Sketch
A deep rumbling groan came from deep inside of me and I jerked awake.
With my heart racing wildly in my chest, I remained perfectly still as I both absorbed and tried to make sense of the sensations of pure pleasure rippling through my body.
My back was arched, my ass tensed tight, my hands balled into fists as I twitched and jerked uncontrollably, hips thrusting of their own accord.
What the actual fuck?
"Hmm." A soft female moan came from close by, causing a bead of sweat to trickle down my brow and my heart-rate to accelerate to dangerous speeds.
Instantly, I remembered where I was, and who was lying beside me.
End of summer camping trip, and Romi.
Another second or two ticked by before I registered what the sticky sensation in my boxers meant.
Fuck…
I was fourteen years old and my voice had broken two summers ago, so I guessed it was no surprise that the wet dreams would eventually follow, random hard-ons had certainly started to occur at any given time during the last eighteen months, but still… talk about inconvenient – not to mention embarrassing as hell.
"What's wrong?" my girlfriend whispered from her perch on the floor of the tent – right fucking next to me. "Sketch?"
"Nothing," I muttered, quickly rolling onto my side and giving Romi my back.
Even though it was dark in here, I knew my face was burning red. It couldn’t be helped. I was mortified and if she found out, I didn’t think I'd recover easily.
"Shh," I added. "Just go back to sleep."
"But you were shaking in your sleep," she pressed, snaking a hand out of her sleeping bag to rest on my arm.
Of course, the moment she touched me, everything south of my navel immediately sprang back to life, causing me a world of problems.
Dammit…
"You were moaning and whispering my name in your sleep, Sketch."
Of course I was.
Christ, I couldn’t catch a break…
"I know, Ro," I whispered back, keeping my voice down so I didn’t wake Chris, Pres, and the rest of our crew who were snoring their heads off in sleeping bags littered around us. "I was just dreaming. I'm fine now."
"Are you sure?"
I nodded stiffly, twisting my body in such a way to relieve the pressure. "All good."
The sound of a zipper lowering filled my ears moments before a flashlight clicked on, bathing the tent in a dull yellow hue.
"Open up," the tiny blonde with the most unusual, whiskey-colored eyes I'd ever seen instructed as she clambered over my body and tugged at my sleeping bag. "I'm coming in."
"That's not a good idea, Ro," I squeezed out, keeping my eyes glued to hers as I locked my limbs into place, making no move to let her anywhere near me. "I'm all sweaty and shit."
"I don’t care," Romi argued, reaching for the zipper on my sleeping bag. "I'm cold and we always sleep together."
That was true, we'd been sneaking in and out of one another's bedrooms since as far back as I could remember, but things were changing. Our bodies were changing drastically and my body was reacting to the drastic changes in her body.
When Romi unzipped my bag and climbed inside with me, I didn’t protest any further or try to stop her. I knew I should, but I was too afraid to move. Romi Dillon did strange things to me – always had. She made me feel things I'd never felt with other girls. She made me…curious.
"You're blushing," she told me when she was settled in my bag with her chest pressed flush against mine. Reaching up, she cupped my cheek in her small hand. "You're so hot."
"Yeah," I replied, giving her a small nod. "I'm ah…" I cleared my throat and swallowed deeply, my Adam's apple bobbing when I felt her small breasts crushed against my bare chest. She had a tank top on but that didn’t make a blind bit of difference to my hormones – or my vivid imagination. "I'm fine."
Pushing me onto my back, Romi climbed onto my chest, same as always, and draped her tiny body on top of mine. "That's better. I can't fall asleep without you." Snuggling down, she made herself comfortable on my chest, using my body as her personal mattress, before letting out a contented sigh. "I love you, Sketch."
She'd been telling me those three words for three years now, ever since she first started letting me put my lips on hers, and I still shivered when she said it.
I rarely heard it from anyone else.
Aside from Chris, Romi was the only other person who'd ever said they loved me.
Hearing her tell me she loved me evoked a reaction from me that felt wrong. I shouldn’t want to snatch her away and keep her forever. That wasn't normal, right? I shouldn't want to hurt my brother and his friends for smiling at her. I shouldn’t feel so possessive. Right?
I didn’t know and I couldn’t ask Chris about it because he had a crush on Romi and I didn’t want to rub his nose in it. But I wasn't sorry that I won, and I wasn't sorry enough to share her. Romi was mine, the first thing I ever had that I didn’t have to share with my twin, or worse, come second best to.
Romi picked me.
I was her favorite.
She loved me.
"I love you, too, Romi."
She stiffened on top of me and her head snapped up. "What did you just say?" Her eyes were wide and full of excitement. "Sketch?"
"What – I love you?" I offered, feeling the burn in my chest as I watched her watch me.
"Wow," she whispered, chewing on her bottom lip. "You've never told me that before. I mean, obviously I say it all the time, but this is your first time."
She was right. I never said the words before now. "Yeah, well, just because I haven't said it before now doesn’t mean I didn't feel it the whole time." I shrugged and risked draping an arm around her back. "Because I have."
"Really?" She beamed down at me. "You love me?"
"'Course," I replied with a shrug.
"You love me." Her smile widened. "Oh god, I'm so freaking happy right now."
"Because I said it?" I frowned. "You're really weird."
"Hey – I'm a girl."
"So? Girls are weird."
"Maybe, but at least girls don’t spunk in their undies when they're sleeping."
I stiffened, feeling every ounce of blood rush to my face. "Let me up," I muttered, pushing on her shoulders. "I need to go die now."
"Hey –" Taking my face in her small hands, she stroked my nose with hers. "It's okay." A small shiver ran through her when she leaned in and pressed a kiss to my cheek. "Don’t be embarrassed." Keeping her lips pressed to my cheek, she said, "I'm not."
Too bad, because I was embarrassed. Very fucking embarrassed. "I can't help it," I heard myself explain. "It just sort of…happens at the worst possible times."
"What were you thinking about?" she asked, sounding way too interested in my anatomy than was good for her. "When you were about to…you know, as it happened?"
"Really, Ro?" I arched a brow, giving her a 'what the hell do you think' look.
Her cheeks turned pink. "Me?"
"Obviously." I blew out a breath. "Always only you."
Her plump lips formed a perfect O. "Wow."
I nodded solemnly. "Yep."
"It's still there, you know," she whispered then, eyes still dancing with excitement. "Your erection," she clarified with a hushed whisper, cheeks flushed. "It's still up." She giggled softly and then slapped a hand over my mouth, like I was the one making noise. "Digging into my hip."
Rolling my eyes, I gently pried her fingers away. "Yeah, I'm aware, Ro. It is attached to my body," I replied with a heavy sigh, entwining our fingers. "It's probably gonna be there for the night. Sorry."
"Hey, Sketch?"
"Yeah, Ro?"
"Can you do something for me?"
"'Course."
She shifted on top of me and leaned closer. Her breath fanned my face when she whispered, "Can you kiss me real deep and slow?"
My heart slammed wildly and my body temperature spiked. "Your father will kill me if he finds out I'm on this trip and been kissing his daughter in a tent –"
"Shut up talking about my daddy. You already kiss me in my bed every night," she quickly cut me off. "So, are you gonna kiss me real deep or not?"
Well hell, not even the possibility of taking a beating from Cal Dillon could dampen my mood when she put it like that.
"Yeah, Ro," I replied gruffly. Pulling myself up on one elbow, I tangled my free hand in her hair at the nape of her neck and drew her face to mine. "I can do that."
"Don't hold back, Sketch," she breathed, straddling my hips, chest rising and falling quickly. "I want all you've got." And then she wrapped her skinny arms around my neck and crushed her lips to mine…
I couldn’t breathe.
The moment my eyes landed on her cowering in front of her locker, my heart just started gunning in my chest and hadn't stopped since.
Holy fuck, would it ever get easier?
Would I ever be able to be near this girl without all of the feelings that followed her?
Doubtful.
Forcing all memories of our past from my mind, I concentrated on my task at hand; extracting the truth from her lying lips and getting justice for Chris.
Feeling her pulse flutter violently beneath my fingers when I gripped her throat only drove it home how quickly I could finish this. I could snap her neck and avenge my brother. It would be easy. She wouldn't resist me. She wouldn't fight back.
An eye for an eye.
A life for a life.
My parents wouldn't judge me. Hell, there wasn’t a damn person in the town of Pocketful – man, woman, or child – who would blame me.
Maybe if she was gone my mother would leave her bedroom again. Maybe my father would stop hiding from his grief and pretending that everything was normal when nothing would ever be normal again. Maybe I wouldn't feel so goddamn hollow inside.
Romi Dillon had taken everything from me. My brother's life. My mother's will to live. My father's emotions. My goddamn sanity. So why the fuck was I cupping her face instead of putting an end to this once and for all?
Because she's Romi, that's why. She's been your best fucking friend since the beginning of time, asshole. There's more to this story and you know it. She would never intentionally harm Chris.
No. I shook my head, rebuking those thoughts. She did kill my brother and now she got to walk around scot free? Six months in a juvenile detention center was the value of my brother's life? The punishment for ending his world?
There was no goddamn justice in the world, so I'd been making my own – doling out my own version of punishment since she came back to town at the end of the summer. My friends stalked her. We were openly hostile to her. Taunted her. Terrorized her. Provoked her.
Nothing worked.
She didn’t react to a damn thing I did.
She didn’t crack.
I knew she was hiding something. Something that the police and autopsy reports couldn’t tell me, and I wouldn’t stop until I got that information.
"Tell me." As I stared into her eyes, I felt that familiar prickle of heat on the back of my neck, the same sensation Romi Dillon had been evoking from my body since childhood, and I fucking hated myself for feeling it now.
Vivid, technicolor images of our past infiltrated my brain, and memories of blonde hair splayed on my pillow, soft lips and gentle hands, bombarded me, threatening to weaken my resolve, but I quickly pushed them out of my mind. The past was dead and gone. My brother was dead and gone, and she was responsible for that.
Haunted whiskey-colored eyes stared back at me, full of defeat, full of secrets. I wished I could make an incision in her scalp and siphon those secrets out. I needed them, dammit. I was a desperate man. I liked control and for the past ten months, it felt like my world was freewheeling.
Refusing to inhale her scent, knowing full well that my resolve and my stupid fucking heart couldn't take the memory, I breathed through my mouth instead. "Tell me," I repeated, hearing the crack in my own damn voice. It cracked because I was breaking. Plain and simple. Dragging in a rough breath, I whispered, "Please."
Fuck, I hated that word. It pained me to say it to the girl responsible for all of my family's pain, but I would if it meant I could finally sleep at night. If it meant she would put me out of my damn misery. If it meant I could finally put the memory of my brother to rest.
"Romi?" Quinton Presley, my brother's best friend and one of the few people in this town who didn’t automatically take my side in the Dillon/Capaldi feud stepped into my peripheral vision. "Are you alright?"
I could feel him approaching, his Vans scuffing against the concrete, but I kept my eyes on Romi, forcing her into submission with my eyes alone.
Just like always.
"Walk away, Presley." My voice was hard, my muscles twitching with the urge to swing back and pummel my fist into the prick. He always had it bad for my brother's girl. It was gross that he was making his move now with Chris barely cold in the ground. "Go now," I added, tone laced with menace. "While you still can."
"No can do, Capaldi," came his calm response. "I'm videoing this little interaction as we speak. Put another finger on her and this goes viral."
I snorted. "Like I give a fuck."
"You may not care about beating on girls, but your mama will," he countered. "From what I hear, the poor woman hasn't left the house since the funeral. Do you think seeing her only living son attacking a female on the damn internet is gonna help with her depression?"
"You just stepped over a line bringing up my family, Pres," I seethed, finally breaking eye contact with Romi to glare at her newfound protector. "I suggest you scramble back over it and disappear."
"She didn’t kill Chris, man," he shot back, not backing down even though it was clear that I could break his scrawny ass in half if I felt inclined. And right now, I felt thoroughly inclined.
Clocking in at six feet, Presley was toned from swimming, but he was no real threat to me. He was a complete fucking brainiac like Chris used to be and didn’t have an aggressive bone in his body, but his mouth? Goddamn, his mouth was going to get him an up close and personal encounter with my fist.
"It was a tragic accident," he continued, sliding his phone back in his jeans pocket, seemingly satisfied when I stepped away from Romi. "The girl has paid her dues, and you need to let it go. She was your best friend your whole damn life, and you need to get a handle on yourself. Shit, Sketch, this ain't you. You don’t go around terrorizing girls."
"Paid her dues?" Did I hear that right? "Let it go?"
"That's right," he replied evenly. "And if Chris was still here, he'd be so disappointed in you." Narrowing his eyes, he added, "I mean, come on, man. Romi? Of all the people you decide to take your grief and pain out on, you choose the girl you and Chris have been in love with since Pre-K –"
"Shut the fuck up!" Like a loose canyon, I detonated and charged him, not stopping until I had him on his back on the concrete. "It's her fault! My brother's dead and she's responsible." Rearing back, I rammed my fist into his jaw. "Maybe someone should take your sister away from you and then you can come talk to me about paid dues and letting shit go!"
"This is the last thing Chris would want and you goddamn know it," he wheezed. "He would want you and Romi to stick together, not tear strips outta one another."
"Fuck you, Pres," I snarled, socking him hard once more. "Don’t tell me what Chris would want. He was my brother!"
"Sketch, don’t," Romi strangled out as she lurched forward and pulled on my shirt. "Please. Quinton didn’t do anything to you."
"Get your murderous fucking hands off me," I spat, rearing an arm back and roughly shoving her away. "Evil bitch."
Stunned by the sudden move, Romi toppled backwards and landed on the concrete. Her blonde hair splayed everywhere and her blue eyes, full of unshed tears, widened in horror. She was so damn petite in stature that she looked almost childlike sprawled out on the gravel. Memories of a previous lifetime spent preventing that flooded my mind and I balked, refusing to remember our past.
Refusing to remember her.
"You think I'm gonna apologize for that?" I demanded hoarsely, feeling my heart hammer violently in my chest as guilt and panic churned inside of me. "Nah, girl. Get a fucking clue."
Shoving off Presley, I quickly climbed to my feet, feeling the adrenalin overload rushing through my veins, desperately seeking an outlet.
"You deserve to be on the ground," I sneered, towering over her. "You deserve to be in the fucking ground, not him."
Hacking up a phlegm ball, I spat on the ground by her feet, refusing to allow my conscience to get in the way of my blinding grief.
"You're done around here, killer," I added, forcing myself to back away before I did something reckless. "By the time I'm finished with you, you're gonna wish you died that night."
"Believe me, I already do," I heard her say as I climbed into my truck. "Every day."
Refusing to let her words affect me, I slammed the door of my truck shut and quickly tore my gaze from the rearview mirror, unwilling to watch them together.
Simmering with barely restrained fury, I cranked the engine and gunned it out of the parking lot, debating where to go next.
The gym and listen to the guys talk shit about whatever side piece they planned to bang that weekend, all while casting guilty glances in my direction?
Home and listen to my mama scream and list all of the ways in which I disappointed her before going on to tell me that she wishes every night that God had taken me and not her baby?
The cemetery and listen to the sound of my own breaking heart, while I contemplated how badly my brother's body had decomposed in the ground by now?
No. I couldn’t fucking do any of those things in my current frame of mind.
I couldn't cope with the guys' happiness, Mama's wrath, or Chris's absence.
There was only one place I could go.
One place I was guaranteed to get her alone.
I knew she would be there.
It was tradition.
It was truth day.