Play Pretend

16: Fighting for Her

16: Fighting for Her

Eleanor Kings

I rolled around in bed, trying my best not to make a sob. I couldn’t; I wasn’t about to give in to him. Cole, or Connor, I didn’t even know anymore.

A small choke broke through my wall of resistance, and that little crack became the downfall of my heart of stone. I started crumbling down in tears, my pillow soaking up as I cried my eyes out.

No! I hate this… I hate this… I vowed that I would never cry over trivial things again.

But is this trivial to me?

Deep inside, I knew the answer.

No. This meant the world to me.

He meant the world to me.

I hugged at my knees, curling up into a ball, my howling becoming louder with each wail. I heard the stairs creaked, signaling my mom finally leaving me alone. She would know better.

All the time I was thinking about him, my hatred for him intensifying more than ever. How he affected me so seriously, how he could make me fall this hard, how he could make me this damaged. I could imagine him now, probably sitting around with his FBI friends and discussing business, joking about the girl whom he dated just to get information out of her.

I supposed he would be happy, fulfilling his mission, doing his job.

While I was a pathetic crybaby in my room, hugging my teddy bear and sobbing myself to sleep.

Connor Rogers

I hate myself.

I fucking hate myself.

“Fuck it!” I bellowed, punching the wall so hard that I heard a crack on my knuckle.

Great, now I broke another thing.

“Connor?”

It was Carrie, and for once, she actually looked scared of approaching me. The thought of making people scared of me again infuriated me even more than before, and picking up the closest thing to me – a basketball trophy – I chucked it with all my might across the room. It hit the wall and crumbled into bits. Ginny started wailing next door.

“I know you’re upset, but please don’t scare my baby,” Carrie said.

“Fucking – God – Damn – IT!” I yanked all my books from the desk, causing sheets of paper to take flight.

A gush of depression surfaced from the anger and suddenly I was crying, sobbing silently as I crumbled in the floor, my forehead pinned to the ground.

“Why am I so messed up?!” I wailed, to no one in particular.

“Connor, you’re not messed up,” my sister came to sit next to me, “everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not as much as I do.”

“Well… Some make more than others,” she added truthfully.

“Gee, thanks for trying to cheer me up.”

“What I’m saying is,” Carrie thought for a moment, “I suppose you could thank that Xavier boy in a way.”

Immediately I was glaring at her, “Don’t mention that fucktard’s name.”

“Language, Mister,” like always, Carrie only lectured, “but if it wasn’t for him to break the secret, I doubt you’d ever be able to tell her the truth. Thanks to him, you don’t need to live a lie.”