Page 34 of The Casualty of Us
Or at least gives me something to blame my actions on.
Curiosity that has me walking over to quietly close Ollie’s door, not letting myself think too long about it or the choice I’m making before taking a deep breath and heading to Hayes’s room. Giving his door the same treatment the second I’m over the threshold and turning back around to take in the room.
I let my eyes wander around the dimly lit space, finding that it has the same basic furniture as Ollie’s but with an energy to it that’s all Hayes. The faint sound of running water draws my attention to where the door to the bathroom is cracked just enough to allow a sliver of light through it. Barely half an inch of space, really.
But that little sliver has my mind quickly supplying a picture that Idefinitelydid not ask for and my heart picking up pace with it.
I jerk my eyes away from the door and take another deep breath, blowing it out slowly while toeing off my boots and looking anywhere else in the room. Quickly cataloging the clothes that are filling the hamper in the corner and the bookshelves that are filled with vinyl records instead of books. A lone guitar sits propped up in the corner, and a football is abandoned on the ground not too far from my feet. I take a few more tentative steps toward the bed that’s covered in a dark green duvet and notice his laptop lying on the nightstand beside it with a book on top of it.
The discovery has me immediately reaching for one of my favorite things, curious as to what he could be reading for his own classes right now and lifting it up to investigate further. Not at all expecting to find the title ofHamlet. It has surprise washing through me at the sight of my namesake book andleaves me arguing with myself that it could still be for some class. That just because he has it doesn’t mean that it’s about—
“I forgot I left that out.”
I jump at Hayes’s soft rasp, head whipping toward the sound and finding him standing in the doorway of the bathroom with his hands stretched up to grasp the top of it. His face now free of the grim reaper makeup, and a whole freaking cloud of the cedar scent I associate with him being released from the bathroom. He’s wearing what I’m pretty sure are the same pair of gray joggers he was the first time we met, but his top half is completely bare and still dripping water.
I stare at him with about a hundred questions on the tip of my tongue, swallowing them down at the fall of his brows and warning instead. “It’s not a happy story.”
“Yeah.” He breathes harshly, dropping his hands to step forward and pluck the book from my hand. “I’m starting to get that, I think.”
I purse my lips as he sets it back on top of his laptop. “Are you reading it for a class?”
“Nope.” He turns back to stare down at me, lifting a brow. “I was curious.”
“My mom thought she deserved a happier ending, Ophelia,” I supply quickly, stomach flipping at the unsaid implications and making me rattle off. “She always said that she was a victim of the misogyny of her time and thought she deserved a happier story, so…” A small shrug leaves me, and I finish quietly, “Me.”
“You.” His eyes narrow playfully, and the next thing I know he’s tackling me onto the bed with a breath of laughter filling the air. Practically smothering me with his stupid cedar scent before rolling onto his side and propping himself up on a pillow. His hand goes under his head, and I scowl up at him while righting myself. Ending with us side by side as I lay my hands over mystomach to quell some of the fluttering there and move my eyes to stare up at the ceiling.
“Your mom sounds nice,” he starts softly again.
“She is, or she can be, if you don’t piss her off,” I agree quickly. “I’m a lot like her. Ollie favors our dad.”
“Yeah.” He reaches over, fingertips starting to trace the lines of my face and practically demanding my attention again. “Ollie’s mentioned how close you two are.”
I turn my head to look up at him, running my eyes over his still-wet hair before dropping them to meet his with the question that’s been bugging me finally slipping free. “Why’d you steal that car?”
His fingertips come to a stop, and we continue to stare at each other for a beat. Something flashes through his eyes that I can’t quite place before he rolls onto his back suddenly, breaking the contact between us with a deep sigh. “Does it matter?”
I turn over onto my side, folding my hands under my head and pulling my knees up while answering honestly. “I’m not sure.”
His face tenses. “I…”
I watch as he swallows visibly, clearly struggling to get it out, with his brows shooting down farther by the second in a way that has me reaching out for his hand. He goes still for a beat before looking down to where I’m winding our fingers together, and I give him a quick squeeze there. The comforting gesture that I usually reserve for only my twin being shared in the face of something that I can feel pulling at me inside.
A story that’s not spoken yet but all the more painful for its silence somehow.
“You know,” I whisper instinctually, drawing his gaze back up to mine and following the urge blindly. “There are these times in life when I can be really brave. Moments when I justknowwhat to do. How to get what I want. Like with Graham and theparty. It’s been there for as long as I can remember, that part of me.” My lips lift a little with the memory before falling quickly. “I’m good at it, love it even, reading a person or situation and understanding all the hidden facets. It used to be like that all the time for me.” I suck in a quick breath, automatically correcting. “Iused to be like that all the time, never faltered, always followed the instinct. But now there’s these moments when…” My face pinches up at the reality that I’m finally voicing to him. “I don’t know, it’s like something random will happen and then suddenly the bottom is falling out and I can’t move.”
I trail off softly with the confession, and he holds completely still, his hazel eyes steady on my blue ones and giving me enough space to breathe out the rest.
“I’m paralyzed. Mind tripping over that same moment.” His hand squeezes around mine, and I clear my throat to keep going. “I think that’s what scares me the most some days. The after of it all. The second-guessing. Whether to trust the girl who always followed her instincts, sometimes too far, or…” I look down at our hands, tightening my own as that knot in my chest seems to twist. “Or to live with the girl whose mind failed her when it mattered most. The one who never saw it coming. The girl whose instincts were completely silent when her brother asked her if they should go grab some ice cream.” I force my gaze back up, finding a barely guarded sadness in the hazel now and finishing a little unevenly. “That’s the hardest part for me.”
Our eyes stay locked in the silence that follows, minutes sliding away and fingers clasped tightly together before he turns his head to look at the ceiling again. “It’d been about two weeks.” He taps his thumb against my hand. “About two weeks without any word from her. I’d tried calling every day, but she never answered. Not even when I threw a party around day ten and she sent security to make sure things didn’t get out of hand.”
My brows fall at his words, and they have me needing to clarify. “Your mom?”
Because as little as he talks about his dad…his mom has been spoken of even less. My only info about her came from Marley mentioning she used to be a model or something.
“Yeah,” he sighs, nodding at the ceiling. “It honestly wasn’t anything out of the usual, but she had already missed my graduation and I was just so fucking angry this time. That she could keep enough tabs on me to know I was having a party but couldn’t even be bothered to pick up the damn phone.” I squeeze his hand again, and he immediately returns the gesture. “Then a week became two and all these pap shots of her were coming out, so I just…”
