Page 63 of Busted Dreams

I was wrong.The reality of losing my shot at this scholarship was so much worse than I had imagined. This year had been hit after hit, until I barely felt like I could stand on my own two feet anymore. The disappointment was so heavy on my chest, it made breathing an active chore instead of a natural human phenomenon.

“Jonah?” Astrid tried to pull the letter from my rigid fingers, but I literally couldn’t force myself to let go. Why was I holding onto something that was the source of so much pain? A symbol of a life full of disappointments that lay ahead of me?

“Oh no. I’m so sorry.” Astrid had risen from her chair and perched herself on the arm of my chair, reading the damn letter over my shoulder.

Why was I here with Astrid? This wasn’t what I wanted, a front row witness to my fucked-up luck. Folding the letter, I stuffed it back in the envelope, then back into my backpack. This time with none of the care I’d used before.

“Jonah, look at me.” She put a timid hand on my shoulder, and I would have tried to put her mind at ease before, but not right now. There wasn’t enough care left in my system to make myself feel better.

When I did look at her, there was nothing but compassion. I supposed that was better than pity.

“This is a setback for you, but not the end of the road. There are lots of other scholarship opportunities. I’ll help you start looking for the right ones. We’ll know what not to put in your essay next time, okay? I mean, even that person wrote you a personalized letter telling you how amazing your essay was. That’s huge. Everyone else gets the standard,we’re sorry to informyounotification.”

Finding my voice, I wanted to be optimistic and tried to say positive words, but they wouldn’t come out. What did was my truth. My reality.

“I get that. I do. But I don’t think you understand, Astrid. This scholarship was everything I was banking on. Stupid, I know, but I was so sure I’d have a good shot at getting it. Without a parent or guardian to sign the FAFSA for me, I can’t apply for student loans or grants through there. I’ve looked for other scholarships and applied for a few, but they were for laughably small amounts.” Laughing bitterly, I tore my glasses off of my face and tossed them in my bag. I was done. Done pretending to fit in. Done trying to fit the intellectual stereotype to go further. It didn’t matter anyway. “At least I’ll have Beck here when you go off to college. We all know Rhys won’t be here. Thatcher’s already doing it on his own, he’s only staying here for Trinity.”

“Stop. Just stop. You’re feeling sorry for yourself and it’s way over the top. Don’t make me get out my camera to document this moment. I assure you, you’ll regret it later.” She pressed more firmly on my shoulder, her fingers digging into my skin, as if she could ground me.

I knew it wasn’t an empty threat. She’d done exactly that when I’d found out my mom had died years ago without my knowing it. Astrid was so convinced she could show me my grief was a real thing and I wasn’t the unfeeling person I’d thought myself to be. Funny really, since I had been crying at the time. It just felt wrong in that moment, to have hated her and resented her life choices for so long.

And it had worked. I had seen something on the screen I hadn’t seen in myself. It was almost comical this was now her go to when she wanted to bang our heads against the wall. But I needed some time to process. Some time to get my thoughts together before immediately jumping back into brainstorming more ideas of how to escape this fucking town.

Already, my hands were starting to shake and my breathing was too fast. I needed to get out of here, and now. Hopefully, Mollie could fit me in today. Otherwise, I was at risk of doing something stupid to get my anxiety levels down.

“I know you want to make me feel better and all, but I just can’t be here right now.” I stood up and swung my bag over my shoulder, ready to dart away from everything to do with this place.

Astrid grabbed my wrist. “Great, let me get my stuff and I’ll come with you.”

Hell no. I didn’t want her to know how weak I was. It was a weakness. Most people thought that living on the bad side of town was a life sentence of addiction. It was, only my addiction was pain and not drugs. How could I explain that to someone like Astrid?

I couldn’t. I wouldn’t even know where to start.

“Sorry, not today.” I tugged, but her grip was too tight. The only way to get loose was to rip her hand away, and I couldn’t do that to her.

“Nuh uh. If you think I’m going to let you leave to wallow in your anger and disappointment, that’s too bad. I’m your friend. And friends don’t let their friends hurt alone. Okay? They don’t.”

Standing there, I waited for her to slide her arm through her backpack, then pick up the tumbler she had set on the table, all while holding on to me. She didn’t trust me, and that was smart. Given half the chance, I’d run out of here too damn fast and make sure she couldn’t follow me.

Because…now what was I supposed to do? Tattoos had become my haven of sorts.

Then it was like someone set her movements to slow motion as she tripped over the chair she’d moved closer to mine and her hand with the tumbler crashed against my chest. The lid popped off too easily and bright red liquid splashed all over my light green polo shirt.

Shit.

“Oh God. That was a complete accident. Here, I have a few napkins in my bag.” Finally letting go of me, she hastily retrieved some crumpled napkins, then started furiously dabbing my shirt.

“This is a fruit punch drink mix. I think it might come out. Damn, you look like someone stabbed you repeatedly.” Too quick to register what she was doing, she lifted my shirt. “Oh good, you have a T-shirt on underneath. Take off this shirt, and I’ll wash it as soon as I get home. At least the majority of the wet and sticky is on the top shirt.”

Then it became the most ridiculous struggle of me trying to keep my tattoos covered and her trying to undress me.

“No, it’s fine,” I grunted.

“It’s not, Jonah. I’m such a freaking idiot.” Then, because I didn’t want to accidentally hit her, she managed to pull most of my shirt up, and my undershirt with it.

I knew the second she saw my tattoos because she stopped. Not only that, but she froze with my torso exposed to anyone who might happen to walk by this part of the library. I had at least a little bit of luck left since no one ever visited this corner.

Hanging my head, I waited for her disgust. The chances of her understanding why I had so many tattoos was less than one percent, but now I looked so much like the lowlifes I desperately wanted to separate myself from.

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