Page 64 of Even After Sunset

“I’m on this thing, aren’t I?” he says. “I’m not straddling a pastel pony, too.”

“They’re horses—not ponies.”

“Whatever.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re such a guy.”

“Last I checked,” he smirks.

And I blush.

The carousel slowly begins moving, and the music starts up: happy and child-like. As it speeds up more, I lift my hands to grip the pole just below Silas’ knuckle-grazed fist. I’m surprised how much faster this thing goes than I imagined.

Apparently Silas is, too.

“Shit,” he mutters. “This thing really moves.”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “Scared, Carmichael?”

He glances over at the ground just beyond the rotating platform and swallows.

“Hungover,” he says. And I laugh. He does look a little green.

We’re at full speed now. If you can call the pace of a carousel “full speed”. A little dizzying, though; enough that strands of my hair blow around my face, tickling my cheeks. I tilt my head back and breathe in, savoring the moment. I’m glad I looked up, because the carousel ceiling is beautiful: split into pie-shaped panels, all painted with different scenes of Venice. The panels are separated by spokes of white lights that emphasize the ornate details and cast a warm glow beneath the entire canopy.

I look back at Silas, whose eyes are on me now.

“You’re not gonna puke, are you?” I tease.

“Undecided,” he says. But he grins. And he’s looking a little less peakish.

He keeps watching me with this expression that is intense but also kind of… pensive.

“Your eyelashes are amazing,” I say.

Out loud.

Geez, can I not find it anywhere within myself to be even remotely cool?

He gives me a confused look. “Myeyelashes?”

“Ohmygosh I’m sorry,” I stutter. “I wasn’t… I mean, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

He grins. “Well, I’m glad you enjoy my eyelashes.”

I have no idea what to say to redeem my pride at this point: I’m acting like a crushing thirteen-year-old. And Silas is so chill and so clearly unaffected.

Oh yeah, and also fresh out of juvie. With a criminal record and anger issues and an abnormally strong affinity toward hard liquor.

But he’s leaning against the side of the horse now, and his upper body is brushing right up against mine. And it feels warm and solid and somehow familiar, even though it shouldn’t. Because there is nothing familiar about this older version of Silas, or in the way my body reacts to him when he’s close. Like he is right now.

I know those eyes, though. And so much of what he hides behind them. I know he’s seen pain and that he’s angry and strong… but not strong enough to resist the demons that claw at him, tearing from the inside out. I also know that I want to help him face those demons. And to find a way to let them go.

For now though, I just enjoy the slight dizziness and the round and round of the carousel and the look on Silas’ face that I can’t quite read, but that I know isn’t anger or resentment.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says, so softly I barely hear him above the music box jingle of the carousel.

I don’t tell him it’s okay, because it isn’t. But I do give him a smile because he deserves at least that.

---