Free The Insurrectionist by Mahima Martel

the white wall across from his hospital bed and wondered about love and chuckled. “In love. It’s a romantic western notion; it has nothing to do with the realities of life. Again, how does this have anything to do with defending my case?”
                “Answer my question,” replied Marsha.
     
                The humidity hung in the evening air and it filled his lungs so heavily that Deni could barely breathe. He walked off the football field after catching a pass and then took off his helmet. Sweat poured from his forehead and his entire uniform stuck to every crevice of his body. He couldn’t imagine feeling more uncomfortable.
                At the cooler, he took a few deep breaths to cool and calm down and then poured himself a cup of Gatorade. Glancing up he saw Heather standing on the sidelines and holding her pom-poms limp at her side. She too was sweating profusely; her blonde bangs plastered to her forehead. Deni watched her take a deep breath and wipe her forehead with her arm. There was only one thing for him to do; he poured another cup of Gatorade and walked inconspicuously toward the sideline.
                He extended the cup of Gatorade to her. “Heather.”
                She smiled broadly and leaped to take the cup from him. “Thanks,” she said as she took a sip.
                “You look hot,” he said.
                Heather laughed and winked. “I am hot.”
                Deni raised his eyebrow, grinned and turned away from her. He walked back and stood just outside the white lines of the playing field. Dropping to one knee he looked up at the scoreboard, but it was all a blur. He didn’t see anything; he just felt this sweet sensation surging throughout his body. Bringing a smile to a girl’s face, doing something for her when she was in need was just so sublime. Hard to imagine love was that easy; too bad it was something he had to resist.
     
                “Deni!” Marsha called to get his attention. “You’re at the age of falling love. Were you ever in love? What was there for you?”
                Deni gazed directly into Marsha’s eyes. “God.”
                “Really? There doesn’t seem to be much evidence of that either,” replied Marsha. “I may not look like much, but being a good lawyer means getting beyond the words. You talk a lot, but you never really seem to be saying anything.”
                “I’m saying a lot, but people are not very good listeners,” Deni responded. “People only hear what they want to hear. Anything that is unpleasant, or against their agenda, they suddenly grow deaf.”
                “Surely there was someone who was a good listener, someone you connected with,” said Marsha.
                Deni lowered his head. “I can’t think of anyone.”
     
                It was a gusty October afternoon when there was a knock at the Daudov’s door. Kamiila opened the door to find Heather dressed in sweats, hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and a basketball under her arm. “Can Deni come out and play?” she asked.
                Kamiila opened the door, without inviting Heather inside. “Deni, a girl is here to see you!” she yelled in Russian.
                When Deni came to the door, Heather bounced the basketball on the Daudov’s front porch. “Are you up for a game of one-on-one?”
                “Sure, let me grab my sweatshirt.” He was only gone for a minute and then reappeared.
                They walked to Heather’s BMW which she had parked a few doors down. Deni had been hanging out with Heather so often now that it became second nature getting into her passenger side seat. Being driven around by her never really bothered him; he actually grew to like it, but he didn’t like the music she often played on the car