Page 39 of Soul So Dark
In our house, when comfort is needed, food is love. Usually, it’s our mom who’s making the piles of food for others, but not this time. Now, we are the ones who everyone is baking casseroles for because they feel sorry for our dreadful misfortune.
I slide one side of my headset off my ear. “Not yet,” I mumble as I scroll through the playlist on my phone.
Once the boys are finished rifling through the refrigerator, I open it and marvel at the shelves stuffed to the brim with containers of food, ranging from non-descript storage containers to Styrofoam labeled with the names of four different restaurants in town. I pull out one of the pre-made grilled chicken and strawberry poppyseed salads on the bottom shelf.
“How far are you inWitchernow?” Colson asks as I open a drawer to get a fork.
“I stopped playing,” I sigh, popping open the clear plastic container.
“What?” Colson sounds positively offended. “Why? I even told you what to do,” he argues, jamming a fork into his steaming pile of lasagna.
Yeah, before you went caveman on me in the middle of the night…
But he doesn’t wait for a response. “Then what are you playing?”
I almost say,nothing, but he would know that was a bold-faced lie.
“Tomb Raider.”
“I should’ve known,” Colson rolls his eyes in response, “fucking Lara Croft over here. How many times have you beat each game?”
“Lost count,” I say, drizzling the dressing over the lettuce before shutting the lid again.
Colson gives atsk, tsk.“What a waste of potential,” he says pompously before turning and heading toward the patio door with Aiden.
Mason says nothing, having learned his lesson from earlier. But when Alex follows them across the kitchen, he slows and leans down.
“Angelínaaa…” he hums under his breath as he passes.
I set my jaw and put my head down, trying to ignore him and the fact that a wave of goosebumps is skittering down my arms.
Once the boys disappear with their overflowing plates of cheese and pasta to the back patio, I disappear back upstairs to eat my salad while losing myself in an episode ofFear the Walking Dead.Afterward, I continue my newfound ritual of meticulously creeping along the perimeter of my bedroom and confirming every one of my possessions is clean, in its place, and not smashed into smithereens on the floor. At least my bedroom is one place that I can maintain some shred of control.
I gently brush my fingertips over the shelves until I come to the consoles next to my TV. My hand lingers for a moment on the PlayStation and I come to a halt when I hear the sounds from outside, no longer masked by the TV. The boys’ voices drift up to the window from the patio below, punctuated by shouts and brief outbursts of laughter. I can hear Alex’s voice now, and its familiar lilting cadence, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.
Angelínaaa…
He could just be messing with me again. But all the same, I step away from the shelves and grab my phone off the comforter, pulling up our texts from yesterday.
ME (6:03PM): I look nothing like Angelina Jolie
To my surprise, it’s not one minute before he responds.
ALEX (6:03PM): Good thing…too tall for my taste
ME (6:04PM): Have fun with the other ¾ of your brain
ALEX (6:06PM): You still never said whether I can play TR with you
ME (6:06PM): Let me know when you’re ready to be humiliated
ALEX (6:12PM): Tonight
I hesitate, immediately balking at the idea of playing with all of them, especially after I may have already done so under insidious circumstances. I shouldn’t play with Alex again, not after that. I should stick with my own friends and forget that I even texted him that one night after Colson acted like a psycho—again—and I had a mini panic attack about it.
But part of me still wants to. Even after last night, for some inexplicable reason, Alex still feels…safe.
ME (6:15PM): Not with the rest of them
