Thugs and Kisses by Sue Ann Jaffarian Read Free Book Online Page A

that once school started, the chance of our friendship continuing was meager. Donny was too driven by peer pressure and popularity. He always had to be the center of attention, even if it meant at other people’s expense.”
    I nibbled a piece of pepperoni and thought about what I was going to say next. Dev didn’t rush me, which is good, because my mind kept reverting back to Greg and our fight. Donny and Greg: both painful things to think and talk about, yet here I was, immersed in both. But in spite of Donny being dead and Dev needing answers, the issue with Greg crowded my mind and pushed all other thoughts aside, demanding attention like a crying, angry child.
    After Greg declared we needed a break, we stared at each other in shocked silence, neither believing the words that were now out in the open—raw and stinging, like a fresh, jagged wound. Both of us seemed afraid to say anything more, frightened perhaps to make matters worse, worried that even the most carefully uttered comment might pour gasoline onto the already heated blaze of anger and frustration. Over the two years we’d been together, we’d had our share of arguments, but this was a full-blown fight, the kind of blowout that leaves couples changed forever—sometimes for the good, sometimes not. After a few moments of awkward silence, Greg bundled Wainwright into his van and drove off, leaving me in a mixed state of shock, anger, and pain.
    When Dev arrived, he found me sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room, sobbing my eyes out into the afghan I kept on the sofa. I don’t know how long I’d been there, but when Dev rang my bell and received no response, he’d tried the door and found it unlocked. He got me up and held me until I was cried out. Between hiccups and nose blowing, he managed to understand that Greg and I were no more.
    Dev had done the decent thing and said we could talk another time. It had to be soon, but it didn’t have to be on the heels of my break up with Greg. I told him it didn’t matter; why not get all the pain over at once? But Dev knew I needed some time, even if I didn’t. He left, promising to be back around dinnertime.
    In between Dev’s departure and return, I spent hours pacing, moving from room to room, clutching my favorite photo of Greg, crying, and calling myself a bleeding idiot—and sometimes calling Greg worse. When I was too tired to pace any longer, I crawled into bed and spent time staring at the ceiling. The pain was so acute that even the gunshot to my ass a few years ago couldn’t hold a candle to it. I literally thought I was going to die, that my heart was going to stop dead in its tracks just as Donny’s had the night before. For a minute, I even envied him: better dead than to feel this way. It was a pain I was sure would never end, not ever, not until the day I did finally die.
    The phone beside the bed rang, bringing me out of my stupor of disbelief and agony. I only answered it in the hope it was Greg. Maybe I had pulled a Rip Van Winkle. Maybe a day or two, or maybe a week, had passed, and he was calling to tell me the break was over. Quickly, I snapped out of my wallowing and into a muddled rage. How dare he call the shots! If he wanted an us relationship, then us , meaning me , had better be part of the break up and/or make up decision. I snatched up the phone and barked hello into the receiver.
    But the caller wasn’t Greg. It was Zee, and as soon as I heard her loving, velvety voice, I melted once again into a soppy, broken-hearted mess. She wanted to come right over and comfort me, but I told her no, that Dev was coming by soon to talk about Donny Oliver. I promised her I’d be fine. I promised her a call when Dev left, if it wasn’t too late. She told me to call back no matter what time it was. Then I called my father and assured him everything was fine. No sense worrying him over what was going on with Greg and me. All Dad knew was that there had been a murder at my