Hard to Hold On - By Shanora Williams Page 0,21

The wake ended at ten but I had to stay after to help Aunt Macy clean all while Sharon hounded me like a dog and tried her hardest to get me to go out with her and a couple of classmates for some drinks. I think I’ve had enough to drink. Six glasses of wine has really gotten to me and it surprises me that I’ve even made it home safely.

Untying my tie and undoing the buttons of my shirt, I slide out of both and then head for the shower. I allow the water to run over me as thoughts of the shower-sex Natalie and I had a few days ago comes to mind.

Thinking about her petite body, full breasts, and her full lips that were placed all over me makes me throb and twitch. Damn it, I shouldn’t have yelled at her. I shouldn’t have been such an asshole about it. I’m such a fucking idiot and Mills is right. I deserve it. I deserve to be alone for letting someone as good as Natalie go.

I didn’t think she’d take it this way, though. She literally ran away from me. I sigh, realizing the shower isn’t much help and thoroughly wash myself before shutting the water off.

After drying off and tossing some shorts on, I head for the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. I shut the fridge and turn around but that’s when I spot a scrap sheet of yellow paper lying on the middle of the glass table. Noticing the familiar feminine handwriting, I snatch it up quickly.

Goodbye feels like the hardest thing to do

Goodbye is breaking my heart in two

Our love was real, and you knew

But I know you have love for me

Because I have infinite love for you

Goodbye is killing me right now

Goodbye is screaming so loud

For your faithfulness, I truly am proud

And I’m sorry for your pain

But it’s clear; I understand now

Reading the words causes my palms to become clammy and my throat to thicken. I swallow to get rid of the dry, closed in feeling but it’s no use. As I read over them again, I realize what I’ve really done to her. I’ve hurt her when I swore a million times that I wouldn’t. I’ve let my emotions take control of me and may have possibly ruined what we have. I wonder if she thinks we’re over. We’re not and I have to let her know it.

I drop the poem on the table then rush for my room to fish my phone out of the pocket of my dress pants. I dial her number immediately and the phone rings five times until it reaches her voicemail. I call again and again hoping she’ll answer me. I know she’s back in Miami by now.

“Shit!” I roar, knocking my books and everything else off of the corner desk as the phone goes to voicemail again. I shove the trophies off my dresser, push my mattress off the box spring, and kick clothes out of my way, but it still hurts. I push, throw, and hit anything that’ll possibly numb me—numb the pain, the aching—but nothing’s working. I’ve lost her. I’ve lost everything.

Running my fingers through my hair, I slouch down in the single folding chair against the wall, placing my elbows on my thighs. I can’t believe myself. I can’t believe what I’ve done. I have no choice but to go back to Miami to win her back. She may not take me right away but I’ll work for it. I deserve to work for it again. I swore up and down I would never let her go—that I would never hurt her, but I’ve just broken that promise. I hate myself for making her feel anything but happy. I should have put my feelings aside but I allowed my temper to get the best of me. I let the gnawing hole inside my chest get to me.

Tears fall but I swipe at them quickly and stand to my feet. I fight the urge to let the tears pour anymore but it’s no use. I’ve been holding it in all day and now it’s time to let it go. It’s time to release all that’s been pent up inside of me. It sucks that my parents are dead but I know they want me to carry on. I know they want me to be strong.

Slumping down on the edge of the bed, completely defeated, my face falls into my hands and the

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