Page 81 of Dirty Roulette
I marinate in silence, listening to Payton cry again. I’m not sure what I can even say.
“She’ll cool off.” I break the silence, running a hand down her smooth hair and to her bony shoulders. The soft texture meets my thumb as I try to comfort her in the only way I know how.
Payton lifts her head and uses the collar of her shirt to wipe her wet cheeks. “I hate myself.”
“Don’t say that.”
“You don’t get it!” she screams at me. “She’ll never forgive me!”
“Yes, she will.” I follow her angry steps around the kitchen. “Payton, stop!” I reach for her hand, but she smacks me away and twirls around. It guts me to see her puffy cheeks and her bloodshot eyes. I tried mydamn hardest to get her to fess up, but she hid in a hole, refusing to try.
“After we went our separate ways during the party she told me how I feel right now will never go away. All this pain inside my chest I have for you won’t go away. It doesn’t matter what I do, or whatyoudo.” Payton combs her hands through her hair.
“Do you think I’m messing with your head?” I ask, holding out my hands, my heart hammering in my chest. “Please, don’t tell me that’s what you think. I’ve been telling you over and over I want you to be with me!”
“I wish none of this happened.”
“No, wait...” I reach for her hand, but she swats at me again.
“Please, don’t touch me!” She snaps. Her blue eyes meet mine, and my heart sinks with a little warning in my head, bracing me for what she’s about to say.
“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” she says, wiping her face and nose with the back of her hand. Tears pour like rain as she races out the front door. She claws the skin off my bones, rips my heart from my chest, and stupid me lets it get stomped on all over again.
Chapter twenty-eight
Ryder
I’m playing an intense round of Madden with Nick. We both lean forward, eyes fixed on the screen. Some guy living in his grandma’s basement won’t stop cursing through his mic. Who can blame him, this game is trash. The old-school pixel graphic games aren’t in style like they used to be.
“This is laggy as fuck!” Nick’s fingers tap on all the buttons.
The controller clicks, and I throw a ten-yard pass, the game freezes and I’m about to throw the remote into the wall. When it loads, I watch another player jump twenty feet in the air and intercept the ball.
I cough up a laugh. “You’re shitting me.” The joysticks move back and forth, fingers tapping the buttons.
“I told you Madden is bullshit,” Nick grumbles, clicking his fingers on the remote harder as if it’s going to magically make the player do what he wants.
“Why do you two still play this game?” Jared plops onto the other side of the couch with a beer in hand.
“I dunno...” I lie and put the controller down as the defeated sign pops up on the screen. I’m battling my psychotic demons, carving Payton’s name in my chest with a knife. Playing video games and writing essays seem to distract me enough to not think about her for maybe a few minutes. Jared sips on his piss water and asks, “Do you work tonight?”
Running a hand over the crease of my neck, I say, “No.”
“Sigma is having a get-together.”
I swallow the dry lump in my throat. “Sounds fun...”
“You need to quit being pissy. Sigma means hot bitches.” Nick leans over, grabbing the bong and lighter on the coffee table. “It’s better than playing shitty-ass games.” He starts to pack the bowl with fresh herbs.
“Right...” I say.
“What is wrong with you, man? You look like a caveman.”
“Get off my nuts, I’m fine.” At least he’s not criticizing my attitude on the field for our last home game. I dropped the ball on each pass, and my brain couldn’t seem to fire the neurons it needed to function. We still won, even after Coach threw me to the bench. But something just isn’t right.
“You’re not fine, though.” Nick clicks the lighter until it ignites a tiny flame. “When are you gonna quit moping?” He lights the herbs, filling the chambers with smoke.
“He got dumped.” Jared throws the dirty laundry out into the air. “Again.”
