Page 95 of Until the Ribbon Breaks

Before I can dodge her, she reaches behind me, shoves her hands down my back pockets, and pulls out my cell.

“She gave it back when I came home,” I tell her before grabbing it. The last thing I need is for her to snoop and find countless incoming calls from Hopewell Recovery.

“So, why haven’t you been answering my calls or texts?”

“Because I didn’t know what to say to you,” I respond honestly, pushing my phone back into my pocket. I wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t, giving me no choice but to continue. “Look, I don’t think we—”

“You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?”

Like a coward, I nod and watch as her face crumples and more tears fall.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing,” I stress.

“Then why?”

The fact that she isn’t throwing swings at me is shocking.

“Because I can tell you aren’t feeling it anymore,” I respond and instantly kick myself for putting this crap on her, so I add, “And I’m not feeling it either.”

“I thought we loved each other.”

“Kassi ...” I reach for her arm, but she steps away. “I’m not trying to be a dick.”

“Yeah, I know,” she lashes. “You don’t have to try, you just are one.”

“Kass, come on,” I call out as she storms off, but all I get is her middle finger from over her shoulder before she slams her hands against the door and walks back inside.

Not a minute later, Brent comes out with a snide look on his face. “Damn, that chick ispissed. What did you say to her?”

“Nothing, man. Only that I didn’t think we should see each other anymore.”

“Come on,” he says. “I gotta take you home.”

“I thought we were chilling at your place.”

“Emily threatened to cut my balls off if I hung out with you tonight.”

“Man, these girls are tripping,” I complain as we walk to his car. I’m more irritated that I’ll be stuck at home all night than I am about Brent taking Emily’s side.

When Brent slows down before pulling into my drive, I stop him.

“You can let me out here.”

“Cool,” he says. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

“Later.”

When I walk in, I’m hit with the stench of weed. All the shades are drawn and the television blares from the living room. I aim straight for the stairs, but stop when I see a handful of people I’ve never seen before hanging out on the couches.

“Want some?” one of the guys asks me, holding up a joint, which garners Kurt’s attention.

“Nah, he’s a fucking loser,” he says and when I look over at my mother, she’s laughing.

I should pull myself away and go to my room, but I can’t.

I’m stuck, missing the comfort of being locked up. At least there, nobody stomped on my heart like these two do. How can I even call this woman my mother as she snickers at me as if I’m a fucking joke instead of her son?

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