Suicidal

Chapter 30: - An Epicurean philosophy

"The ache in his lungs was unbearable. He needed to tell her...what? That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved? That he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn't pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her? That without meaning to, he'd begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near? He needed to thank her for this new hat."

—Leigh Bardugo, six of crows

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CHAPTER THIRTY;

EPICUREAN PHILOSOPHY --

If I had my druthers, I would have kept my cordial friendship with Scotty and Olive completely hidden from my mother, in hopes she would never find out. Unfortunately, that clearly wasn't the case in my situation...I mean, she barely tolerated the pair. However, as I spent more luxurious evenings with the hoodlums, my mother's burning eagerness just about managed to climb to the surface, until she couldn't hold it inside of her unlocked chest anymore...

"When on earth will I meet these 'friends' of yours?"

"Listen, mum: they can't come round or anything."

"Why? It's not like we're murderers!"

I resisted the urge to face-palm right there and then; parents knew nothing about adolescence. I didn't bother drowning in empathy though, instead, I just deeply held the conscience to digress. "Are you sure about that? Collin constantly runs around the bloody pace clutching his sword — perhaps military school would be a good idea for him? Just a suggestion."

Again, she shook her head. "Okay, now you're being inane, Lara." She took a deep breath, as if this proved to be a difficult task for her. "Why don't you go and invite your friends round for dinner, tomorrow? Me and Collin really, really need to meet 'em."

I compartmentalized the benefits and downfalls of mum's proposition, highlighting the pros and cons. Perhaps it would be best to prove to mother that it's not a BAD thing to be friends with outcasts. And maybe, just maybe, she would actually come above "tolerating" them.

It was a deep wish, but I had to try.

Logging into Facebook, I scrolled through my friends list—my eyes widening in pure shock at how many virtual friends I had—and clicked on Olive's profile when I spotted her.

My fingers attacked the buttons, but as soon as I typed the disastrous invite, ("Hey Olive, my mother desperately -- yes I mean DESPERATELY wants to meet you and Scotty, can you both come over tomorrow? P.S. She won't ever take me seriously if the answer is a no, not to blackmail or anything...") , I went with the anxious flow and sent it.

Awaiting her response, I pondered of whether to forward the message to Scotty — perhaps he was online at the time? Well as a fact, he wasn't. And even if he was, I still wouldn't message him; it's not like I wanted to seem clingy or desperate. It's pretty much compulsory to paint a good image of yourself to others.

If only Picasso had painted my image...

But as I comprehended with the reality of the situation, my phone vibrated. My fingers picked it up in an instant.