Page 112 of Seeing Grayscale

“But what if heis?”

Alex sighs. “If I know one thing about Hunter, he’s similar to a cockroach. You can step on him, squish him, set him on fire, and he’ll still crawl away.”

“Don’t fucking talk about him like that,” I snap, tears welling in my eyes.

“It comes from a place of strictly platonic love, I can assure you.” He stands up too, eyeing me while I chew on my rawthumb. “He tells me a lot, but I don’t know everything. You two are…close, right?”

I’d like to think we are. We’ve shared secrets, hopes, and dreams. He’s shown me his scars just like I’ve shown him mine. “Yeah,” I say carefully.

“Does he like…go anywhere? When he’s upset?”

My hand drops as it strikes me like lightning. “The airport.”

Alex frowns. “Airport?”

I nod quickly, darting out of the kitchen and rushing upstairs to get my shoes and jacket. Snow is coming down thick tonight, so it’s probably freezing out on the tarmac. I grab one of Hunter’s thicker coats from the closet before heading back down. Alex’s eyes soften.

“Which airport?”

“I…I don’t know.” I hadn’t been paying attention. Too shaken by seeing my art on display in that studio. Another bolt strikes my brain. “Leonard is the security guard.”

“Dark and handsome?” Alex purrs.

I scowl. “Past tense and lackluster.”

A smirk. “I know which airport. Come on, toots, we've got a broody millionaire to drag off the ledge.”

FORTY-SIX

“Fuck,”Islur,thebottle rolling out of my hand and sliding off my hood.

Getting shit faced at an airport, ignoring everyone who matters to me, and drowning in fear isn’t the way I need to handle it. But like I knew deep in my bones earlier, Ican’thandle it.

There’s nothing to handle.

I’m fucking done.

I can’t face my dad’s disappointment or my mom’s faux concern over my life choices.

What do I say to them? How can I explain my actions in a way that won’t reveal every secret I’ve ever kept?

All the lies…all the years pretending.

And Gray. My sweetheart.

“This is what you deserve,” I say into the night air, but I’m sure it doesn’t sound as I imagine it.

Part of me recognizes I’m cold, but the alcohol in my system is keeping me from frostbite.

I just…can’t do this.

It’s wholly dramatic and unlike me, but it’s the truth. I don’t want to do any of it anymore. The mistakes I’ve made are burying me alive. It might not be a large number of people I’m letting down, although it sure feels like it. Like I alone am responsible for everything horrible that will ever happen.

God, I’m so drunk.

A horrible burp rises up my throat, the taste of the fries I wolfed down coating my tongue.

My eyes are raw and dry, my mouth tastes like an ashtray, but I keep smoking and throwing the butts off to the side of my car like this tarmac is my dumpster. Might as well throw myself off, too. Just be done with it all.

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