Sɪᴄᴋ⁻⁻Jsᴄʜʟᴀᴛᴛ//Fᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄʜᴀ ᴘᴛᴇʀ 35

"What are you doing here?" I seethed through a clenched jaw attempting to make myself seem scary. I was terrified but I couldn't let Schlatt think he had the upper hand. I'm on the edge of tears and I feel my knees buckling but I can't let him know that my body still responds to his presence. 

I can't let him know that I still care. 

"I came here to talk," Schatt responded and inched a little closer. Upon closer look, his tie wasn't completely black like I initially thought. Instead, it was a deep forest green with emerald green floral designs. 

"You're going to ruin the wedding," I argued and stepped back. "Leave. Now."

"Olive please." Schlatt pleaded with his big chocolate eyes and downturned lip. It breaks my stupid heart to reject him even though this talk will offer us both closure. I want so desperately to know why everything turned out the way it did but I'm afraid I might forgive him. 

"Let's talk," Schlatt said softly. "For a few minutes, please." He extended his hand and looked into my eyes. I eyed his hand and shook my head. 

"Schlatt I swear to God, half of the guest list is a firefighter and will beat your ass. Leave."

He pulled back his hand and shoved it in his pocket. The anger grew on his face--red ears, toying with the collar of his dress shirt, hand running through his hair. Schlatt never got angry with me except for the incident but I know his mannerisms well enough to know him. 

"What will it take for you to listen to me?" He boomed and I clenched my fist. 

"Don't fucking yell at me," I said softly and his shoulders dropped.

"I'm sorry-"

"Leave."

Schlatt's mouth opened to say something as he stepped closer, taking his hand out of his pockets and extending it once more. 

"I said leave." Tears prickled my eyes but I remained stoic. "Now."

"Please."

I let the word linger in the air for a little while. It would be the last I'd ever hear of Schlatt. I never thought it would be a plead. 

At least he wants me now.

"Leave, Jared."

With one last stroke of my tongue behind my teeth, he was gone.

...

"Hey!" A drunken bridesmaid of whom I forgot the name bumped into me on the dance floor. "I found this paper with your name on it!"

She held a crumpled piece of paper between her manicured index and thumb. I grimaced and took it, thanking her in the process and squeezing through the crowd of people celebrating. It's been three hours since Schlatt left and it only makes sense that he intended to give it to me. 

I wandered outside the hall and ran my finger along the ridges. I want to open it and receive my closure but I don't. 

Open it.

I give in so easily to the tiny voice in my head and unfold the note, holding my breath and bracing for impact.

...

"How's it going boys my name is Schlatt and welcome back to The Weekly Slap." Schlatt sighed after his quick intro and let out a small groan. This video was the last thing he wanted to make but his feelings have been weighing on him like an anvil. 

"God, this is going to be a hard episode." He muttered as his character in Call of Duty began shooting people. "I wanted to put this video off for the longest time but there's only so much a person can take." His character hid behind a bush while Schlatt opened a separate tab on his second monitor to search up the lyrics to Sick by Dominic Fike.