Chapter 4
COLT
I’ve stopped being my own person around school.
The rest of the world sees me as Colt Alistair, Leni’s boyfriend, not the kind of guy you want to fuck around with.
But when we get to school, I stop being me.
Now, I’m the guy whose brother died. That’s the risk you take when you spend so much time with someone who happens to look a hell of a lot like you.
People get used to seeing you together everywhere you go.
Then all of a sudden, there’s only one of you, and every time they notice you’re alone, they remember why.
They get this sad, almost embarrassed look on their faces.
It happens all the time, even months later. You’d think they’d get used to it by now, but it still feels fresh. At least now, no one says anything. I couldn’t handle more questions like, “How are you? Are you holding up? Is there anything I can do to help?”
So now, I don’t have to fight the urge to ask if they know how to bring people back from the so-called dead.
They wouldn’t believe me, anyway. I can’t even get Leni to understand, so why would a bunch of people I don’t care about, whose names I hardly remember, believe me?
I used to care about the way I was seen around here.
There was a time I enjoyed walking across campus, being recognized, waved at, invited to parties, and that kind of thing. It used to matter.
I barely remember being that person now.
The one bright spot in my life is the girl walking by my side.
She’s a ray of light, almost like she carries her own personal sun inside her and glows from the inside out.
I can’t believe I ever saw her the way I once did.
I can’t believe it was ever so easy to hate her, to abuse her. Love changes everything.
But it hasn’t changed me. Not completely. There’s still a darkness deep inside. The impulse to remind her that she belongs to me when she smiles as we pass a group of people who call out to us. They don’t deserve her attention. Only I do.
It’s like she hears me as we walk, glancing up at me before color floods her cheeks.
“What will you do between classes?” she asks, brushing a strand of red hair away from her face when a gust of wind teases it from her ponytail.
The floral scent of her shampoo reaches me and soothes the worst of the boiling, swirling darkness that’s always just under the surface, threatening to consume me.
“I thought I would go to the library.”
The way she narrows her eyes before tipping her head to the side tells me she doesn’t exactly believe my answer. “You’ve been spending a lot of time in the library lately.”
“Have I?” I shrug. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Better be careful.” She gives me a gentle nudge with her elbow, a playful smile tipping the corners of her mouth. “I might start thinking you’re meeting a girl in there.”
Coming to a stop at the intersection where one of the paths leads to the library, I turn to her and take her face in my hands. How is her skin so soft? “That’s one thing you never have to worry about.”
“I know. I’m only playing.” She closes her eyes before I press a kiss to her forehead, forcing myself to memorize the softness of her skin under my lips.
How eager she is to accept affection. I carry that in my heart all the time, along with every little thing I’ve cataloged and memorized about her.
Sometimes, those memories are all that keep me from losing myself to the rage.
Maybe one day I’ll have to process it or whatever, but today is not that day.
As much as I don’t like letting her go off by herself, there’s no choice but to watch her continue to the arts and sciences complex where her next class is. Once I watch her walk inside, I turn around and head for the library.
Of course, Leni was right. I’m not here to study.
Maybe it’s wrong to hide this from her, but then again, right and wrong has never mattered all that much to me.
We spend so much time together at the apartment, I don’t feel comfortable doing my research there.
She might see me, get a little curious, and start asking questions.
She’s not going to like the answers she gets, and I won’t like the way she doesn’t like it.
I’m pretty new to this whole relationship thing, but I know it’s smarter to avoid the shit you see coming a mile away.
That’s why I use one of the computers in the library to dig around.
I don’t even know what I’m looking for. A sign, any sign. I have to do something. I can’t sit around and accept what everyone else has accepted. I would know if my brother was dead. I never saw the body. There was no ability to test his dental records since he was basically blown apart.
Whoever it was, it wasn’t Nix. I don’t know who else would have been in the house that day, but it wasn’t him. Nix wouldn’t let himself get blown up like that. He would’ve smelled the gas—it was a gas leak that set off the blast. He would’ve been smart enough to get the hell out of there.
Because otherwise, he did it on purpose, and I can’t accept that. The idea of him doing something like that, without at least hinting to me he was thinking about it… it doesn’t make sense. That’s not him. That’s not us. And that’s what Leni couldn’t possibly understand.
Finally, when my research comes up with nothing as it usually does, I move on to the next step. There’s no way to know whether he reads these emails I send every few days, but I have to keep trying.
First, though, I have to look around, make sure nobody’s paying attention.
This whole thing has turned me into a paranoid freak, always looking over my shoulder, because I know anyone would think I’m crazy or pathetic and deluded if they knew I can’t accept Nix’s death.
Like I’m some emotional basket case who can’t accept the truth.
Brother,
When are you coming back? Life is pretty fucking boring without you. I feel like I ask that question all the time, but the days keep going past, and you still haven’t said anything to at least let me know you’re okay.
Maybe this will get you to show yourself: Mom is awake.
We saw her a few days ago. I’ve been waiting to get back on campus to send you this email and let you know.
She’s doing well, at least according to her team.
I don’t think they ever expected her to wake up.
Now that she has, I’m not sure I was ever all that confident either.
I mean, I hoped. I thought I could make her wake up somehow if I concentrated hard enough, or something like that.
I know she wants to see you. She can’t talk yet—it might be a long time before she ever can—but I know. Right away, she wanted to know where you were. Maybe you were always right when we were kids, and you said you were her favorite. It would suck if her favorite never came to see her.
I’m acting like the kid I was back in those days, trying to goad him, but I’m pretty fucking desperate at this point. Whatever it takes, I need him to respond. I would feel it inside if he were gone. I’m sure I would.
She’s at the hospital I told you about before, where I had her moved closer to me instead of hiding her out in Florida the way that asshole did.
I told her he’s gone, and she cried a little, which tells me she still remembers things.
I told her you went away because that’s the truth.
I know it’s the truth. You’re not dead. I don’t know why you feel like you have to stay away.
Is it guilt? Are you afraid somebody will blame you for the explosion? You don’t have to worry about that.
You don’t have to worry about Leni, either. You know how things are between us now. She knows why we did what we did. She doesn’t hold it against us.
Even as I type the words, I feel a strange, uncomfortable sensation growing in the pit of my stomach.
It’s another thing I’m not used to—second-guessing myself.
Is that what love is? Trying to do the right thing, and then always wondering if it was right after all?
Going over every conversation when things seem off, wondering if you did or said something wrong.
If you brought the person you love closer or pushed them away.
I think something is up with Leni, but she is pretending nothing is wrong.
You know what a terrible liar she is. She tries to act tough and strong.
She thinks she has the world fooled, but we can all see through her.
I don’t know why she can’t be honest with me.
I don’t know what I have to do to make her trust me.
The more she doesn’t trust me, the angrier I get.
The more hurt she gets. I see that hurt in her eyes—fuck, she might as well punch me in the face when she looks at me. It might be easier if she did.
“Hey, Colt.”
My head snaps up at the sound of a voice murmuring my name.
A lot of people think they can just walk past and start a conversation when somebody’s busy.
They’re lucky I just jerk my chin in recognition.
I’d rather ask them why they can’t mind their own damn business.
I feel like a guilty kid caught cheating on a test or something, looking around again to make sure nobody’s watching over my shoulder as I basically treat my brother like my personal diary. The whole thing is pretty pathetic.
But then they wouldn’t understand. If anything, I’m glad for them. Glad for anyone who doesn’t have to carry this weight around. Knowing in their heart that things aren’t the way they appear.
By the time I send the email, I know what I need to do when we get home later. I need to figure out what the hell the girl who supposedly loves me doesn’t trust me enough to tell me.