Page 52 of Even in the Dark

“Alright, sweet pea,” Diane says. “Let’s get you back downstairs, okay? Maybe you can watch a show in the TV room with Sadie.” She ushers her out of the room, and as they approach the stairs, we can hear Kenz still talking.

“Dylan was so naughty, huh mama? He’s in so much trouble ’cos he was so naughty doing that to his stuff and saying the ‘f’ word, right? But not too much trouble. Okay? Because he’s sad because of his life before, when he was lost, right? Right mama?”

Diane answers, but they’re too far down the stairs now for us to hear. Then a few seconds later, mom follows them.

Dad gets up. “You good here?” he asks Phil softly.

Phil stands too. “Yeah, I’ve got it from here.” He tries for a smile, but it’s watered down by a bunch of other emotions. “Thank you.”

Dad nods. He pats Phil’s arm and holds his hand there for a second, squeezes him. The two exchange a look that makes me happy Phil has a best friend like my father to support him through all of this.

Dad turns to Dylan once he reaches the doorway. “Your sister’s right about the apology, son. Would be the right thing to do, if you could find it in yourself once you’ve cooled down a bit, to just tell your folks you’re sorry… I’m sure it would mean a lot.”

Dylan doesn’t look up at him from where he’s still sitting on the floor. But dad acts like he did. “And take care of that hand, alright?” he says.

Still no acknowledgement from Dylan.

Dad pats Phil one last time, then heads downstairs. And I want so badly to follow him, but I need to confess. Admit my part in all of this. Because it’s weighing on me like a freight-load of bricks.

I sidle into the room just as Dylan’s getting to his feet somewhat awkwardly, given his mangled hand.

“Here.” Phil tosses a pair of jeans at him. “Can you put these on?”

"Yeah," Dylan mumbles. And I stand numbly as he struggles to pull his jeans on with just his left hand and the thumb of his right hand. Then I snap to my senses and turn away. It feels weird to stand here and watch him put his pants on, even though I guess technically I’ve been watching him in his skivvies for the past ten minutes. But clothing—or lack of clothing—was not on any of our minds then. The only thing we were aware of was the intense scene unraveling before us.

When I turn back, he’s still working on the zipper. Which, honestly, feels like the most awkward part to watch. So I keep my eyes focused on his face, determined to get this over with. “I can help clean up,” I tell him.

Dylan looks over at me, his eyes wide at first, like he’s surprised to see me, then narrowing with suspicion. Then, he ignores me completely, glancing around once he finally gets his zipper up, presumably looking for a top.

“Thanks, Scarr,” Phil says, sounding a little more like himself. “Dylan and I will deal with this, though, once we get back from having his hand seen to.”

I swallow. “Part of this is my fault,” I confess, then take a deep breath. This is so much harder to do than I thought. “I’m really sorry, Dylan.” My eyes meet his puzzled gaze when I say his name. “I told you dinner was in fifteen minutes, when it was actually right away. It was totally—”

“Fuck’s sakes,” Dylan spits. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He turns and goes back to scanning the floor for a top. “Not everything is about you.”

My instinct is to snap at him. Hit back with an equally hurtful barb. But I take a breath. “I’m not saying it was about me. I’m just saying you wouldn’t have been in the bathroom… in the shower—with the door locked…” I swallow again. My mouth is so dry right now. “If I’d told you we were eating right away.”

He grabs a hoody off the floor, tilting his head in my direction. His eyes are steel green right now. Still so much darker than they usually are. “Can we not talk about the goddamn shower anymore?”

Phil lets out a low chuckle.

Good to know someone sees the humor in all of this.

“I just thought you should know. And I’m sorry for lying.”

I’m apologizing to both of them, but Phil is the only one who acknowledges it. He pats my arm and nods, giving me a smile that’s tired but still so genuine. Dylan says nothing. He’s busy trying to put on his sweatshirt and failing. Phil steps closer to help pull it over his head, then holds the sleeves so he can get his arms through.

It seems a little weird that he’s putting a clean sweater on over his blood-smeared, sweaty body, but no way I’m going to be the one to point that out. Especially after the glacial stare and that “no more talking about the goddamn shower” comment.

My phone buzzes and I pull it out of my pocket, glancing down at the screen—but not before I notice Dylan roll his eyes.

“It’s a text,” I tell him. “It’s really not worthy of an eye roll or jerky comment every time one comes in.”

He responds, ironically, with an eye roll.

The text is from Gavin. He and a couple of friends are heading to Xavier’s soon. I can’t decide if I’m relieved to be escaping this whole situation, or guilty for leaving. I text back.

Scarlett

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