LEVI IS A NORMAL TEENAGE BOY and I don't understand who'd say otherwise.
He likes killing virtual zombies and drive around in speedy cars. He laughs and mocks his friends in ways so hurtful, only a best friend wouldn't plot your murder. He zones in on the video games after a bit, slaughtering everyone getting in his way: including me. He's too lazy to bring his own snacks, asking his mother occasionally to bring us sugary foods and fizzing drinks. It's as if he miraculously got back to his old self without even blinking.
The only difference is the reason why he has to take so many pills.
I pick an Oreo from the box, watching the rest of the clan beat each other up. I died [of course I did]. Or to put it in the truth, Dom killed me violently. He doesn't keep his ammo to himself, he loves sharif his shots, especially on the new kid who doesn't know shit about Call of Duty.
"Levi, your parents still going to take you out of shool?" Demi asks, her fingers pushing the controller joystick almost robot-like.
She sits lazed on the couch next to me. Levi is stretched across the beanbag chair on my other side, per usual, deeply teleported into the amazing graphics of Xbox. He's the best player so far, beating Dom's ass kindly. He can do it as harmful as he pleases, since Dom shot me and I have no more sympathy to him.
"I don't know," Levi mumbles, too preoccupied to shape his words audibly. "I still have a disciplinal hearing or whatever to say if I'm mentally fit enough for it or not," he mumbles, keeping his eyes on the large window-like TV screen.
His speech impairment is heavily rested on his words once more today, as if he just can't manage to sound human. He can't manage to push his lips, he can't open his larynx big enough for us. It's a constant guess to what he'll say, be it a simple answer.
He doesn't even explain or tell stories. He's just here now, as if he doesn't care.
"Are you some kind of psychopath?" I tease. His lips curl into a grin, but he doesn't answer.
I slide the Oreo in my mouth, arching a brow at Dom and Demi chuckling at my question as if it's an ironic moment in their favorite nineties comedy sitcom.
"Depends on your mindset on the idea of psychopath," he mutters, reeling his knees closer to his torso.
"You're definitely a psychopath," Dom teases, flicking around the joystick. He's pressing the shoot button a lot less than the rest, but he's moments away from dying. "You bombed the science teacher's class."
Levi sinks lower into the beanbag chair, hiding behind his knees, staring through the crack between his legs at the TV screen. He nibbles on an Oreo, the controller in his other hand. "I can't help...Myra's fault."
"Did Myra bomb Duff's classroom?"
Levi silences. He keeps his eyes glued on the TV.
"Did you bomb Duff's class?" Casey repeats, his voice from Demi's side. He sits on the beanbag chair between the twins on two cornering couches. It's the first time he speaks normally with me around. It's the first time he actually speaks with me in the same room, breathing the same air.
His voice is deep and husky, unfit for his small, gaunt figure. You'd expect a voice from his mouth similar to that of a small child, shy. But here he sits with a voice fit for an advertisement.
Again, there is something in his voice—in his throat, in his lungs as the air pushes through his larynx—that's oddly disruptive to his speaking. It's as if there's something clouding up inside of his chest, the way a hurricane clouds over and demolishes everything. "With what?"
YOU ARE READING
last resort
Teen Fiction❝Sometimes you've got to bleed to know that you're alive and have a soul, but it takes someone to come around to show you how,❞ She's the tear in his heart, he's on fire. She's the tear in his heart, she makes him higher. He's the butcher with the...
