f i v e
"Love me like you do . . . Touch me like you do . . . " Static disrupted the song, but for once a modern, pop station was coming through the radio.
Depression's fingers tapped along on the steering wheel as we waited in the truck for Violence to come out of the little gift shop near the beach.
"Did you speak to him?" He asked.
I nodded.
"He seemed upset." He murmured, staring out at the ocean.
"Yeah." I said.
He turned his gaze to mine, expecting me to elaborate.
I sighed. "He asked me to tell him a lie."
He nodded, sated for the moment. "Then he'll get over it. He appreciates your honesty, even if it hurts. He just needs a moment."
Violence came through the door then, holding the door for some giggling raven haired girl.
I recognized her as a student from the high school. She spoke to Violence for a moment, and he offered a slight, polite smile.
Suddenly, just before they parted, she stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. His eyes met mine as she pulled away.
She waved, blushing, and then settled onto a bike.
Violence slid into the truck, setting the bag onto my lap. I focused my gaze out the windshield, biting my tongue to resist the urge to ask about the girl.
I busied myself by taking out my bottle of coke and dousing a drink as Depression pulled out of the lot. My eyes drifted back to the girl, watching her peddle down the road. My skin tickled with apprehension as we passed her, knowing that Violence was watching her too.
It was silent for a while, and I realized that I'd probably stop talking for another few months for lack of words, but then Depression cleared his throat.
"I want to go to the city."
I blinked in surprise.
"What?" Violence asked, voicing my thoughts.
Violence, Depression, and I visited the city around 5 times a year to go clubbing. However, it was very rare for Depression to actually propose the idea. He must have truly been bored, which was also rare. He was usually content with our apartment.
"The city?" I repeated, forgetting my silence.
"Yeah." He nodded, long fingers flexing over the steering wheel. His blue eyes flickered to mine for a brief second before focusing back onto the road. "I want to go - tonight."
Violence and I remained silent, unsure of what to say. Usually, Violence called the shots, but when Depression wanted something, his word was law.
I waited for Violence to respond, keeping my eyes on my hands.
"Yeah, alright." He said after a long time, settling back into the seat.
He didn't touch me. He rarely looked at me. I hated his coldness.
Depression pulled over to the side of the road, near the woods. I slid out behind Violence and shut the door behind me. Depression locked the car as Violence climbed over the cement barrier. He waited for me, helping me over as Violence disappeared into the trees. I stared after him as I waited for Depression, dropping my gaze in frustration.
Depression took my hand, sensing my mood, and we followed behind Violence.
A few moments later, we arrived at the rocky shore of a lake. Violence was already kicking off his shoes - shirtless, pulling his socks and dark jeans off. He waded into the water in only his boxers as I settled onto a larger boulder. I set the bag at my feet and Depression reached in to grab one of my novels. It was called Venomous by a Christopher Krovatin. He shed his jacket, letting it fall onto a edge on the boulder. He settled on top of it, flicking to his bookmark - a lucky two-dollar bill.
My eyes drifted to Violence, now nearly chest-deep in the water. I kicked off my own black Vans and threw a leg over Depression's shoulder. The sun warmed my skin and illuminated the darkness of Depression's hair. I took a blue-ish black strand between my fingers and admired the color.
When we were still in highschool, some girls deemed Depression "Raven" because of his hair. He was less admired than Violence, who was the "bad boy" essentially. The girls liked Violence because he seemed exciting, but Depression was mysterious and collected. They seemed to seek me out in particular, and I still don't understand why.
Sometimes, I felt like I was losing them.
Violence mostly.
He was unpredictable and unloyal.
Depression, however, seemed to always be around like a dark, comforting cloud. Whenever Violence was gone, mentally or physically, Depression was always . . . there.
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A.N.
There will be a sequel. Just letting you know. I have the end of this book all figured out. I just have to figure out how to get there. I have no idea how long this book will be, but I know we have at least ten chapters left.
I'm very excited about, not only the sequel, but the next few chapters. After all, the city can be a dangerous place for someone as troubled as Lass. Don't you think?
YOU ARE READING
Depression.
Teen Fiction➳ " I called him 'Depression' because he was the living, breathing definition of the very word. " ➳
