Page 48 of Soul So Dark
He seems to accept my excuse and slinks past me, inviting himself into the bedroom. I catch a faint whiff of alcohol, maybe whiskey, but I don’t think he’s drunk. Buzzed, maybe, but he’s not staggering or slurring at the moment.
Colson wanders to the middle of the room, gazing around in silence as I eye him from the doorway. Then his eyes stop on my TV.
“Did you get a new TV?” he asks after a few seconds.
I clench my jaw and try my hardest not to make a terrible face at him. Or just start cussing him out.
“Yeah,” I reply with nonchalance, “the other one quit working.”
At the moment, it seems easier to just lie.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice strained like he had to push the words out of his chest.
My eyes narrow. “For what?”
Colson collapses onto the edge of my bed. “For your entire life right now.”
If he’s going to apologize for anything, I guess that pretty much covers everything.
“It’s not your fault,” I mumble down at the floor.
“Can you just—” he stops short, dragging his hands up and down his face, “can you just stay close?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like,” he hesitates, trying to find the words, “just stay close to me so I know where you are. Mom and Scott are dealing with the investigation, the rest of the family, all that bullshit…”
He trails off, his eyes wandering around my room again until, suddenly, they come to rest on the side table. I follow his gaze to the corner and my heart seizes when I catch sight of the thick framed black glasses folded neatly in the middle of the table.
Except they’re notmyglasses.
And the longer Colson stares at them, the more I can feel microscopic droplets of sweat forming on my arms and forehead.
“Stay close how?” I ask, trying to draw his attention away from the table.
He squints at the glasses, throwing me into a panic. Propelling myself across the bed, I crawl over the comforter and, acting as casual as possible, grab the glasses and slide them up the bridge of my nose. When I turn to Colson, I’m utterly shocked. I can see him—clearly.I thought for sure I would be next to blind after putting them on, but somehow the prescription is only slightly off from mine. Good thing, or else Colson would get even more suspicious if I started stumbling around the room likeI’mthe drunk one.
He studies my face for a few more seconds until I arch my brow and shoot him a look that practically screams,get on with it.
Finally, he snaps out of it. “I just don’t want you to be alone, you know, when they’re gone. It’s not a good idea.”
“Yes, fine,” I say quickly.
I have no idea what he’s proposing, but right now, I just want him out of my room. I can barely think straight. The irony; Colson coming in here whining about how he’s worried about some faceless—or not so faceless—ghoul attackingme, whenhe’sthe one who I have to lock out of my bedroom while Scott hides his guns. And, yet, I can’t help but reassure him. Why do I feel guilty for brushing him off?
Colson stands up with a huff and slowly turns to the door, but hesitates like he doesn’t know if he wants to leave yet.
God…
Closing the space between us, I wrap my arms around his torso. It’s always been the way to catch him off-guard; if I just grab onto him and don’t let go. Usually, it’s in a different context more reminiscent of the bull riders at a rodeo, but unexpected affection also works, too.
He wraps his arms around my shoulders and head, which barely comes up to his chest. He definitely smells like whiskey. And, with a deep breath, he tightens his grip, enveloping me in his massive arms. Squeezing his torso, I take the opportunity to shift my stance so that he faces away from the dresser. And then I pray that he doesn’t turn around, because then he might see my purple glasses case with my pair of black glasses inside—wide open for everyone to see.
???
The frames are just as thick, but definitely not the exact shape as my glasses. I laugh to myself, sliding Alex’s glasses back down the bridge of my nose and tucking them into a plain, nondescript plastic case I found at the bottom of my bathroom drawer. I replace my own black rimmed glasses and do a final once-over in my mirror.
Loose high waist jeans with Vans and a fitted purple crop top. I was planning on living in running shorts the rest of the year, hoping to stay invisible, but sometimes I even surprise myself. But, just to be clear, I amnottrying to look good for Alex Barrera. All the same, I run a brush through my hair one final time, hoping it doesn’t frizz to hell in the humidity.
