Page 72 of Shut Up and Score
Because while he’s out there still trusting me, still bleeding honesty into my DMs—I’m just standing here, holding onto the truth as if it’s a secret grenade.
I can’t message him.
Not like this. Not when I know and he doesn't.
My legs give out, and I fall to the bench, my head falling into my hands. Fuck. This is so fucked.
It’s late.
The air’s cooler now, quieter, as though even the wind is trying not to brush against me.
I’ve been walking for hours.
No destination. Just movement. As long as I keep going, maybe I won’t have to sit with it.
Micah is SmokeScreen77.
I’ve turned it over in my head so many times it’s almost lost meaning. Except it hasn’t. Not when every version of the truth still ends with the same gut-punch: I kissed him. I hurt him. And he still doesn't know I’ve been in his head at night, in his inbox, in his hands.
I still haven’t messaged him back.
I climb the last steps to my dorm and freeze when I lift my head.
Jasmine’s sitting on the brick ledge near the entrance, legs crossed, arms hugging herself as if she’s cold or maybe just unraveling slower than me.
“Colton,” she says, standing quickly as though I might vanish or run the other way.
I sigh, scrubbing a hand down my face. “Jas, it’s late.”
“I know. But we never really… talked. After.”
“We broke up,” I say simply. “Not much else to say.”
Her expression falters. “Yeah, but…I was angry. And you were?—”
“I wasn’t cheating,” I say, cutting her off. “Not the way you think. Not physically.”
She lifts her chin. “Then tell me what it was.”
I stare past her, jaw tight. “I was falling for someone else. I was cheating on you emotionally, which is worse.”
She blinks.
It hangs between us. Awful and honest.
“I don’t care,” she says too quickly. “I mean—if it’s a guy, Colton, that’s…I can handle that. We can still fix this.”
My heart sinks. She still doesn’t get it.
“No,” I say softly. “We can’t.”
“Why not?” she whispers. “You said it yourself—you didn’t mean to hurt me. And I didn’t mean to blow up on you. Maybe we just need time?—”
“It’s not about time. Or labels.” I look her in the eye. “It’s about the fact that when I was with you, I was pretending. I’m pretty sure I like guys, Jas.”
Or one guy in particular. Something loosens in my chest. The words make me feel free in a strange way.
She flinches.
