Bloodshed (Order of the Unseen, #1)(5)

I tugged firmly on his arm. “Micah—” He turned to face me and yanked out of my grasp. “Let’s head over to Joe’s. I’m starving.”

“I’m not hungry,” he dismissed. “Lemme get another cigarette.”

“You’ve just smoked like three in a row.”

He blinked rapidly at me.

“Are you okay, man?” I asked, taking in the sight of the dark, sunken-in bags under his eyes. “When’s the last time you got some real sleep?”

He shrugged, carelessly.

“Last night, you were up all night drawing,” I pressed. “That can’t be good for you, man.”

“I’m an artist,” he rushed out, running his hands through his hair with an irritated groan. “Artists don’t sleep. Shit, I lost my hair tie.”

“Micah—”

“I’m fine,” he dismissively growled. “I’m fine. I’m better than fine. I’m great. I’ve honestly never felt better.”

“Maybe it wasn’t the wisest choice to stop taking your meds cold turkey like that—”

“Why not?” he questioned me, holding out his thumb to hitch a ride. “Will you relax?”

I sighed, holding up my hands in defeat. “Whatever.”

“They want to change me, Jensen. They don’t want me to be my authentic self.”

I frowned, shaking my head with confusion. “Who?”

“Them. Everyone. This is who I am,” he stammered, frantically, no longer blinking. “I’m embracing it. Life is too short. Way too short. I’m bored. Sick and tired. I just want to live. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“What are you doing?” I asked, watching as a car sped by, sending a gust of wind toward us.

“Asshole!” he shouted after them, stepping off the curb and into the middle of the road.

“Micah—” I rushed out.

“Let’s go into Boston. Walk around,” he suggested. “This way we’ll be the first two people there when the guitar shop opens—”

“Micah!” I shouted over him, although, he didn’t hear me. Didn’t even look at me.

“I forget what street it’s on,” he rambled, on and on, until he was talking so fast, I could hardly keep up with him.

Staring at him in silence, I waited for him to acknowledge my existence. My concern.

But, he didn’t.

Suddenly, a car approached in the distance and began to slow, as Micah stepped out further into the road, blocking their way.

“Micah,” I blurted out, and the car’s passenger-side window rolled down.

“Where you headed, boys?” Micah asked, leaning up against the car and nearly sticking his head inside the window. A thick cloud of smoke blew out into the brisk, night air.

I knew that smell.

Weed.

“Wherever you want,” an older man told him. “Hop in.”

“Hell yeah!”

“Dude,” I called out, getting a creepy vibe from the men who were so eager to pick up thirteen-year-old boys, on the side of the road, in the middle of the night. “Don’t.”

The guys in the car gawked at me, suddenly on high alert. It was clear my presence was unwanted.

Micah turned on his heel and flashed me a charming smile. “You coming?” he happily asked, giving me no time to react as he hopped into the back seat. “Suit yourself.”

“Wait,” I rushed out, catching the door before he had the chance to slam it shut. “Yeah. I’m coming.”

And I got in the car.





CHAPTER THREE





MICAH





Growing up without a real place to call home was rough. I’d always had my own issues, just like everyone else. Battling my mental illness as an adolescent and into adulthood was something I never would have anticipated.

The lows were bad enough to send me spiraling, through countless inpatient stays in psych wards for either having delusions or trying to kill myself.

But the highs…

The highs were so intensely euphoric that they were the only thing in this world keeping me going.

Keeping me alive.

Two weeks after first meeting Jensen, and spending most of my time with him, he tried to warn me that something was up.

That I was spiraling that night…and I was.

I just didn’t know it at the time.

To me, I was invincible.

We hitched a ride into the city, and that was my worst mistake. Jensen was reluctant. It wasn’t his fault.

He only got into the car because he was a good friend.

A real friend.

I admire him for that to this day.

The guys who picked us up had to have been in their late twenties or early thirties. They were both under the influence, especially the driver. I remembered the worried look in Jensen’s eyes, yet I blew it off completely.

I didn’t care.

There wasn’t a single fuck I could give in that beautiful moment of euphoria. My senses were heightened to a whole new level. I was too focused on the blaring music than the fact that we were all over the road, hitting curbs and occasionally swerving into oncoming traffic.

The guy driving and his friend were tripping on mushrooms.