Page 18 of Broken Pieces
Skylar doesn’t even flinch. “God, I fucking hope not.”
“Good. I hate that shit.”
“Same.”
Neither of us moves.
We just sit there, shoulders nearly touching, the sky bleeding orange and violet above us.
For once, it doesn’t seem like the world is trying to crush me. And maybe we’re still both fucked in different ways. Still angry, guarded, waiting for someone to give up on us.
But right now, sitting on this rooftop with her, nothing about it seems impossible.
Chapter Three
Skylar
Theceiling’scrackedagain.
The plaster’s torn across the surface, a fault line carved by years of silence and bad decisions. This place isn’t held together by bricks or hope. It’s stitched shut with spit and shame. The kind of glue they slap on broken girls and dare them to hold.
I lie here, eyes locked on that crack, barely blinking.
I’m not tired.
Not really.
But everything presses down heavier than it should.
My body sinks into the mattress as if gravity has had enough of pretending to be gentle.
This isn’t sleep pulling me under. It’s something else.
Something quieter.
Meaner. The kind of weight that doesn’t rest. It waits.
Stillness is easier than thinking. Easier than carrying the full force of what last night did to me.
Zane fucking Rivera.
Even his name punches me in the gut.
I keep seeing his face. That smirk with teeth. That grin that doesn’t just promise destruction, it promises pleasure. The kind that lights a match, tosses it into your world, and whistles while everything burns.
And what’s worse is that he made me laugh.
Not one of those hollow things I hand out to keep people from looking too closely. It was real. One stupid laugh on one even stupider rooftop, and somehow it cracked something open. And now I can’t shove it back in.
The bed creaks when I shift. My body feels like it’s made of cement. My shoulder hits the edge of the bunk rail, but I don’t care.
I just stare.
That crack in the ceiling could split open and swallow me whole, and I’d probably thank it.
The fan clicks in the corner, trying to keep rhythm with my thoughts. But all I can think about is him.
That crooked smile.
