Game Over, Pretty Boy. ♕ || STGOPB

♕ Chapter Three ♕ - That was almost poetic

But the more I tried, the more futile it felt. The pieces of the mug were scattered, broken beyond repair, and as I crouched there on the floor, a sob escaped my lips.

I was breaking too.

It felt like I was picking up parts of myself—fragmented and fragile, just like my heart. The tears came before I could stop them, sliding down my cheeks as a sob escaped my throat. I pressed my hand to my mouth, trying to quiet myself, but the pain was too much. I sank further to the floor, cradling the pieces of porcelain, feeling them cut into my palms.

It wasn't the cup. It wasn't Billy. It wasn't even Lucas, not entirely.

It was everything. The weight of my unresolved feelings, the shame I couldn't shake off, the anger that still festered inside me—I thought I had moved on. I thought I was strong enough to push it all aside, but it came rushing back, as if all the walls I'd built crumbled with a single careless apology.

Why couldn't I let it go? Why did it still hurt so much?

I felt like I was drowning, and as much as I wanted to keep fighting, to hold on to whatever pieces of myself remained, I didn't know how.

The more I tried to gather the porcelain, the more my hands shook. Tears spilled over my cheeks, dripping onto the cold floor, as I crouched lower, sobbing into my hands. The dam had burst, and there was no stopping the flood. I had held it together for so long, but now, in the quiet of my apartment, surrounded by broken pieces, it all came crashing down.

It wasn't just about the cup.

I was collecting the pieces of myself—my broken heart, my shattered sense of self-worth, the fragments of who I used to be. No matter how much time had passed, I wasn't whole again. And sitting there, on the floor of my kitchen, sobbing into my hands, I didn't know if I ever would be.

Desperation clawed at my chest. My breathing became ragged, shallow, and I grabbed my phone with shaking hands. I couldn't do this alone. Not right now.

Farkle. I needed Farkle.

I dialed his number without thinking, my fingers fumbling over the screen. The phone rang once, twice, and then his familiar voice answered.

"Riley?" he sounded concerned right away. He always knew when something was wrong.

"I—" My voice cracked, and I wiped furiously at my tears. "Can you come over? Please."

Farkle didn't hesitate. "I'm on my way. Milo's with me, we'll be there soon."

I hung up and let my phone drop to the floor beside me. I pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them as I let the sobs take over. I didn't care about the broken cup anymore. I didn't care about anything.

All I wanted was for the pain to stop.

I sat there, knees pulled to my chest, the broken pieces of the mug still scattered around me. The apartment was silent, too quiet. It should've been comforting, but instead, it just amplified everything inside my head. My thoughts wouldn't stop spinning, circling back to the same questions, the same pain.

Why can't I let this go?

I thought I had moved on. I'd spent so many nights convincing myself that I was okay, that Lucas didn't matter anymore, that what he did wasn't a reflection of me. But sitting here, surrounded by the shattered remains of a stupid mug, it didn't feel like I had moved on at all. It felt like every step I'd taken forward had been ripped away in an instant.

You made him better.

Those words kept playing over and over in my head. Better? Better for who? What about me? What has this done to make me better? All it had done was break me—chipping away at my self-worth until I didn't even know who I was anymore.