Faking Us ✔️

three

Luca
~

When I was younger, my dreams were kinder. The kind of dreams that made you feel happy when you woke up. These days, my dreams have turned into repetitive nightmares. The agony I feel when I wake up can be terrifying. The constant buzzing from my alarm clock accelerates in the background, as the little jump I made when I first opened my eyes had my heart racing. I'm used to it; it's almost normal. But I can't tell my grandma about it. If she knew why I didn't take my sleeping pills...

I lean over the bed and shut my alarm off completely. If I hit snooze one more time, I will definitely be late for school. Getting out of bed, I slip on my school uniform, brush through my black shaggy hair, and quickly brush my teeth. Anderson slips through my mind, as I wonder if he even has toothpaste.

Shit.

He says their living arrangement is only temporary. I find that hard to believe since he told me that eight months ago—almost an entire year. It's not right. Kind people don't deserve to live this way.

Walking into the kitchen, I spot my grandma fixing me a piece of cinnamon toast for the ride to school, with a daily sticky note attached to it in a zip lock bag.

Today's note says make good choices.

I smile at the cursive letters. Growing up, she would always leave notes in my lunch boxes. This is just something she is known for. It's our special thing.

"What's with the sour face, Luca?" She holds out my bag of toast, offering me to take it from her.

A yawn leaves my mouth followed by a shrug. "Didn't sleep well."

She eyes me with sympathy. "You woke up in the middle of the night again?" Her question lingers until I give her a nod. "Why haven't you been taking your sleeping pills?"

Because, if I sleep through something bad—how will I know about it? How can I be there to help? But instead of confessing my fears, I study her expression and say, "You know why, grandma."

She doesn't say anything else. It's a hard subject between the two of us. I know she wants to help me, but there's nothing she can really do. This paranoia is something I have to live with, not her. My grandma gives me a small smile before motioning me toward the front door.

The Oakley, Californian weather was actually nice for once. The heat from the sun warms my back as I walk toward my truck. A calm breeze blew its way in this morning, which made the humidity not near as suffocating as it normally is.

I was finally able to wear my Letterman jacket that has my last name, Richards, stitched on the back. A big "O" was presented on the front in a bold white-ivory color, with my cross country and track patches on the right arm.
I've been doing cross country since I was a freshman and track since the Sophomore summer years. Coach Bailey begged me to try out for track while Mrs. Lopez scolded me for not signing up for the Spanish Club.

I would have signed up, but with my busy schedule things kind of got in the way, which made me miss the deadline.

Hence, why she scolded me.

If I'm not studying, I am going to track meets and If I'm not running cross country, my face is always glued to a book.

The drive to school is about fifteen minutes. Just as I made my way through the double glass doors to the library, a familiar face bumps into me, making me fall to the ground.

"What the hell, Marcus?" A soft voice calls out from the table behind him.

"Hey," His shoulders shrug. "It's not me who can't watch where they're going."

Marcus Cane.

I swear his ego is bigger than the whole damn school.

A five-foot eight walking dinosaur.

He literally has tiny T-Rex arms.

I don't have the time nor energy to deal with Marcus today. Feeding into his entertainment is not at the top of my to-do list. As I brush off my uniform pants, I quickly stand up on my feet and continue to where I was headed.

"You knew I was walking beside you, idiot."

"What did you just say?" He turns around, basically breathing down my neck at this point.

"You heard me."

The determination in my voice made him raise an eyebrow. No one ever stands up to him and I personally like pissing him off.

"Idiot, huh?" he chuckles, while flexing his broad shoulders as if he were trying to make a statement. "I'd rather be that than a fucking loser."

A few girls laugh while the other jocks applaud him by doing their normal handshake followed with a pat on the back. I roll my eyes as I watch them before opening my mouth.

"Loser is fine with me," I smirk, keeping my jaw tight. "Hey, with all that anger why don't you work on your daddy issues for a change?"

The table goes quiet once they see the expression fill Marcus' face. It turned solid white at the mention of his father. His dark green eyes filled with rage and a vein slowly appeared at the base of his neck. I knew what I was doing.

I was getting under his skin.

"Andy, why don't you tell your friend here to watch his back." he says to Anderson, who steps in between us, before walking away to the group of girls and jocks at the table. One in particular he was sitting with was Cassie.

Cassie Harlow.

She was like a breath of fresh air, the kind of air you gasp for when you forget how to breathe.

Dark curly locks fall below her collar bone. Hazel brown eyes and tiny freckles dance around her nose. I sometimes don't understand how amazing she is to look at.

He gathers back around the table, kneeling down beside her to whisper something in her ear, making her giggle. Disgust falls through my body.

Back in middle school, Marcus and I used to be friends.

I know, right? A freaking nightmare.

But you live and you learn.

He knew how much I liked her, but he didn't care. He didn't like me getting in the way of his things. If it benefits Marcus, it doesn't benefit anyone else. If you come between him and what he wants he will drop you and act like you don't exist on this Earth anymore. But I am tired of his ways. I'm tired of how he walks around the school thinking he is a God, and everyone should bow down to him.

And I'm tired of him getting everything he wants.

Some things need to change.

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