tears over beers | schlatt
inspired by tears over beers by modern baseball
(kinda angsty, i think ! it gives right person wrong time if you know what i mean)
when i was just a boy (fifteen or so)
Schlatt slouched in his seat, letting the scratchy polyester bus fabric dig into his neck. He stared out the window, where the blurred shapes of trees whipped past, and cursed every adult in his life for making him endure this. A field trip. A whole damn day of pretending to care about ecosystems or migratory birds or whatever Mr. Dugan had rambled on about last week.
He would’ve survived if it weren’t for the seating arrangement.
“Schlatt, buddy,” Dugan had barked before they boarded, “pair up! Can’t have anyone alone.” Which was why, somehow, Schlatt’s luck had landed him here. Next to her.
He hadn’t even seen it happen. He’d been too busy standing off to the side, hoping Dugan would forget about him altogether, when suddenly—bam. She had plopped down right next to him. The girl from his chem class. The pretty one. The really, really pretty one.
She was so close he could smell the faintest hint of strawberry from her lip balm or shampoo or something. And now she was pulling her notebook out of her bag like this was normal. Like his entire nervous system wasn’t short-circuiting.
Why me? Why’d it have to be me? He stared harder out the window, trying to will his body into stone or mist or any form that didn’t involve sweating through his hoodie in December.
Her knee brushed his. Schlatt flinched like he’d been shocked, his stomach tying itself into knots. Was he sitting weird? Did he look weird? God, do I smell?
“So,” she said, her voice casual, but loud enough to cut through the noise of fifty teenagers and a diesel engine. “You’re in my chem class, right?”
Schlatt turned to her, his throat dry. Words were supposed to come out—something clever or at least passable—but instead he croaked, “Yeah.”
She smiled. God, she had a nice smile. That only made it worse.
“I thought so. You’re the one who did that whole rant about how lab goggles are a scam?”
“Oh.” He scratched the back of his neck, heat rising up to his ears. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”
“You’re not wrong,” she said with a little laugh. “They’re pretty flimsy for how much they cost.”
Was this… banter? Was she… agreeing with him? Schlatt’s brain scrambled to respond, but his mouth just hung there, slightly open, until the silence stretched too long.
“Anyway,” she continued, undeterred, “do you actually care about this field trip? Or are you here for the ‘mandatory participation’ grade like me?”
He could’ve said something—anything. He could’ve told her how dumb he thought all of it was, how he’d rather be anywhere else, or how Dugan’s attempts at being “cool” made him want to gouge his ears out.
But instead, he shrugged. “I dunno. It’s fine.”
She tilted her head at him, eyebrows raising slightly. “Huh. Okay.”
The pause felt heavy, like she was waiting for him to add more. He didn’t.
She gave him a little nod, like she’d decided something, then turned her gaze out the window. Her knee pulled away from his, and Schlatt instantly missed the warmth.
The rest of the ride stretched on, the bus noise blending into an endless drone. Every once in a while, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She didn’t look back.
When the bus finally screeched to a stop, she grabbed her backpack and stood without a word. Schlatt stared at her retreating figure, stomach sinking.
By the time they got off the bus, she was already chatting with someone else, laughing at some dumb joke. Schlatt shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, scowling at the ground.
“Stupid,” he muttered under his breath. “So stupid.”
What was he supposed to do now? Go up to her and say something? It felt like too much time had passed, like the moment had died and anything he tried would just make it worse.
Instead, he trailed after the group, half-listening to Dugan’s voice echo through the woods. His mind stayed stuck on her, though. On the way her smile had faltered, just a little, before she looked away.
when i moved away from home (100 miles or so)
The bass from the party thumped through the walls, vibrating the beer Schlatt held loosely in his hand. The red solo cup was barely touched, its contents sloshing halfheartedly as he leaned against the kitchen counter.
Frat parties weren’t his thing. Hell, frats weren’t his thing. But his roommate, Jake, had dragged him here, insisting that “college memories” didn’t make themselves.
Now, Jake was nowhere to be found, probably off playing some ridiculous drinking game or making out with someone in the living room. Schlatt had done his part: mingled, laughed, and even tossed in a joke or two about the questionable amount of pumpkin-themed beer. But the air felt too thick, the music too loud.
He wasn’t a total wallflower anymore. He’d left most of that behind when he moved out of his hometown a hundred miles away. College had been a clean slate. He’d figured out how to carry a conversation, how to laugh at himself, how to make people laugh with him instead of at him. Still, places like this didn’t feel like him.
With a sigh, Schlatt slid the cup onto the counter and slipped outside.
The back porch was mercifully empty. Strings of patio lights cast a soft glow, their bulbs swaying slightly in the autumn breeze. He leaned against the wooden railing and let the cool air seep into his hoodie.
And then he heard it, a soft creak of the screen door behind him.
“I thought I saw someone else sneak out here.”
Schlatt froze for a second too long before turning his head.
The girl from the bus. From sophomore year chemistry class. The one whose knee had bumped his while she tried to talk to him and who’d given up when all he’d managed was a mumbled shrug.
She stepped closer, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket. She looked the same but older, more sure of herself, her face framed by strands of hair that looked effortlessly perfect.
His heart skipped a beat. Or maybe it just stopped entirely.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he said before he could think better of it.
Her brows lifted. “What?”
“I just—” He shook his head, laughing under his breath. “Of all the places. I didn’t even know you went here.”
Her lips quirked up into a smile. “Small world, huh?” She leaned her shoulder against the railing beside him, tilting her head slightly to look at him. “Schlatt, right? From chem?”
“You remember that?” he blurted, surprised.
She gave a soft laugh. “Well, yeah. You were the guy who tore apart lab goggles like it was your personal vendetta. Hard to forget.”
“God,” he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Please don’t tell me that’s my legacy.”
“I thought it was funny.” She grinned, leaning in just slightly. “Besides, it’s not like you were wrong. They were a scam.”
This time, he smiled back—an easy, genuine smile that felt like it belonged on his face.
“So,” she continued, her voice teasing, “you gonna tell me why you ditched the party? Or are you still the ‘I dunno, it’s fine’ type?”
The memory hit him like a slap, and he laughed, equal parts mortified and amused. “Oh, come on. You’re not still holding that against me, are you?”
“Hey, I’m just saying.” She shrugged, her tone light but her gaze steady on him. “You left me hanging. That was brutal.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ve been beating myself up about that for years.”
“Years?” She raised a brow.
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the heat creep up to his ears. “I was kind of an idiot back then.”
She tilted her head, her smile softening. “You weren’t an idiot.”
“Trust me, I was,” he said with a wry chuckle. “I just… I didn’t know how to talk to people. Especially not, uh…” His words faltered for a second, but he pushed through. “Not to girls who actually wanted to talk to me.”
Her eyes lingered on his face for a moment longer before she smiled again, smaller this time. “Well, you’re doing fine now.”
That made his chest feel a little lighter.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter. “You, uh… you look good, by the way.”
“Thanks,” she said, her cheeks heating up slightly in the glow of the patio lights. “So do you.”
Schlatt didn’t reply right away. He was too busy trying to keep himself from staring at her, at the way her lips curved when she smiled. He wasn’t one to believe in fate or destiny or any of that poetic crap. But damn, if this didn’t feel like the universe was handing him a chance on a silver platter.
A chance to redeem himself.
Not just with her, but with the version of himself he used to be,the awkward kid who had spent way too many nights replaying that stupid bus ride in his head, wishing he’d said anything remotely cool.
Now, standing here with her, he wasn’t scrawny anymore. He wasn’t hunched over his desk in chem, trying to disappear into the background. He was taller, broader. His voice didn’t crack every time he spoke. And for the first time in years, he felt like maybe he could get this right.
“So,” he said finally, shifting to lean against the railing, “what about you? You ditch the party because it’s lame or because someone dragged you here against your will?”
She laughed softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “A little of both. My roommate’s obsessed with frat parties. She swears they’re the best way to ‘experience college.’” She made air quotes with her fingers, rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t convinced, but I figured I’d give it a shot.”
“And? How’s the ‘experience’ so far?”
“Terrible,” she said, deadpan, then grinned. “The beer tastes like watered-down regret, the music’s loud enough to make my teeth vibrate, and some guy tried to impress me by doing a keg stand. I’m pretty sure he threw up in the bushes after.”
Schlatt snorted. “Classic. Nothing says ‘college memories’ like public humiliation.”
“Exactly.” She tilted her head at him, her smile lingering. “What about you? Did someone drag you here too, or are you secretly a frat boy?”
He barked a laugh. “Do I look like a frat boy?”
She pretended to study him, her eyes flicking over his frame. “You’ve got the height for it. Maybe a little too scruffy, though. They’re usually all clean-shaven, right? And they wear those pastel polo shirts. You’re missing the uniform.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I could pull off salmon pink. I’d look like a defective highlighter.”
She giggled, and Schlatt felt a small surge of pride. Look at me, making her laugh. Progress.
“So, what’s your excuse?” she asked, crossing her arms as she leaned her hip against the railing. “Why are you here?”
“Roommate dragged me. Said I needed to ‘live a little.’” He smirked, shrugging. “Figured I’d come for the free beer and leave before anyone started screaming ‘chug’ at me.”
They fell into an easy rhythm, trading sarcastic jabs and stories about college life. She told him about her nightmare professor who wore socks with sandals and her roommate’s obsession with Taylor Swift. He told her about his part-time job at the campus radio station, where he mostly sorted through old CDs but occasionally got to be on-air, which felt “weirdly powerful.”
“I can’t believe they let you behind a microphone,” she teased. “What if you just start ranting about goggles again?”
“Hey, people need to know the truth.” He held up his hands defensively. “I’m doing the public a service.”
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, and Schlatt couldn’t help but think about how natural this felt.
The conversation drifted into familiar territory—small towns, high school, shared experiences.
“Do you ever think about those days?” she asked, her voice softer now. “Like, high school? Feels like forever ago.”
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Mostly about how dumb I was back then. Definitely didn’t have my shit together.”
“I don’t know,” she said, looking at him thoughtfully. “You seem pretty together now.”
Her words hit him harder than they should’ve. He wasn’t used to compliments like that—not ones that felt this genuine.
“Thanks,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I, uh, I try.”
For a moment, they just stood there, the distant thrum of the party fading into the background. The patio lights cast a soft glow over her face, and Schlatt felt the words rising in his throat before he could stop them.
“I’m really glad I ran into you,” he said quietly.
She looked at him, her expression unreadable for a split second before her smile softened. “Me too.”
His heart thudded in his chest. He wasn’t sure what this meant, if it was fate or just dumb luck, but he wasn’t about to let the moment slip away.
Schlatt leaned back on the bench, one arm draped over the backrest, his other hand loosely gripping a bottle of soda. The park was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hum of cars. It wasn’t a bad spot for a hangout—neutral, laid-back, the kind of place where you could talk without having to shout over bad music or a dozen other voices.
That was the problem, though. The talking.
“...and then Brad said he just needed ‘more.’ Can you believe that?” She huffed, crossing her arms as she turned to look at him. “More? What does that even mean?”
Schlatt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn’t cruel—he got it. Breakups sucked. But this was the third time this week she’d brought up Brad, and the guy was starting to feel like a ghost haunting his Saturday night.
“Yeah,” Schlatt said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. “Classic Brad move.”
She tilted her head, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean, ‘classic Brad move’? You didn’t even know him.”
“Don’t have to,” he replied, taking a sip from his bottle. “He sounds like every guy who peaked in high school. Let me guess: football team? Wore a backwards cap even when it didn’t make sense?”
She let out a small laugh, the corners of her mouth twitching upward before the somber expression returned. “He wasn’t like that. I mean, yeah, he was on the football team, but he was sweet. At least, he used to be.”
Schlatt hummed noncommittally, eyes drifting to the swingset in the distance.
“Do you think I pushed him away?” she asked suddenly, her voice quieter now. “Like, maybe I was too clingy or something.”
Schlatt looked at her, the bottle halfway to his lips. “What? No. That’s stupid.”
She flinched slightly, and he winced at his own bluntness.
“I mean,” he amended, softer this time, “it’s not on you if the guy couldn’t handle a normal relationship. Sounds like he just… sucks.”
“He doesn’t suck,” she said quickly, defensively. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “Not completely, anyway.”
Schlatt fought the urge to groan. He didn’t get it. Here she was—smart, funny, thoughtful, and stupidly pretty—and she was still hung up on some guy who had the emotional range of a brick.
She sighed, her gaze dropping to her lap. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m the problem. Like, if I just worked on myself—got more confident, lost a little weight, maybe learned how to keep a conversation interesting—maybe he’d come back.”
Schlatt sat up straighter, the frustration bubbling in his chest. “What are you even talking about? You don’t need to change anything about yourself for anybody, least of all some dude who ditched you for ‘space.’”
Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. “I’m not saying I’m doing it for him,” she said quickly, though her voice wavered. “I just… I want to be better, be more, you know? For me. But also for him. I don’t know—it’s complicated.”
“It’s not that complicated,” Schlatt said, his tone sharper than he intended. “He’s not worth it. You’re sitting here tearing yourself apart over some guy who probably doesn’t even realize what he lost.”
She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she stared at him like she was weighing his words, trying to figure out if he was right or if she was just fooling herself. But then, as if to herself more than to him, she murmured, “I just… I want him back, Schlatt. That’s all. If I can fix myself, maybe I can make him realize we were supposed to be together.”
Schlatt stared at her, the frustration building in his chest. He didn’t know how to explain it—how to make her see that she didn’t need Brad or his empty promises to be whole. But the words felt stuck, like they were too big to say all at once.
“You don’t need him,” he said instead, voice quieter now. “You’re not broken, and you don’t have to be ‘better’ for someone else. You’re already enough.” He added the last part with more force than he intended, his voice coming out a little rougher than he wanted.
She shifted uncomfortably, looking down at her hands, like she couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “I know, logically. But… It just feels like if I get better, if I’m just better than I was before, then maybe he’ll come back and realize it’s me he needs. Maybe then we can be the way we were.”
“Seriously?” Schlatt couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. “So you’re just gonna spend all your time trying to turn yourself into someone else? Someone he might like more?”
“Yeah, it is,” he interrupted, his voice tight. “You’re sitting here convinced that if you change, if you just become a better version of yourself, he’ll come back. What kind of relationship is that? Do you even hear yourself?”
She winced at the heat in his words, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she fell silent again, eyes fixed on her shoes. He could feel the weight of the silence between them, and his stomach churned.
He didn’t know what to say next—didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t want to fix her, but the whole thing made him angry, made him want to shake her out of this fog she’d gotten herself caught in.
“You deserve someone who sees you for who you are,” he said after a long pause, softer this time, trying to calm himself. “Not someone who needs you to be a version of yourself you’re not.”
“I don’t want to be someone else,” she said, her voice small now, “but… if I can just prove to him that I’m worth it…”
“You don’t have to prove anything to him,” Schlatt snapped, then immediately regretted it. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm the storm that was brewing inside him. “I just… I don’t get why you’re doing this to yourself. You’ve got so much going for you. You’re better than Brad. You always have been.”
She didn’t answer right away, but Schlatt could tell the words weren’t landing like he wanted them to. She just stared off into the distance, her mind clearly elsewhere.
“You know,” he said, his voice a little quieter now, trying to find some way to reach her, “you’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna find someone who actually gets you. Someone who doesn’t need you to change, because they’re gonna love you for who you are. Not some Brad-shaped ghost who doesn’t even deserve your time.”
She finally looked at him then, her expression unreadable.
“I just… I don’t know how to stop thinking about him,” she whispered.
And there it was. Schlatt knew he wasn’t going to win this fight tonight. She was caught up in something he couldn’t fix, something deeper than just words. And he hated that.
“Then stop,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “You deserve better than this. Don’t waste any more time on someone who doesn’t see what he’s losing.”
The words were there, but somehow, they felt hollow now. She wasn’t hearing him. She wasn’t ready to. And that, more than anything, frustrated him.
But all he could do was sit there, the silence growing thick and uncomfortable between them.
He wasn’t sure what else to say. And she wasn’t sure how to stop feeling the way she did.
when I felt that I should leave, (midnight or so)
The party was a mistake. Schlatt knew it before he’d even shown up, before he’d even agreed to come along like some kind of idiot. He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d been expecting. That things would somehow change between them? That if he stood close enough to her, if he lingered in her orbit long enough, she’d finally turn her head and see him standing there?
Stupid. He should’ve known better.
The house was packed, the air humid with sweat and alcohol, a suffocating mix of cheap cologne and cheaper beer that made his stomach churn. He stood near the edge of the living room, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed and a red Solo cup dangling loosely from his fingers. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached, but he didn’t relax it. Couldn’t. Not when he could see her across the room, right in the center of it all.
She hated parties. She’d told him that, hadn’t she? Said the noise made her feel small, like she was drowning in the crowd. But tonight, here she was, in the middle of the chaos, smiling like she belonged. Like she wasn’t just another person trying to stay afloat.
That name alone made Schlatt’s blood boil. The guy had everything Schlatt hated—a big, dumb grin, a shirt a size too small to show off muscles he probably worked on more than his GPA, and that cocky swagger that somehow made girls fall over themselves. She wasn’t immune to it, either. That was the worst part.
Schlatt’s stomach twisted as he watched them. Brad leaned in close, his mouth right next to her ear, saying something Schlatt couldn’t hear over the bass of whatever shitty remix was playing. Whatever it was, it made her laugh—one of those full, unrestrained laughs that Schlatt always thought were rare and special, at least until tonight. Now, she was giving it to him.
He drained what was left of his drink in one bitter gulp.
It got worse. Of course it got worse.
Brad’s hand was on her arm now, fingers curling just enough to make it clear it wasn’t accidental. She didn’t move away. And then, because apparently the universe loved to kick him when he was down, Brad’s hand slid lower, down her back, settling just above her hip. Schlatt’s grip on the empty cup tightened, the plastic crackling under his fingers.
When Brad’s hand dipped lower, giving her a firm, casual slap on the ass, Schlatt’s chest felt like it was going to explode.
She didn’t pull away. She didn’t tell him to fuck off, or even brush his hand aside. No, she beamed. Beamed like he’d just handed her the moon, and Schlatt thought he might be sick right there, in the middle of this goddamn party.
He pushed off the wall, the cup slipping from his grip and bouncing forgotten onto the floor. He shoved his way through the crowd, not bothering to excuse himself as shoulders and elbows bumped against him. The front door was in sight, and all he could think about was getting out of there, getting away from her and Brad and the noise and the suffocating crush of people.
The door slammed shut behind him, muffling the pounding music and drunken chatter. He sucked in a breath of cold night air, the chill biting at his skin, and let it out slowly.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. His Yankees cap was shoved into his back pocket—he’d taken it off earlier because she’d once said he looked better without it. Another stupid thing he’d done for her that she probably didn’t even notice.
He stalked over to the curb and sat down heavily, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the cracked pavement under his boots. His head was spinning, but not from the alcohol.
What the hell had he been thinking? That she’d just stop liking Brad because he’d told her he was an idiot? That she’d suddenly look at him and see him for what he was—someone who gave a shit, someone who’d never treat her like some accessory at a party? He snorted bitterly at the thought. Yeah, right. She didn’t glow for him. She never had.
She didn’t know her worth.
Not in this town, not with these people, and sure as hell not with Brad. She didn’t know how fucking special she was, didn’t see what he saw—the spark in her laugh, the way she bit her lip when she was trying to hold back a grin, the way she made his shitty days feel just a little less shitty. She didn’t see it. And even if she did, it wasn’t for him.
The door behind him opened, spilling noise and laughter into the quiet night, and he tensed. For a split second, he thought maybe it was her. But when he heard a different voice, one of her friends, shrill and drunk, shouting something about shots, he exhaled and stayed where he was, hidden in the shadows.
He didn’t want to see her right now. Didn’t want her to see him like this.
So he sat there, staring at the cracks in the pavement, letting the cold settle into his bones, letting the bitterness churn in his stomach. He stayed until the noise from inside faded into a distant hum, until he could feel the sting behind his eyes and swallow it down before it spilled over.
All he could hope for was that time would fix it. That she’d get better. That she’d stop wasting herself on assholes like Brad.
That maybe, one day, she’d see him.
The air had turned colder. Schlatt didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there on the curb, staring at the cracks in the pavement like they held the answers to his mess of a life. The door to the house kept swinging open and shut, spilling snippets of muffled music and drunken shouts into the night. He tried to tune it out, to let the bite of the cold keep him numb, but he couldn’t stop replaying the scene in his head: her glowing under Brad’s touch, preening like his attention was a prize.
It had made him sick. Still did.
He heard the door open again, the sound barely registering until he caught the familiar click of her heels against the concrete. At first, he thought he was imagining it, but then there she was, stepping into the night like a shattered version of herself.
The sight of her, mascara smudged and shoulders trembling, made his stomach twist. But instead of getting up and rushing to her side like he always did, he stayed seated, staring as she sank onto the curb a few feet away from him.
“He was making out with someone else,” she choked out after a moment, her voice cracking like a broken record. “Right there in the kitchen. Like I wasn’t even—” Her words dissolved into a sob, and she buried her face in her hands.
Schlatt didn’t move. He didn’t reach out. His hands stayed firmly planted on his knees, clenched into fists, the cool night air biting into his knuckles.
She sniffled, looking up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “Schlatt, I don’t—why does he do this? Why do I—”
He cut her off with a bitter laugh, sharp and jagged. “Why do you? Really, that’s the question, huh?”
She blinked at him, her tear-streaked face crumpling in confusion.
“You’re sitting here crying over Brad. Brad, who’s probably too drunk to remember your name right now. Brad, who doesn’t give a single shit about you, and you’re still killing yourself trying to make him notice you.” He stood, pacing a short line in front of her, his hands gesturing wildly as he talked. “You don’t see it, do you? You don’t see what you’re doing to yourself.”
“No.” He cut her off, his voice rising. “You don’t get to interrupt me this time. You’re so fucking blind. You walk around like you’re nothing, like you have to earn scraps of attention from some meathead who doesn’t even deserve to look at you. And all the while, you’re stepping on people who actually care about you. You’re stepping on me.”
Her lips parted like she was about to say something, but he didn’t let her.
“You glow, you know that? You light up a room just by walking into it. But not for me, of course. Not for the guy who actually gives a shit. No, you glow for Brad. For assholes who treat you like garbage, and then you come crying to me like I’m supposed to pick up the pieces.”
The words came tumbling out, unfiltered, raw. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe he’d just reached his breaking point, but he didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t hold it in.
“I like you.” The confession hit the air like a gunshot, loud and final. Her breath hitched, and her eyes widened, but he didn’t stop. “I fucking like you. And it kills me, because no matter what I do, no matter how many times I’m there for you when guys like Brad screw you over, it’s like I don’t even exist. You’re so busy chasing people who don’t deserve you that you can’t see what’s right in front of you.”
Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
“And you know what? I can’t do it anymore.” His voice cracked on the last word, but he didn’t care. He stood up, brushing his hands against his jeans like he could shake off the weight of everything he’d just said. “I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself for someone who doesn’t care. I can’t keep sitting here, pretending I’m okay with being your second choice—or your last choice, or whatever the hell I am to you.”
She stared up at him, frozen, her tear-streaked face illuminated by the glow of the streetlight. For once, she didn’t have anything to say.
He let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter. You’re never going to see it. And I can’t—” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep watching you kill yourself for someone who doesn’t give a shit while you treat me like trash. I’m done.”
Her breath hitched, a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks, but he didn’t stay to see what she’d say. He couldn’t.
Schlatt turned and walked away, the cold night air biting at his skin as he left her sitting there, crying on the curb. He didn’t know where he was going—just that he needed to get the hell away. Away from her, away from the mess he’d just made.
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a/n: one thing about me is i cannot keep a consistent format. I apologize greatly for switchin it up on you guys again. i hope you guys like this one !!!! you guys are all sodear to me so dont hesitate to yap or send asks or whateva, i promise even tho i dont post all that often im still very much here. okay coool.