Page 24 of Perfectly Us
My room’s at the end of the hall, but my feet stop in front of the first door on the left.
I was so pissed that Clay got the bigger bedroom. It’s right beside the bathroom too, so he always beat me to a shower in the morning, making a kissy face at me as he reached it first and closed the door.
So many times I passed his room, seeing light under the door and hearing music thumping. Dad would yell at him to turn the volume down, and he’d lower it by like one.
He was always a smart-ass like that, but it made me laugh.
There’s no light coming from under the door now. No loud music. Everything’s so quiet. Cold. Clay would hate it.
I place my hand on the closed door.
“You know your mom doesn’t like anyone going in there.”
I jump at my dad’s voice and flip around.
He used to intimidate me when I was a kid. He still does. Not because he ever hit us or anything. He barely even spanked us. His stern voice and towering height were always enough to get me and Clay to behave. Because the threat of a punishment was there, in the hard set of his jaw and clench of his fists.
“I wasn’t going inside,” I say, trailing my gaze back to the door. “I was just… never mind.”
“Were you with Ruben tonight?”
Dad likes Ruben. Mainly because he knows Ruben is straight as an arrow.
“No. Someone else. His name’s Shiloh.”
Dad does that thing then, where his jaw tightens and his eyes narrow. It’s a look I’ve seen countless times, one that says more than words ever could. “I don’t need to hear about it.”
He opens the door to his study across the hall and goes inside without another word to me.
I continue to my room and sit on the edge of the bed, light off and door closed. I stare out the window. The tree on the other side of the glass stands still, unmoving, no wind to rustle the leaves or branches.
“I would’ve never guessed.”
“Guessed what?”
“That you’re so sad.”
I read somewhere once that pain recognizes pain, that tragedy leaves a mark on our souls, like a scarlet letter that only those who’ve also been marked can see. I don’t know if it’s true, but Shiloh looked into my eyes and saw right through me.
Can he see my mark?
I remember how he popped the rubber band on his wrist, a soft snap.
I think I see his too.
Chapter Six
Shiloh
“How are you feeling today, Shiloh?” Dr. Larson smiles as he sits in front of me, notepad and pen in hand. His reddish-brown hair is brushed back, not a strand out of place.
The tall windows running along one wall wash the room in golden light, exposing dust particles in the air. I watch as they float in the rays of sunlight.
“Fine. Better.”
“Good to hear. Your medication still making you lose your appetite?”
“Not as much. I feel like I’m getting more used to it now.” I relax into the couch. The clock on the wall behind him ticks. “I had a panic attack the other night.”
