Page 8 of Loverboy

“No,” Oliver answered slowly, weighing his words. “He just worries about you like one, that’s all.”

That only agitated me more. Every bite felt like I was furthering his point by doing what Jasper wanted me to do. Alone, I might’ve stopped eating out of spite. I wasn’t a child, and I didn’t need to be babied. I was fucking capable.

I whipped out my phone.

Milo: Don’t tell me what to do.

The tension left my body the second after I hit send, the urge to rebel satisfied. I set the phone down and continued eating, this time with unnecessary aggression, knowing that if I didn’t finish, Oliver would report my failure to Jasper like the little traitor he was.

“You wanna go shoot some late-night hoops after this?” Oliver asked, refusing to let me wallow in silence.

I considered my recurring nausea and the way all my muscles ached. Then I remembered Jasper would hate it if I went out instead of resting, and suddenly the idea became ten times more appealing.

“Hell yeah,” I said with a grin. “You know I’d never say no to that.”

I’d rest when I was dead. If there was one thing I excelled at, it was punishing myself. Did I need rest? Probably. But if I wasn’t fainting, I wasn’t pushing hard enough. I could do more damage.

“After that, straight to bed, dude,” Oliver added, head tilted and brows raised in that I know what kind of bullshit you’re on expression.

Fuck that face.

Fuck everyone who tried to treat me like a child.

“I’ll think about it.” My shoulders slumped. “You won’t go anywhere while I’m sleeping, right?”

The words sounded so pathetic as they fell from my lips, and it made me want to crawl into a hole and never be seen again. But Oliver didn’t seem to mind. He never did.

“After all that?” He waved towards the kitchen, referring to my attempt on my own life. “Hell no, man. I’m not going anywhere.”

Warmth bloomed in my chest, and I polished off the bowl with no further protest, trying not to think about when he’d eventually have to leave. We’d shoot hoops, play video games, and co-exist in the apartment for a couple of days, and I’d soak it up greedily. Then I’d find someone else to replace him when he inevitably returned to a life that didn’t entirely revolve around me.

My gaze drifted back to my phone, horribly silent. Not a single notification. Jasper must’ve been at work by now. Sofia wouldn’t be messaging me, and I had a feeling that she might have even gone so far as to block my phone number, done with being subjected to my suicidal guilt-tripping.

The despair crept back in, and my heart rate began to climb.

“Alright, let’s get some fresh air and play ball,” I said suddenly, standing and shaking my head to dislodge the thoughts before they could consume me.

“You’ve got it, loverboy.” Oliver jumped up.

I winced. “Don’t call me that.”

There was only one person who was allowed to call me that.

4

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.