Survival of the Unfit

Chapter 22

Levi

I blasted the stereo on the short ride home back to the North side, ignoring the disapproving looks from the middle-aged mother getting milk at one in the morning from the grocery in the car next to me at the red light. I smiled at her, and she kept her gaze averted and disapproving. That made me chuckle.

It’s amazing. An hour or so ago I was ready to annihilate everything in my path, but by the simple act of destroying the physical memories, a huge weight seemed to lift off my shoulders. Like when your backpack's too full, and when you take it off, you feel like you can float. That's what it felt like. And it felt good.

I still had this underlying depression and shock over the whole thing though, there was no denying that. I mean, she cheated on me for six months straight. I'd never get to feel her fiery red hair brush against my arm or anything. Never kiss again. Never do anything with her, actually. Go back to being rather lonely.

But, I realized I had April. And Hailey too for that matter, but April! I finally convinced her to be my friend. I thought I'd never see eye to eye with her, but that candy mint color finally started to match her personality.

Deep down, something was tugging at me when I thought of her. Yeah, she's pretty damn cool. Got a killer music taste. Got kickass determination and fire. Got a nice face, nice smile, nice eyes. Nice body. Pretty little curves. Pretty smokin' too, when she's got her leather jacket on and a machete at her side, in that all black ensemble with the clunk of her boots. Wonderfully intimidating, a wonderful challenge to be taken on.

Wait. This is April we're talking about. Heroine of the South. Sassy and bullheaded and dangerous. Not to mention you just got out of a breakup hours ago, what kind of pig am I?

Nah, fuck it Levi. You're free. Casey's not going to be on your ass about this, I'm allowed those thoughts. Hell, I was allowed them for six months in stark actuality, since she had been cheating on me that whole time. You know what? Fuck Casey. I liked April. Goddamn, did I like April Swanson.

I messed with my hands in the driver's seat. Is this the next chapter in my book? I mean, is it acceptable to decide something so soon? No. No, you're not some man whore. But if I can put her all behind me, shove the memory of Casey to another continent of my consciousness with the fragile thought of another girl, then is there really anything wrong with that? The answer only became harder the more I thought of it, and it only worsened my once ecstatic mood. I headed inside and up to bed before I could ponder it any further. 

However, the thought was dismissed the next morning after waking up to a knock on my bedroom door. I was still in night gear, weapons and all, not to mention an unwelcome (and uncomfortable) case of morning wood. Fucking hormones.

"Lev, you ok?" I heard Dad ask. Mom mumbled something and Dad responded, "C'mon Syl, you know I'm no good at this kind of thing." Another sassy mumble. "I am man enough!"

"Give me a minute," I called, frantically pulling off my belt and jacket, throwing everything deep into my closet, stripping down to boxers and t-shirt before hopping back into bed and mindlessly leafing through apps. "Okay, come in." I remembered my visible problem and tucked it away right before Dad came in, being nudged by Mom. She shut the door with a smirk at Dad. He opened his mouth to say something, closing it after the small slam she left us with.

He turned to me and scratched the back of his head, avoiding eye contact. I shifted uncomfortably. "So, uh..."

I stopped scrolling through my calendars and narrowed my eyes at him, still standing awkwardly. Now see, I love my Dad. Cool guy, took Julia and I out for ice cream a lot, let us run rampant in parks and zoos and such. He's just...not the talking type, and Mom always throws him into talking situations. Not that she's much better, but Dad doesn't know how to take things seriously. That's why it was okay to receive punishments from him versus Mom. Aka, paintball for anger management.