Page 14 of Seeing Grayscale

So, that’s how I end up at Walmart with my head down, hoping I don’t get recognized immediately.

I grab everything Gray will need, my arms overflowing because I was too distracted to grab a shopping cart, and I make it to the checkout with no issue. It’s not until I approach thecashier that my willful negligence of my status and reputation come full circle.

“Oh! Oh! I know you!” the older woman squeals in delight, halting her movements.

Not wanting to be rude, I dip my head and offer a smile. She taps the shoulder of the cashier in the next lane over. “It’s Hunter Kade!”

Now, the people in line behind me are eyeing me with interest; a few of them, I’m sure, don’t know what that name means, but they’re curious nonetheless. “I justadoreyour father’s policies.”

Debatable. If not for our state being so blue, they’d be more extreme, especially in certain areas. “I’ll be sure to tell him,” I say, clearing my throat.

“Oh, forgive me,” the cashier—Sherryl—squeaks and continues scanning my items. “Aren’t these a tad small?” she comments, holding up a package of boxers.

“For a friend.”

“That’s so kind. Is he down on his luck?”

I open my mouth to say yes but change my mind at the last second. “We are donating to charity,” I say instead.

“Ain’t he sweet, Tina?”

I’m fawned over the entire time, even after I pay and gather my bags. Sherrylleavesher area to insist I tell my dad about some wildlife preservation act trying to get a foot in the door. Something about a particular frog or other. I smile and nod, telling her I will and jog out of the Walmart.

Banking on the fact that the employees won’t rat me out this soon, I ignore the inkling in my head to call my dad.

All my life, I’ve been taught the art of damage control—how to craft the version you want, even if it isn’t the truth. Going against that instinct drilled into me is more complicated than I thought. If I can shape what I’m doing into something bigger—philanthropy, as Gray mentioned—then it might not get so out of hand. I might be able to get by without issue.

I started getting cold feet the entire drive back to the Holiday Inn.

What the hell am I even doing?

I bought Gray a whole new wardrobe, shoes, a backpack, and essentials. He is a virtual stranger, and I’ve plucked him off the street, hellbent on supporting him. I’m making big promises. I’m fueled by that beaten-down energy that coils around him like a venomous serpent.

He’s…dangerous.

Not just in the respect that I know nothing about him, but he’s become the focal point of my fascination.

Is my life that mundane? I keep telling myself this isn’t for entertainment, that I’m not so low, yet if someone else asked mewhy, I would spout the same answer I gave Gray. There is noother reason besides a desire to. Something I haven’t felt in a long fucking time.

Iwantto want something instead of being obligated to.

I was obligated to take the job my dad secured for me. I was obligated to move into a house far too big for just me because it was close to my family. Despite starting at the middle rung, I was obligated to climb the social ladder.

When have I done something openly because I wanted to and could?

The things I want stay secret.

Looks like some things never change.

I gather the bags from the small trunk and hurry back to the hotel room. I knock loudly and let Gray know it’s me, and I unlock the door only to find the chain in place.

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” Gray rushes out as he closes it partially to undo the chain. When he opens it again, his cheeks are flushed, and pink stains under his good eye.

I raise my weighed-down wrists so he can see why I left, and he moves out of the way. “I might have gone overboard, but I wasn’t sure what you’d want or need, so I got a little of everything,” I explain, setting the bags on the bed closest to the door.

He pops his thumbnail in his mouth, gnawing on it while I take everything out. “Hunter, I’m leaving,” he insists. “Tomorrow. I already washed my pants. They’ll be dry and—”

“Where will you go? Back to the gas station? You can hardly put any weight on that leg. Are you going to walk there? Hitchhike?” I can’t help the barrage of questions.

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