Page 15 of The Fine Line
I kinda hold my breath after I ask, already bracing for the look of hesitation. It’s always the same. He starts to answer, then doesn’t. Glances past my shoulder…
Bennett isn’t like me. People drain him the way they charge me. Or at least that’s what I like to tell myself.
But if I’m being honest?
I’m not sure my battery really charges at all.
Because when the crowd clears and the noise dies down?
I’m back to zero.
Back to empty.
So yeah. Maybe people aren’t a power source. Maybe they’re just a distraction. A buffer between night and day.
Most of the time, it doesn’t matter who’s around—just someone. As many someones as possible.
But if I had a choice?
I’d like to have someone around tonight that I know gives a damn about me. One person who actually sees me.
I try not to let it show on my face how much it would really mean to me.
I try not to let it show how much that would really mean to me.
I don’t know if I succeed.
But when Bennett meets my eyes again, something in my chest unclenches.
“I’m down,” he says.
And forty-five minutes later, he’s patting me on the shoulder as I open the fridge to let me know he’s arrived. I give him a quick smirk and a nod as I squat down to check the selection of drinks, which—as always—is abundant.
It occurred to me sometime in my first year of high school that every time my parents disappeared for the weekend—some event, a last-minute vacation, an early start to work trip—the fridge and liquor cabinet magically filled with every form of alcohol a teenager could want.
By sophomore year, I realized they never noticed when it went missing. By junior year, I wondered if they left it for me on purpose. Now? Senior year?
I know the truth.
They just don’t care.
As long as I’m entertained, not causing trouble, not ending up in jail, they’re fine with whatever keeps me out of their way.
“Hey, Sutty.”
I turn and find Bella smiling down at me. Chocolate brown hair. Big blue eyes. Long legs. Strappy sandals.
Total knockout. Everyone knows it.
“Hey, you,” I say, grabbing two beers and standing, handing her one.
“I knew I could count on you,” she purrs.
I pop both bottles open with the opener from my back pocket, and we clink. She takes a polite sip. I down half of mine.
“Great game, by the way,” Bella says.
“Oh, thanks.”
