Jet Black Hearts / l.h.

𝟐𝟎

Sunday, October 20, 2018
3:00 p.m.
Basketball Court

Luke tosses the ball towards the basket. Once again, he makes it in, nothing but net. The ball makes a whooshing sound as it falls through.

"Show off," I tease, grabbing the ball after it bounces against the concrete.

Luke smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes like usual. I don't think he wanted to hang out with me today, but he still said yes to when I asked. I know I didn't really want to go anywhere today; however, my mother had other plans. She practically dressed me this morning and even combed my hair. It hasn't been combed for at least a week. She told me that I was going out today, no matter what. So, I thought, why not make it at least bearable and hang out with Luke?

When I texted Luke, asking if he wanted to go somewhere with me, he said of course and asked where we were going. I told him that I just needed to get out of the house or else my mother would have an attack of sorts, so he suggested the little park with slides, seesaw's, and a run-down basketball court.

I walked to the basketball court, and I found out that he walked, too; his house is just around the block. When I arrived Luke was already shooting some hoops in his wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants.

Ten minutes ago, Luke tried to teach me how to shoot a basketball the right way (because apparently there is a wrong way). He gave up after he realized that I have no basketball skill.
Luke, however, does have the skill. He can maneuver the ball behind his back and between his legs in smooth movements. He can make these crazy shots, too.

Now I'm the rebounder and Luke is the shooter.

I bounce pass the ball back to Luke. He takes it, sets his feet, and shoots. The ball hits the backboard and circles the rim before falling out. It's the first one he's missed.

I step over and take the ball into my hands. When I turn to give it back to Luke, I see him with his hands on his knees, his eyes closed. He takes a few deep breaths with his head ducked.

"You okay, Lucas?"

Luke takes another deep breath before straightening. "I'm good."

He holds out his hands and I pass him the ball skeptically.

"Are you sure?" I ask, concerned.

Luke bounces the ball. "Yeah. I just got a bit light-headed for a moment, but I'm fine."

He dribbles the ball and goes to shoot, but I place a hand on his bicep. He stops and looks down at me.

My eyes flicker between his shining blue eyes, trying to read him. He bites his lip nervously and looks away.

"Are you sure?" I ask again.

"Yes." He shoots the ball. It goes in.

Luke fetches the ball and shoots again. He doesn't make eye-contact with me again, and I know he doesn't want to talk about it. So, I let it go for now. He doesn't pressure me about my destructive habits, so I won't pressure him about his.

He shoots for only a few more minutes before his movements start to get sluggish and his posture droops. He drags his feet, his chest taking in ragged breaths.

He lugs the ball up, and I grab the rebound. Luke holds out his hands, expecting me to pass it to him again, but instead I step over to him.

"Maybe we should take a break."

He frowns, concern washing over his exhausted face. "What's wrong?"

"Let me rephrase." I point to him. "You should take a break."

Luke shakes it off. "No, I'm fine." He offers his hands for the ball.

I rest the ball on my hip. "You should just take a seat," I press. Okay, I know he doesn't want to talk about it, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let him collapse. He just doesn't look healthy, and honestly, it kind of hurts.

Giving in, he sighs and ducks his head. I smile lightly, but he doesn't see. He isn't looking at me.

I lead him towards the grass, but after a few steps, Luke's legs give out from under him and he trips.

I let out a small yelp in surprise, trying to catch him as he goes down. Thankfully, he catches himself on a knee, his hands balancing himself on the ground. I let go of his arm and kneel in front of him.

Luke's head is ducked again as he squeezes his eyes shut.

"Sorry," He mumbles. He shakes his head and blinks.

"Don't apologize," I rush out. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I just felt really weak for a second," he says. "I'm okay now."

He starts to stand, but I pull him back down gently. He looks at me with his blue eyes.

"Take it easy." I search his face. His skin is pale and his cheeks are hollow, as usual, but his eyes are sunken in. His entirety resounds exhaustion and weakness. "What did you have to eat today?" I ask, treading on thin ice.

Luke looks away, embarrassed. He slowly shakes his head.

My heart drops. "Why?" I whisper. I know that some people have self esteem issues and issues with their self-worth, but Luke doesn't seem like the type of person to do this to himself or his loved ones. Why would he put himself through something so horrid? He has a wonderful personality; I would like him if he was 90 pounds, 130 pounds, or 200.

Luke sighs. It takes a few moments, but he finally replies. "I gained ten pounds this past week." His voice cracks. "I felt disgusting."

I study him long and hard. "When was the last time you ate?"

He hesitates. "I had half an apple for breakfast yesterday."

That's not nearly enough fuel for a semi-active teenage boy. Plus, he's like six foot and has to be, at most, 110 pounds. He's got anorexia and it's obviously not healthy whatsoever, but it's not my place to tell him to get better and that he needs to try harder. But I also don't want him to fade away.

Clenching my fists at my sides, I ask quietly, "Could you try to eat some more?" The question hangs in the air.

Luke looks up at me. He doesn't reply for the longest time and just studies me, shame residing in his eyes. He must be thinking over how to answer, because I know that he doesn't want to, but he knows that he should. He's smart enough to know that what he's doing isn't good for him.

"Okay."