Bad Boy, Good Boy (boyxboy)

19 - good, but only halfway

A/N: Yes, it's an update.

In return, I would like votes and comments, because I'm greedy :)

Chapter 19 – good, but only halfway

Well, it's Monday.

An almost blue Monday, if you will.

I haven't had a cigarette yet, and I almost don't want to. I also don't want to let them go to waste. (You see my dilemma here? Fuck dilemmas.)

I twirl an unlit one between my fingers, trying to focus on something other than the clock (the tick tock, the tick tock, the ticking that's making me slowly lose my mind), because Heather is late. I think her sanity is late, too. She does something crazy and then, if one's lucky, she'll think about it and maybe, if one's lucky, she'll change her mind and then, if one is really lucky, might even be the chosen one, then maybe she'll even apologize.

It's raining outside, and usually it would calm me, at least a little, but today I want to have superpowers and make those raindrops break into a blizzard.

Even though I have been hoping for it, I haven't seen Devon in my dreams.

Even though I have been hoping for it, I haven't seen much of Sam in real life. It seems her mother hasn't noticed. It seems Sam has been lying to her which isn't unlike her, the lying part, but lying to her mom is questionable.

But maybe I'm overthinking it, right?

I would play bad cop if Sam would show up for long enough, but she says she's busy with the play. The play where she has five lines. And she says she has to memorize those lines with the help of a friend. And I've been wanting to spit 'Liar, liar, pants on fire', but I haven't. To be honest, it wouldn't make much sense either, to say it, because every time I've run into her, she's either been wearing a skirt or a dress.

I drop the cigarette and curse under my breath as I lean down to pick it up just as Heather steps in. Shouldn't be much of a surprise to her that I curse.

"You're not going to light that in here, are you?" she raises her eyebrow as she walks in and dumps another stack of papers next to the already existing ones on the table. Today her hair is in a braid. She pushes her glasses up on her nose.

I huff. "Push the wrong buttons and I just might."

"Should I even ask how you're doing?" She sighs and sits down. The chair makes an ugly sound. Sometimes I think my brain makes that same sound if it wants to shut down, but the updates keep coming and delaying it.

I force a smile. "Well, it's always polite to ask," I say, rolling the cigarette in my palm. There's an ugly bruise on the side of my left wrist. 

"How are you doing, Lucas?" Heather's face is untouched, unchanged. Touched by make-up, yes, but her features don't change, even though I'm more than sure she'd like to strangle me to my senses. I don't think that'll work, though. It could only make me more insane. And that, she does definitely not want.

I tilt my head. "Considering I feel like a sick patient – okay for a patient," I say, listing all the ways, narrowing my eyes at the ceiling as if I'm thinking hard, but that list has been existing for quite some time. "Considering you treat me like a criminal – you shouldn't, because I haven't done anything criminal." Except when we snuck onto private territory with Devon. "Considering you keep me away from my friends – a bit devastated, to be honest, but considering I have more important things in mind-" Devon. "- then I guess I should thank you?"