Page 30 of Seeing Grayscale

“And if you make me run,hewillget elected. To the public, I’m an infant in comparison. There wouldbeno competition. They’d wash the floor with me and no doubt drag up every little fucking thing trying to smear me.”

“Watch your mouth,” he scolds me. “We are at the table.”

I shovel another bite of meat into my mouth so I don’t say anything else.

“We’ll talk later.” The scrape of his chair over the floor makes me flinch. Grabbing his laptop and now empty glass, he leaves the dining room.

“You don’t have to,” my mom whispers. “He’s just stressed because that…well, he doesn’t want someone to come in and change things.”

“Like what?”

Shrugging, she cups my hand and squeezes. “You know how your dad feels about our state. O’Connell wants to take it up a notch. He just doesn't see things the way he should…”

Grant O’Connell is openly gay and far left. He’s as liberal as they come, and my dad has hated him ever since he started gunning for his job.

Oh, the goddamn irony.

“Then maybe he shouldn’t be such a bigot,” I snap.

I regret it the moment I say it. We both know it's the truth, but much like me, my mom still grovels for his approval. She might agree with me, but she'll never say It.

So when she drops her hand while I rake mine through my hair, I count down the seconds until I can leave, hoping like hell I didn't make a huge mistake.

FIFTEEN

It’sbeenhours.

Hours.

In that time, I’ve eaten, taken some more medicine, limped around downstairs to check out the house, and stared outside for a long time. Those clouds I saw rolling in earlier have completely swallowed the sunset, making the night appear darker. Thunder has rumbled overhead for the past twenty minutes, and I’m just waiting for the rain.

I can’t remember the last time I could actually enjoy it.

I’m used to cowering under whatever shelter I can find during our frequent rainstorms, too busy trying not to get hypothermia or sick.

Before my life went down the drain, I used to love how rainy it gets here. My mom always hated it because I’d insist on jumping in every puddle I could find, ruining my outfit and tracking muddy footprints through our house. Never did I think I’d stop doing that. I never thought I’d stop doing a lot of things.

Being alone is something I’m used to, sure, but this house feels void of life without anyone else in it—like it’s a damn crypt ready to lock me in. Even with the soft background noise of the TV, I’m itching for Hunter to get back.

I’m…fuck, I’mcountingon it.

There are too many changes happening when my life has been one consistent, predictable line of fuckery. Getting mugged or gang raped doesn’t seem so out of the ordinary, even if the latter had never happened before.

But this?

Sitting in a nice ass house, at night, in a beach town?

God, I hate it. I hate it so much because it’s calm.

You know what happens when things are calm? Complacency.

This kind of peaceful energy is its own type of predator. It lures you in, seduces you, and coaxes you to let down all your guards. You fall in love with it, cherish it, and want to keep it forever until it ultimately bursts with cannon fire and trembling quakes. Itdestroys youso that you’ll never, ever want it again.

I’ve gone through this before. I know exactly how it progresses.

I’m scared to death of falling victim to it again.

More time passes while I stew in my thoughts, worried about what morning will bring.

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