Page 5 of Loverboy

I didn’t really want to clean up, either.

This way, I wouldn’t forget that I was a worthless piece of shit who didn’t deserve love.

Unable to resist the temptation of wallowing in my self-pity a little longer, I gravitated to the side of the bed and picked up the pillow in the spot Sofia used to sleep, pressing it to my face. It’d barely been a week, and the smell of her had already faded. I held my breath, knowing that I would finally unravel as soon as I let it go.

And I did. My chest shook as I exhaled, the air escaping my lungs in choppy hiccups I couldn’t control. It turned to heaving, and I buried my face into the pillow, openly sobbing. My mind reeled from her absence like a man in mourning, only she wasn’t dead.

She was sick of me.

“Is she coming to get any of this stuff or…” Jasper’s voice was soft and hesitant behind me. His hand found my back, rubbing soothing circles through my shirt that made my skin tingle. “Should we just have a bonfire and burn it all, for old times’ sake?”

“No.” I choked on a pitiful laugh.

I appreciated the way he never brought attention to my breakdown, always looking for a way to distract me. At the same time, I hated that he had seen me like this enough times to know exactly what I needed. My episodes were frequent enough that he’d learned how to deal with me, perfecting it to a science.

“She’s not coming back,” I croaked. “She’s just gone.”

“Look at me, Milo.” Jasper pulled my shoulder, turning me toward him and yanking the pillow out of my hands. He tossed it on the bed and cupped my face, demanding my attention. “You are my most important person. You know that, right?”

I looked down, shying away from his question. When I didn’t answer right away, he pinched my cheeks roughly. “Fuck, okay, yes. I’m your most important person.”

“Damn right.” He smirked, releasing my face and patting me on the shoulder. The warmth of his hand seeped through my shirt and into my bones. “You don’t need her. Not when you have me.”

His hand fell away, the loss of contact making my already sensitive stomach churn. I rubbed my shoulder where it had been, watching him rummage through my bedroom from top to bottom. I knew what he was looking for, but I didn’t offer any guidance. If he didn’t find anything, I’d take it as a sign to try again—not that I needed a sign.

If I wanted to end it, I would.

Regrettably, he didn’t miss a thing. Jasper found every loose pill bottle, whether it contained over-the-counter medications or controlled prescriptions, and stuffed them into his ever-present college backpack, which he wore like a second skin.

“Where’s her key?” He held out his hand palm-side up.

“I don’t know,” I lied, fidgeting nervously.

“You’re full of shit.” He nudged his head toward his expectant hand. “Hand it over.”

“Fine.” I scowled, reaching into my pocket and producing the spare key to my apartment. How dare he inconvenience me by trying to keep me from offing myself?

“Don’t give me that face,” he said tartly, taking the key and zipping up his bag. “We both know what you’re like. You’re lucky I don’t take everything and turn this into a padded room.”

My shoulders slumped, and I stuffed my hands into my sweater pouch, fingers brushing over the cigarette pack absentmindedly. He always made me feel like a baby, never missing an opportunity to scold or mock me. I didn’t hate it.

“How’s Mom?” I asked suddenly, a pathetic attempt to prolong his departure.

“She’s Mom,” he answered stiffly, straightening up and pushing back his hair.

We shared a grimace.

It was the family curse. We all struggled with mental health.

But I loved her like a real mother. She was warm and kind, and everything I missed about my own mom. I’d stopped grieving my birth mother’s death ages ago. She’d been dead long before that, back when my stepfather stole the light from her eyes.

I hated her for being sick. She’d turned into something bitter and ugly, and the same hands that once loved and nurtured began to strangle. My body recalled the damage before my brain could catch up, my head throbbing with a dull ache. The way she’d dragged me by my hair. The impact of my skull colliding with the wall.

Jasper’s mom would never.

When my girlfriend at the time had dropped me off on their doorstep and begged Jasper to convince his mom to take me in, she didn’t hesitate. It didn’t matter how little space they had; she made it work. I was never a burden, not to her.

I didn’t want Jasper to leave so soon. I regretted how little time we’d spent together after I moved out with Sofia. It didn’t feel right, having so much distance between us after all the years we spent with our lives fully intertwined. A part of me was missing, and I wasn’t sure anymore if it was the girl.