Except for Dakoda, everybody in Yellowwood is a fake.
The town baker may look like a kind, gentle man that bakes bread to sell for a living, but I know better. His wife may seem like a polite, generous woman that gives the bread her husband makes to homeless people living on the streets, but I know better. It’s a good thing that their son Dakoda is pure and isn’t a fake like his parents.
That kind, gentle man that bakes bread for a living beats his son, and that polite, generous woman that donates her bread to the less fortunate has her way with him when she feels like it.
Dakoda never did anything except for being born into a dysfunctional family. Honestly, he’s a good kid. He gets good grades, and he’s got a genuine heart of gold. Constantly, he puts others needs in front of his own. He doesn’t deserve what his parents give him; he deserves so much better.
Maybe that’s why we’re best friends though. Maybe the fact that both of our families are dysfunctional brings us together and gives us a special bond that other friendships don’t have. We share something in common, and that makes our friendship that much stronger.
“Pres, what’s the matter?”
Dakoda and I were sitting at the town park on a bench. After the thing with my brother, I called Dakoda and he told me to meet him here. He’s always been supportive when it came to things like these, and in return I try my best to be supportive about his situation with his parents also.
“Everything,” I whisper, sliding his hands in between my thighs to try to get some warmth in them. It’s mid-autumn, and it’s extremely cold. The winds are always vicious this time of year in Washington. “Everything’s the matter.”
“Like what?” Dakoda asks, his head tilting to the side a little in an adorable way.
Even though he’s my best friend, I have to admit that he’s the cutest thing in Yellowwood. His red hair is fluffy and styled in a way that makes it feathery. Not only that, but his hair also makes him stick out like a sore thumb. Most of the residents here have natural hair color. Dakoda is one of the few that I know that have dyed their hair. The piercings all over his face don’t help either since he’s pretty much the only one who has them.
“It’s my brother.” We’ve been sitting here for about ten minutes, and I couldn’t bring myself to say what’s been on my mind up until now. I know that I can trust Dakoda, but sometimes I think that I shouldn’t be telling him about my problems, because his are so much worse than mine. I feel like a drama queen compared to him. “He’s…worse.”
“Worse?” Dakoda asks with concern laced in his words. “How so?”
I take in a deep breath, pain filling my lungs, and then let it out. “Drugs,” I whisper, hoping that somehow Dakoda will be able to make it all go away.
Silence fills the air, and I look in his eyes. They’re a bright blue; they’re livid – raging.
“That fucker,” Dakoda says so quietly that I’m not even sure if he said it or not.
I’m so out of it at the moment. I feel so betrayed by Logan. Not because he’s doing drugs, but because he couldn’t tell me about it. I thought we had the type of relationship where he could tell me anything, and I’d be there for him. I guess that all goes to waste once Mary died.
“He wouldn’t tell me, and that’s what kills me the most.” My lip is trembling, my voice is cracking, and I’m trying my best not to cry. “I thought we could tell each other anything.”
YOU ARE READING
Dead Hearts
Teen Fiction"Even though his family is broken just like mine, he won’t understand what I did. If I tell him what I did, he’ll think I’m just like the rest of them – fake. But then again, maybe I am just like them." Presley Adams' doesn't know what to do with he...
