Page 10 of Seeing Grayscale

Flicking the lighter over the end, I take a long drag and blow out the smoke.

The kid stares at me like I’ve got the only thing he wants, so I offer him a smoke. He takes it instantly.

“May I?”

Nodding, he pops the cigarette between his lips and leans forward. I cup the end, hiding the flame from the breeze, and he inhales. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

We smoke in easy silence, and the kid finally leaves my car when we are finished. I lead the way, find our room, and open it. I go in first, figuring he won’t want me at his back. I got two beds, even though I won’t be staying. I didn’t want him to come to any more deranged conclusions about my intentions. He limps inside, and eyes the clean bedspread.

“There are shower robes in the closet,” I point. “Most have them anyway. If you want, I can run out and grab you something to wear.”

He shakes his head. “The robe is…good.”

“I’ll leave my number so you can reach me. I booked the room for the week, and there are some menus for takeout. So, if you’re hungry, I can order you something and have it delivered before I go.”

The kid swallows hard, glances at me, and his lips part. Nothing comes out for a few seconds before he repeats the movement. “Gray—er—my name is Gray.”

Those bleach-blonde strands fall into his eyes as he shrugs, the thread-bare t-shirt dangling from his thin frame. “Thank you for letting me help, Gray.”

“Thanks for…wanting to.” He peeks at me, some color finally gracing his cheeks, and limps to the little table where the local menus are.

SIX

I’moverwhelmed.Period.

I’ll wait untilHunterleaves, though.

There is no way in hell this rich boy will watch me break down now that everything that’s happened is finally sinking in.

Because it is.

The numbness is disappearing, and my emotions are all over the place.

Too many menus. Too much change. Too much pain and aching that seeps too deep.

It’s hard to get enough air in my lungs and see past the blur in my vision.

“Italian is always a good choice,” Hunter says beside me.

I don’t know when he snuck up like that, but I can’t seem to make myself move. “Haven’t had spaghetti in years,” I admit, throat thick.

“I’m partial to tortellini.” He shrugs a little, picking up the thick paper and flipping it in his hand. “They don’t have it.” There’s honest-to-god disappointment in his tone.

I take the menu from him, and I'm grateful to have something to focus on as I read over the options. There are still too many, but it's easier. “Korean pizza? What the fuck is that?”

He leans a tad closer to look at it, too. “Spicy. Do you like spicy?”

“Not on an empty stomach.”

“Fair. How about the scampi? It’s just butter and garlic.”

I nod, setting the menu down. Grabbing one of the chairs for support, I breathe through my nose. “Go on and sit down. I’ll order it.”

It's the easiest decision I’ve made so far. I pull out the chair and sink into it. There’s an instant throb and sting when I do, another reality check spearing me through the chest. Bile shoots up my throat, but I swallow it down. I’m vaguely aware of Hunter’s voice as he calls in an order while I stare at the grain on the table. When he tucks his phone away, standing idly beside me, I look up.

“Look,” he starts, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. It’s almost as long as mine but well-kept by a barber. “I want a doctor to look at your leg and…wherever else you might be hurt. Can I do that?”

“I don’t have insurance,” I say automatically.

---