Page 53 of Seeing Grayscale

It’s…thoughtful. Maybe something else.

Does he always light people’s cigarettes? Or is it just mine?

Once his smoke is sparked, he leans forward on the railing, unphased by the residual rain clinging to the metal.

That question nagging at my brain gets louder, so I ask, “Do you have friends?”

Catching him off guard, he reels back, straightening and eyeing me oddly. “What?”

“Did you not hear me or—”

“I did,” he clarifies, repositioning to lean and face me. When he does, his body effortlessly embodies so manymovie men. You know the type. The ones that are effortlessly good-looking while doing something as simple as smoking. With his ankles crossed and cigarette dangling between his index and middle finger, my mind blanks as my mouth dries. “I have friends.”

“Oh.”

“Do you?” I follow the cigarette’s path from the railing to his lips.

“No. Not in—well, I can’t say they were really my friends either.” I shrug and take a drag.

“Not in…what?” he prompts.

“Back in the group home—when I was a teenager—those guys weren’t my friends.”

“You’re an orphan?” This seems to startle him because the relaxed posture vanishes as he unhooks his ankles and inches closer. “Or…?”

“Technically, yeah. I guess I am.” His concern and longing for more swirling in those pretty hazel eyes keep me talking. It just comes out. “My parents died when I was twelve. Car accident. Since I don’t have any other family, I was put in the system. At first, I bounced between foster homes, but I didn’t…handle it well.” I swallow hard, take a puff, and continue, “Eventually, I ended up in the group home with othertroubledteens. I liked feeling included for once; I thought that we were like…some gang. It was the closest thing I had to a family, so I latched on pretty fast—needed it, you know?”

When he doesn’t respond, I sneak a glance at him. There’s that stoic anger brewing. It’s so palpable now that I know what to look for.

“Keep going,” he whispers.

“We all started doing stupid shit. Bunch of poor kids with no real authority, you can guess how that panned out.” I shrug. “But I didn’t think anything bad would happen. Didn’t think they’d fuck me over like they did and—”

He’s even closer to me, mere inches.

“Anyway. I learned fast not to trust people, even if they seemed to have earned it. That’s why I don’t have friends. I don’t want to risk it.”

“But you are with me.”

Our eyes meet, and my breath catches.

Shadows play over his face, the light from inside our room dancing over his skin. His right eye is bright, more green than brown. I’m struggling to form words.

My instincts are screaming to turn away, not trusting that easy empathy riddling his features.

I find the mental remote and mute them.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” I whisper.

“Thank you for risking it.”

I close my eyes momentarily, needing to separate the strange link between us. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“I won’t."

TWENTY-FIVE

Alex:Callingoffagain?

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