we live there? Pocketful? Come on, Romi, our fathers are important people. They're successful and rich beyond most men's wildest dreams. They have businesses running the length and breadth of the United States, so why are they living in a town that hasn't progressed beyond the seventies? Why not live in Lake Charles or some other city? Why Pocketful, Romi…"

"Nothing in Pocketful is as it seems." Sniffling, I curled my fingers around his and yanked his hand away from my throat, scrambling to the far end of the seat in my pathetic bid to protect myself. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The pain inside of me was crippling. "It's all a cover up." Panic gripped me in merciless talons, forcing me to relive and revisit every red-flag warning that I had purposefully pushed to the back of my mind.

"…You're gonna run on home to your daddy and forget everything you think you saw tonight, forget everything you think you heard. You're gonna park your sweet little ass in your daddy's mansion and stay there. You got that, princess…"

"…Is it the crying?" Sketch asked. "Do you still hear it, too…"

"…In the dream? The floor wasn't moving. We were on a boat…"

"…I didn’t leave you, Romi! I stopped you from leaving me…"

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