Page 24 of Wrath

I think of dragging a fingertip down the inside of his forearm. It would be soft. He has a tan from practice in the sun, but everyone's arms are pale on the inside. I could trace the veins I see.

I look at his face just for a second, wondering about him. I've been avoiding him as much as I can. I don't want to be a dick, but he's one, so I can't not. At least that was true until tonight.

Nothing happened tonight, Miller. He's passed out, and you're just staring at him like a freak.

Still, I can't seem to pull my eyes away from him. The roof is slanted. Not much, but a little. If I go inside, he might roll off, or step on that weak spot. I'm pretty sure that he's asleep now. I sit beside him, feeling warm and strange and like there's an anchor someone just dropped down in my chest.

I want to touch him. I want to brush his hair off his forehead and fold my palm around his cheek, and after that, I want to lie beside him on the slanted roof and pull him up against me.

Why?

Because I just...feel like he needs it.

Why?

There's something about him.Something that seems almost fragile.

Or maybe you just want there to be.

Either way, I'm fucked in the head. I let myself be fucked for another half an hour before I shake his shoulder.

"Ezra?" I whisper. His name is foreign fruit—a taste I've never known but want to.

His eyes open, and he frowns as he squints up at the sky.

"Don't move," I whisper, finally allowing my fingers to touch down on his arm. "We're on the roof. I think you fell asleep."

He smiles like that's crazy. Then his eyes find my face and he pushes up on one elbow. He frowns, and everything about him ices over.

"We're still out here?"he asks gruffly.

"You fell asleep."

"Fuck." He doesn't even look my way as he gets on his hands and knees and then he rises, crouching like a werewolf on its hind legs.

When he reaches his window, he grips the sill and glances over at me.He gives me a slow blink, and then I swear, his mouth curves downward in a frown. He says “goodnight” like he’s distracted, in a monotone.

And then he’s gone.

Seven

Josh

Ican't get to sleep until the sun is rising. I don't know why. I keep thinking of him on the other side of our shared bathroom. At one point, I even go into the bathroom, putting my ear up to his door to be sure it sounds like he's okay in his room.

I realized his fingers were probably twitching because he was falling asleep. That's a thing that happens. With that knowledge, I have no reason to believe anything’s going on with him. Or that I need to check up on him. There's no good reason he’s sitting at the forefront of my mind, like a worry stone you slip into your pocket and rub sometimes.

I don't even know him. What I do know is all bad news. And still, as soon as I wake up—the clock says 11:04 AM—I sit up in bed, gripped by this feeling that I might’ve missed something. I pull on a pale blue T-shirt and those plaid pants he remarked on, and then I go downstairs and plant myself at the kitchen table with a bowl of gluten-free, Cheerios-imposter cereal.

Mom and Carlare at church, so I'm alone when he comes down at 11:30. I watch as he steps into the pantry, then emerges and moves toward the garbage can. He stops as his eyes lock onto my face.

Hesitation. Just a second of it. Then he lifts his brows and walks into the dining room. A few minutes later, I hear the front door shut.

What the hell? He left his shades here on the counter. I’ve noticed he wears them every day. Maybe he’s not actually leaving, though.

Henpecker.

I set my bowl in the sink and walk through the dining room and into the family room, moving quietly in case he’s still around. A quick glance outside reveals his Jeep is gone.

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