Flick

XIII

"I mean, how dense can he be?" I ranted, pacing back and forth across the flooring of the roof. "Why the fuck would I want to go with him to San Diego after five years of not seeing him face to face, once?" He called every three months. Just to make sure I'm still alive. He wouldn't call again for another three months. I started counting when I was 10. I got fed up with waiting for him to come home, after three years, and I couldn't be bothered to pick up the phone most of the time. It was a fluke that I even answered last week. God, I wish I hadn't. Maybe then he and the rest of them would never have come. I took in a big breath of smoke, enjoying the burning sensation in my chest for a moment.

Me and Jackson had been on the roof for an hour now. When we got back to the car, after leaving my apartment, Amber and Clay were fighting, probably about something stupid, so the two of us opted to come here instead of waiting with them to go to the boardwalk. I had lost my appetite for pretzels and beach walks anyway. "He's insane if he thinks I'm going with him."

"You should," Jackson hadn't said anything since I started my rant about all of this. He had been silent, and contemplative as I spoke, which now that I had stopped talking for a second, I was growing a little suspicious of. "You should go with him." He said softly, sucking in a breath of his own cigarette.

I stopped pacing, and looked at him with raised eyebrows. "What?" I asked.

He shook his head. "There's no future for us, Flick. Not here. Not in this city,"

I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why would I go with him?" My cigarette hung from my lips. I grabbed it and pressed it against the cement behind me, putting it out before I burned myself. Jackson didn't say anything for a moment.

He flipped his cigarette between his fingers absently. "You should go with him. Get out of here while you have the chance. Flick, we're kids. Fuck, it's hard to remember sometimes, but we are. And this...this isn't right. Smoking cigarettes at 12, hiding on roofs from our families, skipping school because we can't deal with it," I stared at him with a gaped mouth. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to feel "I-it isn't right, Flick. It isn't right,"

I shook my head, looking away from him. "So you want me to leave." I would rather think that than think he was right.

Jackson sighed, dropping his cigarette to the concrete. "No, I want you to never leave and I want everything to always be like this and I want for all of us to grow up and be okay. But what I want, isn't always what's right. Flick, you have an opportunity to get out of this city. Get away, even for just a week and be something other than childhood tragedy."

I tried to glare at him, but even I knew my anger was misplaced. Just because it isn't what I would like to hear, doesn't mean it wasn't true. "But I would have to leave you," I reminded.

He sighed deeply. "You'll leave me one day. And I'd rather it be this way than in a casket."

My eyes widened again. I sat down on the edge of the roof and tried to decipher what he was trying to say. "You think I'm gonna die?" I asked slowly.