Chapter 7- Lukas
1015 Words
Shade's POV
Lukas finds me on the roof.
Nobody else comes up here. Too many cameras, too many rules. But Lukas isn’t afraid of rules. He’s afraid of me being alone.
Stupid boy.
Oohh I guess I haven't introduced lukas to you, He's been my friend since sophomore year.
I know he has a huge crush on me but I choose not to deal with it since I'm not even ready for a boyfriend
“You’re bleeding blue,” he says, dropping his backpack. He pulls out wipes. The medical kind. Like I’m a wound he can sanitize.
I’m not bleeding. It’s ink. But I let him clean my fingers anyway. His hands are warm. Steady. Nothing like Damian’s shaking ones.
“Did he do something to you?” Lukas asks. He’s looking at my mouth, not my hands. Like he expects bruises there.
I laugh. It comes out sharp. “I did something to him.”
Lukas goes still. The wipe freezes against my thumb.
“Shade.” He says my name like it’s a warning. Like he’s been saying it that way for three years. Since freshman year when I punched a kid for calling him a fag and we became best friends by accident.
“You promised,” he says. “No more messing with guys who can ruin you.”
I yank my hand back. The blue’s mostly gone. Skin pink from scrubbing. “Damian Virelli can’t ruin me.”
“He’s scared of me.”
Lukas exhales. Runs a hand through his hair. It’s dyed black this week. Last week it was green. He changes it every time his dad says he looks like a girl.
“You like it when they’re scared,” he mutters. “That’s the problem.”
I stand up. The edge of the roof is three steps away. Wind tugs at my skirt.
“Maybe I like it when _you’re_ scared too,” I say.
Lukas doesn’t move. Doesn’t tell me to step back. He just watches me like he’s done a hundred times. Like he’s memorizing me in case I jump.
He’s been in love with me since sophomore year. He hasn’t said it. He doesn’t have to. It’s in the way he brings wipes. In the way he skips class to find me. In the way he never asks me to stop.
Only to be careful.
“Did he say anything back?” Lukas asks. His voice is quiet now. Careful.
I think of Damian at his locker. Undershirt. Goosebumps. _You look scared._
“He said my name,” I tell Lukas.
Lukas flinches. Because he knows. He’s the only one who knows about my father. About the name. About why _Virelli_ tastes like metal in my mouth.
“Shade.” Now it’s not a warning. It’s a plea.
I step away from the edge. Walk past him. Bump his shoulder with mine. Hard enough to feel bone.
“Don’t wait up,” I say.
I leave him on the roof. With his wipes. With his black hair. With his heart that’s been mine since before I knew how to break things.
I have another class to get to.
And another teacher to unmake.
Lukas POV
She always leaves me on the roof.
Always.
Since freshman year when she broke Tyler James’s nose for calling me a slur she didn’t even understand. Since sophomore year when she kissed me drunk at Maya’s party, then pretended it didn’t happen. Since yesterday when she let me scrub blue ink off her fingers like I could clean any part of her.
The wipe in my hand is still damp. Smells like alcohol and her. Chemicals and cheap shampoo and something rotten underneath.
The same thing I smelled on my dad’s breath before he hit me. Before he said _you look like a girl_ and I started dyeing my hair just to prove him right.
Shade doesn’t hit me. She just leaves.
“Don’t wait up,” she says, shouldering past me. Hard. On purpose. Bone against bone.
I stay anyway.
I always stay.
---
I found her sketchbook once. Sophomore year. She was asleep in the art room, head on her desk, eyeliner smeared. I wasn’t going to look. I swear I wasn’t.
But it was open.
Page after page of _him_. Not me. Never me.
Mr. Virelli. Damian.
His eyes. His hands. His mouth saying her name.
She draws him angry. She draws him scared. She draws him with his tie loose and his shirt stained.
She’s never drawn me.
---
The roof door slams. She’s gone.
I sit down where she was standing. Three steps from the edge. The wind is still there. Still tugging. Like it wants me to follow her.
I don’t.
I pull out my phone. No new texts. She won’t text. She never does after she leaves. She’ll show up tomorrow with new ink under her nails and act like the roof didn’t happen.
Like _I_ didn’t happen.
I open my camera. Front camera. Black hair, bloodshot eyes. Dad’s right. I do look like a girl when I cry.
I don’t cry.
I put the phone away. Pick up the used wipe. It’s blue now. Her blue.
_Virelli_, she said.
I know that name. She told me when she was drunk and bleeding from a busted lip. Not from a fight. From biting it. Because her dad used to say it. Right before he—
I crush the wipe in my fist.
Damian Virelli said it.
And she came to the roof with his name in her mouth and his ink on her hands.
She thinks he’s scared of her.
She’s wrong.
I’m scared of her.
I’m scared of what she’ll do to him.
I’m scared of what he’ll do to her.
I’m scared that one day she’ll walk to the edge and I won’t be fast enough.
Or worse.
One day she’ll walk to the edge and I won’t want to stop her.
I shove the wipe in my pocket.
Stand up.
Go to class.
Because someone has to.
- Writer
