The Lies We Told On Thursday Nights

3. Wednesday: Pessimistic Diners (Levi)

Hey guys! Welcome back!

So, there is mention of suicide in this book, just a heads up. And also, I display an image of parents who do not understand mental health. I know some people have parents/guardians/dfriends who lack understanding, but there will always be someone out there.

Levi

Wednesday-7:45 a/m

Ridley punched me playfully in the shoulder. "She totally likes you." He drawled, gesturing to the nearly naked burnette sitting in the boothe across from us.

She kept glancing up, fluttering her eyebrows and pursing her lips.

I shut my eyes and turned my head away.

Maybe she did like me, but I could come up with 100 reasons that make more sense.

For example:

I have something in my teeth

She's being held captive and is trying to signal too me

She's having a medical emergency.

I shooed his hand away, curling forward to avoid being glared at. I grabbed one french fry and dipped it into ketchup repeatedly, drowning them in edible blood.

I liked the color of the blood. I grinned.

Ridley threw his head back in laughter, obviously amused.

"You're so funny Levi," he quaffed. "Your act is so classy."

Getting a bit angry, I glared up at him. His brown eyes shimmered with annoyance.

He didn't get it.

He continued laughing, "I mean, playing a humble naive quarterback totally makes you more attractive. But personally-" he leaned in as if sharing a secret "I found you much hotter when you were a bad ass bad boy."

I recalled my days of ruling the halls-I was bad. So bad. Bad in every way.

And then things got bad-real bad and I guess my bad went into hatred and...

The words were overlapping in my head, a migraine forming as I failed to complete another thought spiral.

I shook my head, that was not true.

I did not brag, not because I was humble, but because there was nothing to brag about.

And I was not naive, because god only knows what I've seen.

And, finally, I hardly care about the rough sport, it was my forceful parents.

Once again, he did not get me.

But he was here—and he wasn't trying to get me to do anything for him or expect me to do anything else but sit here.

He rolled his eyes, slapping me hard on the back.

I winced. I did not like being touched.

"God, Levi, whats wrong with you today?" he complained, sliding off the table and into the booth next to me.

His eyes were wandering to the girl, his fingers itching towards his phone. He did not care. No matter what I said, how much I open up,...he would never listen.

So, I shook my head and mumbled I'm fine. Like I always do.

He hesitated for a second, I really hope he would say "no you're not." Or "let me help you."

But he just scoffed, "Whatever dude. I say you need a girl."

I shrugged, pulling my milkshake closer to me.

Ridley is probably my closest friend. He's the only person I allow myself to be relatively vulnerable around, and by vulnerable, I mean not always smiling.

For most people, I always smile, always flirt...but for him I often shy away from such attitude. And that's fine because a) he doesn't go to my school and b) I don't think he even pays attention to anything I do or say.

"Whatever," I groaned.

I admit I was being very dark and broody, but today happened to be an exceptionally terrible day.

It was the first time my parents mentioned it to their friends. Not to the doctors or write-ups. They mentioned my "accident" this summer.

My parents own a country club and after my "accident" my parents decided to take some time off...to take care of me? No, to fly to Jamaica and leave me at a hospital.

The board of directors have been whispering conspiracy theories due to their sudden leave, and why their beloved son stopped coming to country club, and how they have a therapist on speed dial.

Early this morning my mother got a phone call. I couldn't sleep, I rarely can nowadays.

It was the country club's sponsor who demanded an answer. I tried to cover my ears because I knew my mom would spill some lie.

But she did worse.

She told the truth.

Not the truth where her son has a chemical imbalance in his brain and suffers from Major Depressive Disorder.

But the story that her son is "very troubled" and "an embarrassment to the family" and how they are very very sorry for their "disturbed, sick son."

She hung up and probably continued to message her secret affair.

After that, I laid awake for the remaining hours until the sun came out. Completely still except my pounding headache and watery eyes.

Once dawn broke, I got dressed, ate breakfast, jumped into the car with my friends, strut down the hall and played the class clown in class. As if everything was normal.

"A girl" I mumbled, trying to fathom the thought that anyone would like me not just my looks.

Believe me, I've had countless one night stands with teen girls, I've broken many hearts. I was, no denying, your stereotypically quarterback.

Except stereotypical quarterbacks don't try to slit their wrists.

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