Page 35 of Shades of Silver City

Ironically, despite my choice of welcome mat and mug, I don’t own a dog. If we were allowed pets in the apartment, and if I could afford the time and money necessary to care for another being, surely I’d have one. I’d love a fluffy companion. Someone to love me unconditionally.

I spot the white, ceramic handle sticking up from the dirty sink, smothered in greasy pans and plates caked with crusty pasta and beans. Sighing, I curse under my breath.

Not in the mood to deal with that disaster, I scout for another mug. After a moment, I find one in a high cupboard, out of reach. As I’m debating climbing onto the counter to snag it, a pale arm with a smattering of red hair reaches up and grabs it for me.

“I got you, babe,” a familiar voice says.

“Reed?” I whip around, frowning at him. He sets the mug on the counter beside me and gives me a crooked grin. “What are you doing h—” My eyes zero in on his glossy hazel eyes, his mussed up hair, and finally on the plastic cup in his other hand. “You’re drunk. Seriously?”

His eyes hood as he sips from his cup. “Nahhh.” He chuckles. “Maybe a little.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “Unbelievable.”

All night I’ve had to deal with drunken assholes at work, only to come home to this.

He steps closer, nudging me with his shoulder. “Lighten up, babe.” He leans in to nuzzle my neck.

My skin heats with annoyance. I’ve been on edge with my hyperawareness to soul-shades tonight. It’s as if seeing the grey shades has triggered some sort of unconscious defense mechanism, and now I physically can’t turn a blind eye to all the other colors.

Reed’s hazy fog is tinted greenish-blue, wavering between both colors.

“You sound like Alisha,” I mutter, planting a hand on his chest and stepping back to keep a healthy distance between us. “Unsurprising, considering you’ve been hanging out with her tonight.”

“Nuh-uh. Don't be like that, babe. I came to surprise you. Thought you’d be home from work, like, forever ago.” My stomach roils at the bitter stench of alcohol on his breath. “Leesh invited me to hang and offered a drink while I waited. It ain’t like that.”

“Leesh?” Since when did they start using nicknames?

“Loosen up. Have a beer.”

“You know I don’t drink.”

He snorts into his cup, his groggy eyes narrowing as he takes a quick sip. "Mmhmm."

“That’s funny to you?”

“You drink at work.”

“No I don’t.” I occasionally taste the new taps to know what I’m selling, but I don’t drink it leisurely.

It’s harder to control my ability when I’m under the influence. Not that I’m having any success doing that currently, but I definitely don’t want to make it any worse. Plus, it’s a slippery slope. One drink easily turns into two, then five, and then the next thing I know, I’m waking up in the morning with no recollection of the previous night, my body filled with leaded regret.

No thanks.

I rub my temples, taking a few intentional breaths to calm myself. My kettle whistles, the screech practically swallowed up by the onslaught of electronic music, and I flick off the stove’s flame. I tear open my packet of tea, place the bag in the mug, and pour the scalding water over it.

“Here, just have some beer. It’ll help,” Reed says. He thrusts his cup at me, sloshing the liquid onto my shirt.

“For the love of Sirius!” I hiss, swatting the cup out of his hand. It hits the floor with a splash, and his brows rise in delayed surprise. “I’m exhausted. My throat hurts. I have a headache.” None of which are being helped by the chaotic music and drunken chatter filling our cramped apartment. “I’m going to bed. Stay here and party with Leesh, if that’s what makes you happy.”

His face pinches into a frown, and he reaches out and squeezes my shoulder gently. “Sorry,” he says, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “I-I only want you to have a good time, babe. You work so hard.”

“I know.” I pull away from him, snagging my mug of tea from the counter and blowing on it.

Stepping out of the kitchen area, I stride toward my door, only to be cut off by Stace.

“Come on, Tasia, just hang out with us for once!” she whines, sticking out her bottom lip in a dramatic pout. “We’re having so much fun.” Her pupils are blown wide, and I wonder—not for the first time—if she’s on something other than alcohol.

“She’s too good for us!” Alisha calls over the music. “Give it up!”

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