Page 169 of Captive Omega

“Globophobia,” he says thoughtfully.

“Globo-what?”

“It’s not irrational. It’s a genuine fear of balloons.”

I stare at him. “You made that up.”

“No.” He brings out his phone again. A few taps later and he hands it over. “Here.”

It’s a dictionary definition of the word.

Globophobia: the intense fear of balloons

He’s right. He’s actually right.

“It’s a thing,” I breathe. “I always thought I was crazy for being more afraid of the balloons than the clown.”

I pull my eyes off the phone and lean over to hand it back. From the air traveling down the front of my top, I shouldn’t have worn these pjs anywhere but my room. They are gaping. Badly.

But Garrison has his eyes firmly fixed on my face. Another surprise.

“You are…” I struggle to find the word that accurately describes him.

“I’m what?” Garrison prompts.

I shuffle back in my seat so I’m no longer giving him a bird's-eye view down the front of my top. “Different.” I think. “You were bookish, weren’t you?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Only someone who swallowed a dictionary would know something like that.”

“Wrong.”

“How?”

“Game shows. You, too, can learn a multitude of useless facts by staying up late and watching Jeopardy.” I smile as he shakes his head. “You understand why Lex calls me crusty.”

“You’re not crusty or ancient.” He feels like the right age to me. “Lex uses an obscene amount of emojis. It took me far longer to decipher than I’d ever admit.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

I cock my head. “Why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

My eyes narrow. “There was an emphasis on you.”

“Was there?” His expression is innocent. Too innocent.

Wood crackles in the fireplace as we study each other.

“Do you ever get lonely down here?” I blurt out and hold my breath.

After two thoughtful moments, he nods. “But I haven’t felt that way in some time now.”

He’s not saying what I think he’s saying. Is he?

Forming the words feels like a Herculean task with the dryness in my throat. “When did things change?”

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