The Fire Between High & Lo (Elements #2)(8)

“That’s right,” he smirked, releasing his hold on my hand. I missed his touch before it even left. He began yawning, which distracted me from my erratic heartbeats.

“Tired?” I asked.

“I could sleep.”

“You’ll have to be gone before my mom wakes up.”

“Aren’t I always?”

We went into my bedroom. I gave him a pair of sweatpants and a shirt that I had stolen from him a few weeks ago. After he changed, we climbed into my bed and lay side by side. I’d never slept in the same bed with a boy before, other than Logan. Sometimes, when we slept, I’d awaken with my head on his chest, and before I pulled away, I’d listen to his heartbeats. He was a heavy breather, who inhaled and exhaled through his mouth. The first time he stayed over, I didn’t sleep a wink. Yet as time went by, his sounds began to remind me of home. As it turned out, home wasn’t a certain place; home was a feeling from the ones for whom you cared most, a feeling of peace that calmed the wildfires of your soul.

“Still tired?” I asked, as we lay in the darkness, my mind still wide awake.

“Yeah, but we can talk.”

“I’ve just been wondering. You’ve never explained to me why you love documentaries so much.”

He brushed his hands through his hair before placing his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. “One summer, I stayed with my Grandpa before he died. He had this documentary on the galaxy that got me hooked on wanting to know more about…everything. I wished I remembered the name of the documentary because I’d buy it in a heartbeat. It was like black hole…or black star…” He frowned. “I don’t know. Anyway. He and I started watching more and more documentaries together; it became our thing. It was the best summer of my life.” A wave of sadness seemed to hit him as he glanced down. “After he died, I just kept up the tradition. It’s probably one of the only traditions that I’d ever had.”

“You know a lot about the stars?”

“A lot about the stars. If there was a good enough place in this town I’d show you the stars without all of the light pollution, and show you a few of the constellations. But sadly, there isn’t.”

“That’s too bad. I would love that. I’ve been thinking, though. You should make a documentary about your life.”

He laughed. “No one would want to watch that.”

I tilted my head in his direction. “I would.”

He gave me half a smile before he wrapped his arm around me, pulling me into the curve of his body. His warmth always sent sparks flying through me.

“Lo?” I whispered, half awake, half asleep, and secretly falling for my best friend.

“Yeah?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but instead of words, a quiet sigh left me. My head fell against his chest, and I listened to the sound of his heartbeats, counting each one. One... Two… Forty-five…

Within minutes, my mind slowed down. Within minutes, I forgot why I was so sad. Within minutes, I was asleep.





Chapter Three


Logan




Ma and I didn’t have cable in our apartment, which was fine, I didn’t mind much. When I was a kid, we had cable, but it didn’t seem worth it because of my dad. He was the one who paid the cable bill, and he always complained about me sitting in front of the television watching cartoons. It was as if he hated that I was somewhat happy for a few moments during the day. Then one day he came into our home, took the television, and canceled the services.

That was the day he moved out of the apartment.

That was also one of the best days of my life.

After some time, I found a television in a dumpster. It was a small 19-inch television with a DVD player, so I’d check out a bunch of documentaries from the library and watch them at home. I was the person who knew too much about everything: baseball, tropical birds, and Area 51, all due to the documentaries. Yet, at the same time, I knew absolutely nothing.

Sometimes Ma watched them with me, but most of the time, it was a solo gig.

Ma loved me, but she didn’t like me much.

Well, that wasn’t true.

Sober Ma loved me as if I was her best friend.

Drugged Ma was a monster, and she was the only one who lived in our house lately.

I missed Sober Ma some days. Sometimes when I shut my eyes, I’d remember the sound of her laugh, and the curve of her lips when she was happy.

Stop, Logan.

I hated my mind, how it remembered. Memories were daggers to my soul, and I hardly had any positive ones to hold on to.

I didn’t care though, because I kept my mind high enough to almost forget about the crappy life I lived. If I stayed locked in my room, stocked up on documentaries, with some good shit to smoke, I could almost forget that my mom stood on a corner a few weeks ago, trying to sell her body for a few lines of blow.

That was a call I never wanted to get from my friend, Jacob.

“Dude. I just saw your mom on the corner of Jefferson and Wells Street. I think she’s um…” Jacob paused. “I think you should get down here.”

Tuesday morning, I sat in my bed, staring at my ceiling, while a documentary on Chinese artifacts played as my background music, when she shouted my name.

“Logan! Logan! Logan, get in here!”