Page 33 of Seeing Grayscale

He can’t go back to 2nd street.

He can’t.

If how I found him is an example of what is waiting, that guilt will eat me alive.

There is no doubt in my mind that I did this—I crossed that line. I’m sharing things with Gray that I’ve never shared with anyone else because I want—need—him to trust me.

Does that make me wrong? Probably.

Offering vulnerability is a manipulation tactic, at least where I’m concerned. If it were any other circumstance, I’d be just as shut off and cold as I am with anyone else. The wall would be firmly in place, accompanied by a steel door with eighteen deadlocks lining it.

I don’t let people know me; it’s too complicated. A quick fuck here and there with people like Brent is one thing. He has nothing to gain from outing me, and I’m clear about what to expect.

My coworkers aren’t friends, my parents’ friends certainly aren't either, and everyone I interact with is just that. Other. Over the years, I gave up on many things, accepting who I needed to be and what had to happen.

So why Gray?

Why did I pick him?

It wasn’t like I didn’t see other homeless people while scouring unfamiliar cities. It wasn’t like there weren’t younger or more desperate folks. I saw too many to count. They all just blurred into one giant blob of hopelessness. I’d only stopped at that gas station to get a pack of cigarettes because the reality check was too much, the stress too high.

All this pressure on my shoulders to be someone I’m not got to me.

I’d been preparing to tell my dad I’d never be a politician. I’ll never even try.

But then I saw him.

I saw Gray get turned away for less than a dollar. Something in me…snapped. I couldn’t let him go hungry. I couldn’t watch him limp another step without offering everything I had in my wallet. And now, with him lightly snoring at the end of the couch, I can’t stomach the thought of him leaving.

After dinner tonight and my dad bringing that hammer down on my future, demanding I justdo it, I’m backtracking.

Should I try? Should I say fuck any hope of escaping? I could make a difference if I got elected. It wouldn’t be easy, and it’d take time, but the possibility is there. The promise of doing more than my dad has. I can’t unsee all the darkness. It’s everywhere—in everyone.

But where does that leave Gray?

I’m not sure I could still help him if I do this.

I scrub at my face, quietly standing from the couch, and walk over to my coat, still on the floor. I find my cigarettes and lighter, pop one in my mouth, and slip outside. The rain hasn’t let up, so I cling to the porch, the splash hitting my bare feet. Cupping the end of my smoke, I light up and inhale.

“What are you doing?” I whisper to myself.

No matter how many times I ask, the answer doesn’t come.

I don’tdothings like this.

Ever.

The moves I make in the public eye are a direct link to my dad. He already knows about Walmart, those cashiers, and the people staring wide-eyed at me. What would’ve happened if Gray had been with me? Can I even goanywherewith him? The thoughtof not being able to sits heavily on my chest, my lungs working harder to breathe, and it’s not because of this cigarette.

I take my time smoking, thinking, and trying to formulate a plan of action. When I’m done, I slip back inside. I should wake him up and get him into bed, but he looks so fucking peaceful.

Not that I’ve watched too many people sleep before, but Gray looks almost…angelic. With his dark lashes fanned over his cheeks and his lips parted slightly, he exudes thisinnocenceeven with all those tattoos and piercings.I don’t know how else to explain it. Like the child deep inside him only pokes his head out to see the world through his dreams.

It hurts to look at him.

It feels wrong to worry about his future.

I don’t need another person to feel important. That fact has been ingrained into me since I understood what the word meant. Endless power rests at my fingertips.

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