Page 6 of Pocketful of Us

"Pres!"

I winced, knowing the word vomit that I just spewed wasn’t helping matters.

"Smooth, cowboy," Lucky muttered, face-palming himself. "Real fucking smooth."

I swallowed deeply. "He's tied up out back."

Sketch looked me straight in the eyes. "I want to see him."

"Uh, do you think that's a good idea right now?"

"I don’t care," he deadpanned. "I want to see my dad."

"Sketch –"

"Now."

"Sweet mother of Madonna," I muttered in resignation, pushing my glasses up my nose. "Fine, buddy. Suit yourself. But when it all goes to hell in a handbasket, just remember that I was the one who told you that talking to that man was a really,reallybad freaking idea."

3

Romi

Placing the pee-covered, rectangular shaped, stick of terror on the sink in front of me, I clutched the porcelain vanity and dragged in several deep breaths.

Breathe, Romi.

Just breathe.

The banging on the other side of the bathroom door I'd locked myself behind continued to drum through my ears, making my body jerk with uncontrollable shudders.

I needed an out.

I needed to justdisappear.

Switching on the shower, I peeled off my clothes before stepping under the blistering spray of hot water.

I was trembling from head to toe, teeth chattering violently.

I felt violated.

I felt fucking ripped open.

Everything was broken.

Be alive, Sketch.

Be okay.

Please come and find me…

Numb, I grabbed one of the bottles of shampoo from the rack and lathered my hair. Taking a clean washcloth from the pile, I soaked it under the water and then pressed it to my face, breathing in the hot steam. Tearing at my face with the cloth, I roughly washed myself, streaking it with a concoction of dirt, tears, and terror.

In the midst of my breakdown, I thought about the lyrics of The Everly Brothers' classicAll I have to do is Dream.It was the strangest and most inappropriate song to think about all things considered, but still, it was the perfect distraction from the turmoil I was drowning in.

"It's okay," I chanted. Keeping my face pressed into the cloth, I whispered the lyrics over and over again. "You're going to be okay."

"Ramona," my captor said from the other side of the bathroom door. "I played this very same waiting game outside of this exact door for only one woman in my life, and I have no intentions of doing it again with you." Three more loud bangs filled the air. "So, open the door before I break it down."

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