Page 78 of Not Made to Last

Hewouldn’t.

He’s not that cruel.

And I’m not naïve. It’s not as if I didn’t anticipate this exact thing to happen at some point, but not this early into the school year, andfuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

As if life hadn’t screwed me enough today, it needed to kick me while I was down. I shouldn’t be surprised… but I guess that’s the thing about surprises—they come out of nowhere, when you least expect it. One minute you’re in the arms of the boy you’ve dreamed about for years and the next…

Unease settles in the pit of my stomach, spreads through my bloodline until I can no longer think. No longer breathe. I push my untouched tray of food away from me and stand, ignoring the amused looks and snickers from everyone in the cafeteria.

This is all one giant joke to them.

Iam one giant joke to them.

I wait until I’m outside the cafeteria doors to pull out my phone and send Dom a text.

It’s out.

Adrenaline replaces my fatigue, and I keep my eyes glued to my phone, waiting for a response as I rush toward my locker. I need to grab my things, get to my car, and I’ll figure out the rest once I’m there.

I’m leaving now.

I take the last corner to my locker and falter a step before slowing, then stopping completely. A group surrounds my locker, all facing it, laughing, and I should turn around. Leave. Never come back. But I can’t.

My feet feel like lead as I take step after step toward my demise. The people around me step back, parting to let me through. They all watch, anticipating the moment I see what’s waiting for me.

Potted plants—so many of them—all cut off at the stems. Some pots are tipped over on their sides, leaving a mess of dirt and remnants of plants and leaves on the marble floors. My mind races, trying to make sense of it all. Why would…

And then I remember.

And I wish I could forget.

“You have a lot of plants,” he said.

“I like to challenge myself.”

“How so?”

“See if I can keep things alive.”

But there’s nothing alive about these plants. They’re all dead. Just like me on the inside.

“What’s up,Mini Delgado?” some motherfucker says from behind, too much of a pussy to say it to my face.

You’d think at some point, tears have to dry up, right? I guess I’m proof that they don’t.

I turn swiftly, my heart in my throat, and push past the crowd and right into a solid chest. I try to move past him, but he won’t get out of the way. “Move,” I grind out, but there’s no sound to my heartache.

“Don’t,” he says, his single word just for me.

I attempt to shove him, but he grasps my elbows, bends at his knees to look at my face. Honey brown and filled with pity, Oscar puts his mouth to my ear. “Don’t let them win.” And then he turns to stand beside me, his hand still on my elbow as he guides me away. “Keep your head up, Ollie. Eyes clear.”

A strangled sound forms in my throat.

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