Page 10 of Soul So Dark
Two-faced bitch.
“Colson was right,” Dallas says as we return to the stairs, “we shouldn’t have come back today. I’m just not…”
“Ready to pretend like everything’s fine?” I finish her sentence.
Dallas glances up, caught off-guard by my response, but then nods as she brushes her onyx hair out of her eyes.
“And watch everyone else move on while you’re stuck in the same place?” I add.
Her eyes soften, “Yeah.”
“I know what it’s like. My mom died from cancer when I was eight,” I explain, “and then my dad died in a car accident three years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” her voice hitches and her brow furrows as she looks at me.
“Don’t be sorry, Dallas,” I say with an unexpected smile, “it’s not a contest.”
She can’t get through the lunch line without falling apart less than a week after Evie’s body was found, and she’s the one offering her condolences tome.
Dallas looks down at the floor, between her pink and white Adidas sneakers, and this time she actually smiles. But a moment later, it’s replaced with a confused look.
“Who do you live with?” she asks, much like everyone else does when they find out I don’t have parents anymore.
“My brothers,” I reply. “Adrian’s older, so we were allowed to stay in our house together because he took over our parents’ business.”
While Dallas ponders this, I take the opportunity to change the subject to something other than death.
“What do you like to do, Dallas?”
I’m done being a sad sack, and for some reason I need her to quit being one, too. Maybe it’s because I just realized I’m sitting here with Dallas Lutz in an empty stairwell and after seven years of being best friends with her brother and going to her house countless times, I know next to nothing about her.
“Um, I play a lot of video games, but maybe you already knew that.”
“No, I didn’t know that. So do I.”
“Which ones?” she asks, sounding a bit more interested.
“Destiny,Diablo, Wasteland 3,” I reply. “What about you?”
Dallas’s deep blue eyes glimmer with a hint of excitement, “I’ve been playingWitcher 3a lot, but I really likeDark Souls.”
I arch my brow in surprise, “That’s a serious game.”
“Does that mean you’re not good at it?” she asks with a smile.
I think she just insulted me, but I don’t really care because I’m entertained by her sweet tone tinged with unfettered arrogance. But the answer is yes, I am good atDark Souls, just like I’m good at a lot of other games.
“I take it that means you are?” I smile back.
“I’m pretty good.”
I cast her a sideways glance. “What doespretty goodmean?”
“I got through Sen’s Fortress in 10 minutes,” she raises her chin with pride, “withoutdying at the boss.”
Admittedly, I’m impressed. I like this version of Dallas better—the one who seems surprisingly full of herself when it comes to gaming instead of the one sniffling by herself in the corner of the cafeteria.
“Not bad,” I concede, tilting my head as I study her.
