Donovan King Breaks the Rules

slow-dancing

XXX

a r i a

"YOU'RE NOT EATING."

"I'm not hungry."

The con of being friends with Donovan was that, even if I could see right through him, he could do the same.

He sat in front of me, watching me eat—or attempt at eating. The farthest I got through my meal was a few bites of my burger, and one or two fries. I certainly wasn't used to eating at 2:00a.m.

"Five Guys has the best burgers around," he tempted, wiggling his beef sandwich in front of me. "At least take a couple more bites."

"I said, I'm not hungry."

Knowing that he couldn't force me to eat, he sat back and finished the rest of his meal. Slowly, he nibbled at one fry after another, and then he was done. What I didn't like was how quiet he was being though. I missed it when he spoke.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. I know I asked if we could go somewhere. It's my fault we're here."

"Don't say 'fault'. That makes it sound like a bad thing," he started, now sipping on his coke. "But yeah, it is technically your fault."

I chuckled, I couldn't help it. That was his way of cheering me up. At some points I was glad we didn't let our deeper relationship get in the way of our friendship—if we even had one of those.

"It's just that—I miss him."

"Champion really was a good cat."

"I miss him too, but I'm talking about my father. I... I really miss him."

Donovan's eyes softened. They went from turbulent water, to a calming forest green. A lot of the times, I wondered what he could see with them that I couldn't.

"He bought me Champion, did you know that? I was four years old. He was just a kitten. You should've seen my face, the look of love inside of it. One of the best days of my life."

The nasty sting of tears resided at the back of my eyes, and I looked down so Donovan wouldn't see them. He already felt bad for me, I didn't need the pity.

"Champ was one of the last things I had of my father. And now... he's gone too."

That was so long ago, when my father passed away. Eighth grade.

"He was drinking," the policeman had said, standing at our doorstep with a lowered hat at his chest. "His alcohol level was abnormally high before he crashed. We investigated the scene and concluded that that was the main influence."

Ever since that night, I couldn't stop crying, and it lasted for days. My eyes would be bloodshot in the morning, my body numb at school. And then when I finally got home, I'd bawl until all the water in my body was drained, leaving nothing but brittle bones.

I was close—so close—to losing myself. But the only things that kept me going were my mother and Champ, and that was all that really mattered.

"Can I tell you something?" I suddenly asked Donovan.

His ears perked up as he said, "Of course. Anything."

"Why do you drink?"

He hesitated for a moment, scanning my eyes as if to see something in them that he didn't want me to see. "What do you mean?"