7

Romi

"Take your mouth off me," Sketch warned against my lips, stiffening at the contact, but never breaking stride as he finger-fucked me into a tailspin. "And your hands."

Drunk off hormones, I blinked my eyes open and locked eyes with his. "But you're touching me," I argued, confused and trembling.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked in a level tone.

Panicked at the thought, I quickly shook my head.

Desire flashed in his eyes but it was quickly replaced with hatred. Keeping his brow pressed to mine, he stroked my nose with his. The move was so affectionate and tender that my body spazzed out and my heart wept.

Still nuzzling my nose with his, and with his lips almost touching mine, he whispered, "Then don’t touch me again."

"That's not fair."

"Life's not fair."

Swallowing down a sob at his obvious repulsion, I let my hands fall to my sides, fingernails digging into the timber beams beneath me as he continued to thumb my clit with expert precision.

"Good little killer," he said approvingly, using his free hand to work the buttons on my school shirt, flicking them open with ease. "Now take it off for me. I wanna see you bare."

Trembling, I leaned forward and slipped both my cardigan and blouse off my shoulders, not thinking twice about my actions. I was moving purely on instinct now, driven forward by primal urges and old feelings.

"The bra too," he ordered, rearing back to watch me, fingers still teasing my clit. "Show me those pretty tits that got my brother killed."

My heart deflated in my chest. "I didn't –"

"Do you want me to keep going?"

I bit down on my lip, too prideful to answer him.

"Fair enough." With a heavy, drawn-out sigh, he moved to pull his hand away.

"Wait –" Desperate for human affection, no, desperate for his affection, I reached both hands between us and held his hand there, forcing him to cup me in my most intimate area. "Keep going."

I had no idea how we'd gotten here and, in this moment, I didn’t care. I was lost and lonely, miserable and broken, and I wanted my best friend back. I wanted any version of Sketch Capaldi that I could get.

This wasn't the first time I'd had his fingers inside me, but it was different. We weren't sixteen anymore and there was no Chris to think about. There was nothing stopping either of us from crashing over that line we'd been teetering on and blurring for years.

Except for his blatant hatred of me.

Hatred or not, I could tell that his body most definitely still wanted me. His cock was straining against the fabric of his school slacks, his blue eyes almost black with hunger.

"Sketch…" I rolled my hips, clutching his hand with both of mine for all I was worth. "Please don’t stop."

His eyes darkened even further and his nostrils flared, but he didn’t pull his hand away. "What did I tell you about touching me?"

I quickly jerked my hands away, knowing that I needed to play by his rules. He was hurting and I was responsible. Or so he thought. "I'm sorry."

"Then do what you were told and take off your bra," he repeated, pushing his fingers back inside me, causing me to whimper loudly. "Now."

Clumsily, I reached behind my back and quickly unsnapped my bra. I let it fall from my shoulders and leaned against the timber frame at my back, chest rising and falling quickly.

His gaze went straight to my exposed breasts and his tongue snaked out to wet his lips. "Jesus."

My nipples pebbled as I watched him watch me. His stare was so heated and intense that my skin broke out in goosepimples. It felt like he was touching me with his gaze alone.

Shivering, I balled my hands into small fists and waited. For what, I had no clue, but I waited nevertheless, lost in sensation.

"They're bigger than before," he whispered, and I released a shaky breath. I'd been expecting a cruel comment or retort. Instead he surprised me by saying, "Beautiful," in an almost reverent tone. He continued to stare at me for several long beats before finally shaking his head. "Eighteen suits you, killer."

My heart stalled in my chest. "You remembered."

"Couldn’t forget if I wanted to," was his non-committal reply as he continued to fuck me with his fingers. "Considering I've spent the last twelve of your birthdays with you."

"Yeah." A lone tear trickled down my cheek as I rocked my hips into his touch, hunting that familiar wicked wave of pleasure. My body hummed with electricity, my joints and muscles shaky and loose, while my brain screamed at me to stop this.

You'll never recover from him.

He'll ruin you, Romi.

He thinks you killed his brother.

He's doing this to hurt you.

This is a sick game.

"Please," I squeezed out, feeling my body grow hot and clammy. I'd orgasmed in the past at the hands of this boy and I knew I was close, rising higher and faster, moving closer to that blissful finish line. All he had to do was crook his finger like he used to and I would be there, falling over the edge and drowning in the wave of ecstasy. "Oh God, I…"

Without warning, Sketch slid his fingers out of me, depriving my body of the orgasm it was chasing.

"Why'd you do that?" I strangled out, wounded and frustrated.

Kneeling between my thighs, he stared straight at me. It was only then that I noticed how much of a disadvantage I was at; topless with my skirt around my hips while he was fully clothed. "Because I can."

"That's cruel."

Sketch's pupils were dilated and his cheeks were flushed, but that was the only sign that he was feeling exerted. "Is it?"

Meanwhile, I was panting and breathless. "Yes."

"Then what do you want from me?" he asked softly.

"I wanna come," I admitted, feeling bereft without his fingers inside me.

"Then come," was his cool response. "Nobody's stopping you."

"Wh-what?"

"Fuck yourself," he drawled. "Get yourself off." He shrugged like he didn’t care either way, but his eyes, so full of heat and interest, betrayed him. "It's not like I haven't watched you do it before." His tongue snaked out and he wet his full bottom lip. "Many times."

"No," I squeezed out, devastated when he folded his arms across his broad chest. "I want you to make me come."

"That's some demand," he stated, blue eyes hard. "All things considered."

"Please," I whispered, hating the words as they fell from my lips. "Make me come like before."

He stared at me for the longest moment, causing the silence to stretch around us and the atmosphere to crackle with electricity.

"I'll make a deal with you," he finally broke the clammy tension by saying.

"A deal?"

"Yeah, a deal."

Uncrossing his muscular arms, he grabbed my hips and dragged me forward until I landed on my back, with him kneeling above me. Leaning close, he stroked my nose with his, once again annihilating my heart with tenderness.

"What do you think, killer?" Hooking his fingers into the waistband of my plain cotton panties, he slowly tugged them down my legs before tossing them away and settling between my thighs. "Interested?"

"What kind of deal?" I heard myself ask while my body betrayed me by nodding vigorously.

"I'll make you –" Pausing to lower the zipper on the side of my skirt, he slapped my thigh, motioning for me to lift up.

Without hesitation, I lifted my hips for him.

"I'll make you come, killer," he continued as he removed my skirt, leaving me naked with the exception of my school socks and high-heeled pumps.

Satisfied with my nudity, he settled my bare thighs on either side of his hips before reaching for his shirt. "With my tongue." Pausing to loosen his tie and then toss it away, he dragged the fabric of his shirt from the waistband of his slacks. "Or my fingers." Fingers moving to the buttons on his shirt, he slowly popped them open. "Or my cock."

With his shirt hanging open, Sketch quickly shrugged the fabric from his shoulders and tossed it in the same direction as the tie, revealing a chest and stomach carved so tightly with muscles that I had to bite back a moan. He was so beautiful, so toned and chiseled, that it physical hurt me to look at him.

With a broad chest and shoulders, a lean and ripped torso, and perfectly narrow hips that housed that dangerous V-shaped indent, he was the epitome of male virility.

It devastated me to think of all of the other girls since me whose eyes had followed that dark dusting of hair under his navel that disappeared beneath the waistband of his slacks. Girls whose tongues had traced every scar and birth mark, every freckle and groove of his flawless skin.

For his whole life, Sketch Capaldi saw himself as this unlovable creature, when the truth was, I never loved another human being deeper and more profoundly than I loved him.

Love, Romi, my heart insisted, present tense.

"Or I can do all three," Sketch whispered, blue eyes on mine. His fingers moved to the waistband of his slacks and he quickly flicked them open before pushing the navy fabric down his hips. "I'll make you come any way you want."

His erection was clearly straining against the fabric of his black Calvin Kleins, but he made no move to remove them.

Instead, he hovered above me with my thighs on either side of his hips. "As many times as you want." Planting his hands on the floor on either side of my face, he leaned close and whispered, "All you have to do in return is tell me." Grinding his hips against me, he groaned loudly when his erection rubbed against my slit. "Just tell me about that night."

"Sketch…"

Resting his weight on one elbow, he used his free hand to hook my thigh around his waist and rocked against me. The movement caused his slacks to slide further down his hips.

"Hmm?" he coaxed, slowly grinding himself against my pussy lips. "What do you think?"

My eyes rolled back and I cried out embarrassingly loud. I knew I was wetter than I'd been in years – two years, to be exact – and he could feel it.

"Feels right, doesn’t it?" he purred as he continued to rock against me, soaking the lining of his boxers with my arousal. "Me on you?" He pressed harder. "Me in you." The friction was too much, bringing to the surface more sensations than my body could handle. "Say the word and it's yours."

Lowering his face to mine, he moved as if to kiss me but stopped when our lips were a hair's breadth apart. Shuddering, he quickly switched angles and brushed his nose against mine instead, before pressing his lips to my ear.

"We can do anything you want," he whispered, lips grazing my ear lobe. "As many times as you want. Just tell me what happened to Chris."

My heart cracked open in my chest. "I already told you –"

"You're lying!" he snarled and then quickly shook his head and pressed a light kiss to my shoulder. "I know there's more," he said in a tone laced with desperation.

"I…can't –"

"Please." Peppering kisses over my collarbone and down my chest, he trembled above me. "I'll kiss you." He pressed another kiss to my stomach for emphasis before reaching for my hand. "I'll let you touch me." He placed my hand on his rigid shoulder and then shuddered in obvious revulsion. "I'll do anything you want if you just put me out of my misery."

"Stop," I whispered, feeling numb to the bone. "Sketch, get off me." I could feel the revulsion in his touch, how much it was costing him to put his lips and hands on me, and it made me want to die. "Let me up."

"I'll call the guys off," he urged, sounding panicked now. "I'll make it all stop. No one will touch you at school anymore. Or in town. I'll make it all go away. Just give me the truth."

"Sketch, no –"

"I can make it good for you," he continued, kissing my belly and hipbones. "You know I can –"

"Holden!" I choked out, using his real name for the first time in forever.

Knowing that he was only doing this because he thought I murdered his brother was gutting. Knowing that he was willing to sleep with me in order to get me to admit it was worse. "Get the fuck off me. Now."

Trembling, he pulled back but remained on his knees between my legs.

Unlike earlier, I didn’t wait around for him to strike again. Instead, I jumped into action and dressed quickly.

"I just want the truth," he admitted quietly, keeping his eyes on me as he reached for his shirt and shrugged it on his big shoulders. "That's all I'm trying to do here."

"Yeah, by seducing me," I sobbed, tears trickling down my cheeks as I made a haphazard attempt at buttoning my blouse. "By messing with my head."

"Can you blame me?" he countered, re-buttoning his shirt. "I did what I had to."

"Did what you had to?" I shook my head and sniffled out, "Fuck you, Sketch."

"Fuck me?" he growled, looking livid. "Fuck you, killer."

"This was a mistake." My bra lay in a crumpled heap at his side so I left it there. "I shouldn't have let you do that." Not bothering to retrieve my panties, I dragged on my skirt and scrambled away, needing to get as far away from him as I could. "It was reckless."

"Yeah, and you enjoyed every reckless minute of it," he countered with a sneer. "Don’t even bother trying to deny it."

A pained sob tore from my throat at his claim.

"Why the fuck are you crying?" he demanded, pushing his hand through his hair. "I didn’t hurt you."

"Maybe not physically," I choked out, swinging around to glare at him. "But you still hurt me, Sketch."

He glared right back at me. "And you killed my brother, killer."

"Stop calling me that!" I screamed louder than I had in years, finally reaching my breaking point. "I'm not a fucking killer!"

Hell, I screamed so loudly and with such sincerity that even Sketch's brows shot up in surprise.

"Yes, I was behind the wheel that night," I strangled out, chest heaving as I edged closer to the small opening. "Yes, I ran us off the road." Sniffling, I roughly wiped my nose with the back of my hand. "And yes, I'm responsible for the wreck, but I did what I had to. I did exactly what he told me to."

"Did what you had to?" He balked. "So, you had to kill Chris?"

"For the last time, I didn’t kill Chris." A pained cry escaped from somewhere deep in my shattered soul, leaving me feeling bereft and empty. "That's not what happened."

"Then what happened?" he asked in a deathly cold tone as he moved closer to me. "How did it go down?"

"I was your best friend," I hissed, hardly able to see his face through my tears. "I was Chris's best friend. I spent my entire life adoring ya'll." A sob racked through me but I forced myself to get it out. "Why would I intentionally hurt either one of you?"

"I don’t know, killer –"

"Stop calling me that, Holden!" I screamed, sounding feral now. "I didn’t hurt Chris and I don’t deserve the way you’ve treated me since I came home." Sniffling, I forced myself to glare at him, letting him see the extent of my pain. "And I don't deserve this. What you tried to do just now?" I gestured to where I'd lain naked just moments before. "Use my feelings for you against me?" My breath hitched. "That was a version of cruel that not even I deserve."

"Your feelings for me," he sneered. "Yeah, you sure did a fine job of hiding those feelings when you were fucking my brother." He shook his head in disgust. "You keep telling yourself that you loved me if it makes you feel better, but we both know the truth. And the truth is you didn’t waste five minutes before getting naked and on your back for my brother. That's not called love, killer. That's called being a whore –"

"I've loved you since I was five years old and you damn well know it,” I cut in. “And I wouldn't have had to hide my feelings if you hadn't made them dirty in the first place!" I screamed. "You know how I feel about you, Sketch, how I've felt about you my entire freaking life, since kindergarten, and you used it against me today." I threw my head back and released the trauma I'd been holding for far longer than the ten months since Chris passed away. No, this pain had been festering inside of me for two years. "You broke up with me, Sketch. You left me. You dumped me. For no good reason. You tossed me away like a toy you'd outgrown and never looked back. So don’t go putting blame on me for trying to get over you by dating Chris when you never needed time to get over me in the first place!"

"You think it was easy for me?" he demanded, furious.

"Sure looked that way to me," I shot back, shaking. "And you were the one who said that I needed to move on."

"And you did just that, didn’t you?" he tossed back. "You moved right on to my brother."

I flinched. "Yeah, well, you weren't exactly short on dates these past two years either, Sketch."

"Shows what you know, doesn't it," he sneered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I cried out.

"Nothing," he snapped, bristling. "Forget it. It's ancient history now."

"Not for me," I countered shakily.

"Stop it."

"No."

"It's done with," he warned, trembling. "There's no point in bringing it up now."

"I'm not ashamed of loving you, Holden," I countered through my tears. "Is it foolish? Absolutely." I glared back at him. "But at least I'm not a liar. I'm not the one trying to pretend that our past didn’t happen!"

"You got over it." His nostrils flared, a sure sign that he was furious with me. "You were with him."

"And thinking of you."

He flinched. "Stop."

"Why?" I demanded, delirious with pain. "I thought you wanted me to talk." Recklessly, I taunted him. "I thought you wanted the truth."

"We were dead and buried two years ago," he snarled. "You got with my brother. My goddamn brother! You were his girl –"

"Only because you stopped wanting me!"

"Oh my god, can you even hear yourself?" he roared, livid now. "Do you have any idea how pathetic you sound bringing up our past like this?"

"I don’t care!" I cried, throwing my hands up. "It's how I feel."

"I don’t want to hear about your feelings," he roared. "I mean it. I'm not fucking having this conversation with you again. You were quite happy to run to Chris when we ended, so as far as I'm concerned, you can keep fucking running. Find someone else to talk feelings with. Maybe Presley can console you, or one of the other douchebags from the swim team, because I'm not interested."

"I'm not trying to get back with you, asshole!" I sobbed. "I'm telling you how I feel. There's a huge difference."

"Still not interested."

"Fine." Trembling, I dropped to my knees and then shifted onto my belly before wiggling backwards out of the archway. "I won't say another word."

"Wait –" Snaking a hand out, he grabbed my wrist. "You said that you did exactly what you were told to do that night." He frowned in confusion. "Who told you what to do? You said he." Emotion flashed in his eyes. "Who's he?"

"It doesn’t matter."

He tightened his hold on my wrist. "Tell me."

"Don’t touch me," I spat, ripping my arm free and giving him back his earlier words. "Don’t put your hands on me. Ever again, Sketch."

Slithering out of the treehouse on my belly, I recklessly dropped onto the ladder beneath me, not even flinching when my shoe slipped and I lost my footing.

In that split second, I made a decision as I dangled precariously from the ladder.

A decision to be done.

I saw the realization dawn in Sketch's eyes and I knew he could read my thoughts in this moment.

"Don’t you dare," he warned, eyes flashing with panic as he lunged for me.

Without an ounce of hesitation, I uncurled my fingers from around the ladder and just let go.

"Romi!" I heard him roar after me, but I didn’t open my eyes. "Jesus Christ, Romi!"

Keeping my eyes closed, I let the wind take me and prayed for an unlucky landing.

I prayed for nothing.

To feel nothing ever again.

Feeling the branches tear at my flesh, I made peace with my decision to end my life and unlocked my limbs.

The ground rushed up to meet me and then there was nothing.

Nothing but darkness and pain.