Milo
THE COURT WAS nothing special. Cracked asphalt, a hoop without netting, and only street lamps and moonlight chasing away some of the darkness.
We only ever played at night. There was something about taking a walk to the nearest school with a basketball net at this hour and dicking around, missing eighty percent of the shots we took, that reeked of nostalgia.
Thinking back, Oliver had met me at my worst without knowing it.
It was right after my first colossal relationship failure, and he’d inadvertently become part of my healing process.
There were times when talking to him was easier than going to Jasper, because with Oliver, I never worried about him seeing me differently.
If he did, it wouldn’t hurt nearly as much.
That, and hanging out with him was cheaper than therapy.
You’d think that the last week would’ve been my lowest, but it was only a close second. If there were a sticker chart for my crashouts, it might actually look like I was good at something.
“Think you can keep going?” Oliver bounced the ball between his hands.
“Of course I can,” I lied, already in motion.
I grabbed for the ball clumsily. He pivoted, slipping right past me. I chased him down, the burn in my lungs a clear indicator that my body wasn’t ready for this level of exertion, but I pushed on, only slowing to a jog when he stopped to make his shot. The ball hit the rim and bounced wide.
I put my hands on my hips, pacing as I tried to figure out why it was so fucking hard to breathe after ten minutes.
I pretended it had nothing to do with the fact that I’d thrown my guts up overnight.
I felt it coming on again—the fullness in my throat, and I shook my head, willing my body to hold out just a little longer.
“You good?” Oliver laughed, circling back toward me after collecting the ball.
“Fine.”
I was pretty sure I was dying again.
He tossed the ball to me, and I barely caught it, the worn rubber thudding against my chest and nearly sending the bile in my throat up and out.
I didn’t want to stop playing because stopping meant slowing down, and slowing down meant sitting with my feelings again.
I could handle physical pain. I welcomed it even.
But the look on Oliver’s face told me he had something serious to say, and I really didn’t want to hear it.
“If I didn’t tell him, you would have pretended it never happened,” he said softly.
I dropped the ball and sat on it.
“I would have. Eventually.”
“Liar.”
“He doesn’t need that from me,” I said tightly. “He’s got enough going on.”
Oliver joined me, sitting on the pavement and leaning back, hands resting behind him. His shoulder bumped my knee, deliberate and playful. He tipped his head back to look up at the sky, and I followed his gaze toward the stars.
“You don’t get to decide that for him.” His tone stayed gentle, even when lecturing me.
It was nothing like the way Jasper scolded me.
Even when Oliver tried to be stern, it came out soft.
I hated it because it made me feel like he thought I was made of glass.
Jasper, on the other hand, was honest, even when it hurt me.
Without him to give me the reality check I so desperately needed any time I spiralled, I’d be even more lost than I already was.
What he thought of me had always held the ability to make or break me.
“I can try,” I muttered, hanging my head.
“He cares about you,” Oliver said confidently. “And I do, too.”
“You don’t get it.” I put my elbows on my knees and my chin in my hands.
“Get what?”
I hesitated.
Because how the fuck did I explain that it wasn’t just the fear of driving Jasper away, but losing the only place I’d ever felt right? Like I wasn’t too much to handle, and that I wasn’t something that people just had to tolerate.
I could recover from losing Sofia.
The real suicide would be losing him.
I rubbed my thumb over my palm, tracing along the scar that’d lived there since I was fifteen, like a brand. “It’s different with him. If he gets tired of me…”
“That’d mean he’s weaker than me.” He grinned, like he knew it wasn’t true. “And you’re a lot meaner to me than him, so I don’t think that’s gonna happen. His ego is too big.”
It was stupid how much sense it made.
“Fair point,” I conceded, rubbing a hand over my face.
Oliver knew Jasper didn’t like him much, but he didn’t let that scare him away.
It was more than I could say for any of my girlfriends.
That was reason enough to keep him around, even when his sidelined feelings bubbled up now and then.
I just couldn’t seem to give up the attention—not when it was one of my only constants.
Maybe that was cruel, but I was selfish enough not to care.
Oliver stood, brushing off his pants before offering me a hand.
I took it, letting him pull me to my feet.
The movement made everything worse, the ache in my limbs intensifying and my head starting to spin.
Even though my mouth was dry and I needed something to drink, I still reached for the pack of cigarettes in my pocket and lit one up.
“Alright, this is getting way too fucking sappy for me,” I said. “Let’s head back.”
“Aye aye, captain.” Oliver saluted with a cheesy grin before scooping the ball off the ground and tucking it under his arm.
We fell into step next to each other, and I pulled out my phone to check for messages.
I stalled over my chat log with Sofia, fighting the urge to open it up and send her something, even if she’d already blocked my number.
I could never leave things alone, even when I was aware of how annoying I was being.
If things felt unfinished, they ate away at me until I was satisfied that I was really understood.
I forced myself to open the thread with Jasper instead and reread the messages. The memory of him stripping away the hospital sheet was still fresh in my mind, and I knew it was probably going to haunt me for the rest of my life.
I thought about apologizing again, but I didn’t know how. I couldn’t find the words to express how sorry I really was for having a moment of weakness. Instead, I spoke the only language I knew—the one that only he understood.
Milo: You suck.