3rd book the Devil May Care Series
Remember Lucas King? The suicidal kid who can barely stand to get up in the morning because he's just that tired of life? Lucas has struggled with depression since he was just a kid, always feeling like he was neve...
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I wipe the sweat of my forehead with the hem of my shirt, breathing heavily after a late night session of ball with Milan. We were currently in his backyard, practicing after coach had practically complained about how we needed to start taking the sport more seriously.
I had rolled my eyes and told him to suck my dick but Milan let it get to his head, like always. Maybe if I thought I was going to live forever, I'd care more but I didn't want to live forever so it wasn't something I was worried about and it bothered the shit out of Milan—it's currently why we were arguing about it.
"I just don't get it," Milan shakes his head, frustrated. "You love basketball, why would you just want to throw it all away?" He asks, letting the ball roll away from us as he searches my face for answers.
I shrug, "I don't see myself playing basketball forever, Milan." I reply gently, "It's just not something I want to do in the future." I look away from him, guilt eating away at my chest because Milan has seen me at my fucking worst and he's been trying his hardest to keep me from diving down the deep end again.
He's quiet for a moment, his eyes on the ground before he finally speaks up again, "I just thought it'd be something we do together."
I don't respond, simply because I don't know how too. Instead, my eyes wander over to the girl sitting above the roof—I couldn't tell you how she got up there but she did. I watch as she flickers with the lighter in her hand, completely spaced out as she stares at it and my heart races in my chest because I know that whenever that lighter is in her hand, nothing good is going through her head.
I could tell she wasn't mentally all the way there and maybe we all weren't but something about her screamed to me that she was more dangerous than she let on and yet I couldn't stay away. It was supposed to scare me away, not excite me in ways that made me question my own sanity.
"She and Dad have been arguing a lot." Milan murmurs, his eyes following my line of sight.
"Why?"
Milan cringes, "He saw the marks on her thighs and flipped his shit, I don't think I've ever seen him so scared." He explains, "He's never been in that type of situation and I think it finally hit him that she really isn't happy and probably won't be for a while—it's bothering him because he thought a family would be what she needed." He finishes, quietly.
"How'd she react to that?" I swallow thickly.
Milan tilts his head, "She didn't," He tells me, "She walked out and when she came back, she smelled like gasoline and fucking fire." He shudders, "I don't even want to know what she did." And almost like she knows we're talking about her, she turns her head to meet my eyes.
She doesn't smile or wave. She merely just stares with those haunted eyes and I shiver. I wanted more than anything to know what was going on in that head of hers despite how afraid I was, something told me I'd regret it.
