Page 6 of Habits

Tilting my head back as I sit on the ground, I let the crisp night air kiss my cheeks. Stars are scattered all over the inky sky, playing peek-a-boo with the clouds and light.

Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply. The icy air entering my lungs, relaxing my muscles and letting me breathe.

I don’t know how long I stay like that—eyes closed as I simply breathe—but something interrupts my quiet. My eyes snap open and I see it, a shadow looming over the edge of the balcony.

Even in the darkness, I can recognize his face.

His hands are gripping the railing of the fence, his whole body tilting slightly forward. His head is bent, those taunting green eyes closed.

I keep quiet, observing his face in silence. In the darkness of the night when he’s relaxed and unguarded, so different from his usual, everyday self, his face doesn’t look as hard as it does in the light of the day. His lips aren’t curled into a sneer, nor do his eyes throw icy daggers at me. No, in the darkness, traces appear of the boy he used to be.

What happens next, I’m not sure. Maybe I moved or murmured something without realizing it. His eyes snap open suddenly. Even in the dim light of the moon, they shine brightly, like those of a cat.

He looks at me, and I look at him.

Not breaking the stare.

Not uttering a word.

There is intensity in his gaze. Need and desire mix with resentment but even that doesn’t make me break the contact.

It’s like there is something inside of him that’s holding on to something inside of me. Not letting either of us break free.

“There she is!”

My head snaps to the door as soon as I hear the words. Amelia is there with Derek on her heels.

“She’s here, Max!” Lia throws over her shoulder before her dark-chocolate eyes settle on me again. “We’ve been looking for you. Ready to go?”

I stand, and without looking back up, turn toward the door. “Yup. I just needed some fresh air.”

Andrew

An irritating, noisy alarm blasts through my room once again, and all I can do is groan loudly and cover my head with the pillow.

Every day it’s the same old story. I turn off alarm after alarm until I can barely put my clothes on, take a piss and brush my teeth. Then I have to step on the gas if I want to get to morning practice on time.

Coach hates when we’re late. It happened once, my freshman year. It was the first and the last time I did it. The drills he made me do were so fucked up, my whole body ached forweeksafter that.

Groaning, I throw my legs over the edge of the bed as I rub my face. My temples are still pounding from partying all weekend, but that’s nothing new. I press the snooze button to quiet the damn thing that’s making my headache worse before getting up and putting on a baggy pair of sweats and a hoodie.

Yawning loudly, I go to the bathroom. It’s five thirty in the morning, but for me it feels more like the middle of the night. After taking a piss, I grab my stuff and run down the stairs.

I start toward the garage when a slightly ajar door and light coming from the gap catches my eye.

He’s home.

The door was closed and the light was off last night before I went to bed. I’d know, because it’s one of the two rooms I enter only if I’m being summoned. And that happens if I screw up in gigantic proportions. Otherwise, he’s too busy for me.

Work always comes first to my dear old pops. It’s basically the only thing he does. It wasn’t always like that. There were happy times. Times when my father was actuallyDadand liked to spend time with me. But that was in another lifetime.

I stand there, looking at the dull light shining through the small gap. My hands are clenched into fists by my sides.

He’s been away for two weeks. He never said where he was going. He never called and asked how I was or to let me know he was okay. For all he cares, I could be dead.

Sometimes I wish I am. It can’t be any worse than being completely and utterly alone.

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