Chapter 8 #3
There’s Colten at every age—Colten missing his front teeth, Colten holding a soccer ball bigger than his head, Colten in his academy uniform, hair shorter, smile smaller. Where were these pictures before? I would’ve remembered them.
I want to spend at least an hour analyzing them all, maybe getting my own copies for later. For blackmail, of course.
“Patrick,” Ms. Hazel says gently, touching my arm. “Sweetheart, are you okay? You look—”
She hesitates, like she’s trying to find a polite word for ‘like you crawled out of a ditch.’
“Great?” I offer.
She gives me a tight, concerned smile. “Do you need to sit down?”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, but then sway slightly. Her smile gets tighter. “I’ve just been traveling.”
“For how long?”
“Uh.” I do the math, or try to. Numbers feel fake right now. “Three days?”
Her eyes widen. “Three days? From Rosenbridge?”
“Yeah.”
“Patrick, isn’t that a three-hour bus trip?” she asks, incredulous.
“I think so,” I agree. “But I got lost a couple of times. And then my phone died, so I had to ask for directions, but I didn’t actually know the address, just, like, the look of the neighborhood, so—”
Her hand tightens on my arm. “You’ve been wandering around for three days?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds bad,” I admit.
“Because it is bad,” she says, eyeing me up and down with concern.
“Okay, but I found it,” I point out, which is the important part.
There’s a sound from upstairs, footsteps that start slow before getting faster.
I don’t have to look to know it’s him.
My whole body does this weird, electric thing, like I just got plugged into an outlet.
Colten stands at the top of the stairs, his eyes wide as they meet mine.
His hair’s down, falling just past his shoulders, a little messy like he’s been running his hands through it. He’s in one of his long-sleeved dark purple shirts, sleeves pushed up and exposing his forearms.
His face—
His face is a mix of shock, anger, and something else underneath it all, something that hits me when I recognize it.
Worry.
“Patrick?” he says, but the way he’s saying it sounds…wrong. Thinner, like it’s been stripped of that usual quiet fondness he sometimes likes to pretend he doesn’t have for me.
I grin anyway, because I made it. I actually made it to him. I honestly kind of lost hope around hour forty-seven.
I take a step forward, and the room tilts. I stagger, just barely staying upright as Ms. Hazel tightens her grip on my arm and Colten races down the stairs.
Hm. Perhaps protein powder is not a complete meal. Colten always warns me about that. Also, I haven’t really been sleeping for three days…
He takes the last few steps two at a time before jumping onto the landing, grabbing my other arm to help keep me upright. His fingers dig in just enough to hold me without hurting.
“What are you doing here?” he demands. “Why do you look horrible?”
“I haven’t slept or showered in three days?” I reply, before shaking my head to dismiss all their coddling. “That’s not the point.”
“What is the point, Patrick?” he snaps. His hands tighten around my arm like he’s not sure if he should help me or shake me.
“The point is that we have a really stupid superpower,” I say, very seriously.
He freezes, eyes wide with an amount of alarm that feels a bit dramatic, honestly.
Still, I nod, because yes, this is definitely the point. I’ve had a lot of time to think, too much time really. Especially once my phone died, what with all the walking and buses and strangers, but this seems right.
“And also the kissing thing,” I add, because I also thought about that a lot during the last seventy-two hours. “Which we should discuss at some point, when you’re ready. As soon as you’re ready, really.”
Ms. Hazel makes a small choking noise next to me.
Colten just stares. His expression cracks, just a little. His anger slips around the edges, something softer trying to break through like it’s been waiting for an opening.
“Patrick,” he starts, quieter now, “you can’t just—”
“I can,” I interrupt, because I’m not sure how much longer I will stay vertical. “And I did. Because you left, even though you promised you wouldn’t ignore me again. And also—”
The room tilts again, worse this time.
Colten’s right in front of me now. My gaze is drawn to the faded scar on his left eyebrow. Even after three years, the hair still won’t grow there.
Selfishly, I hope it never does.
His hands are on my shoulders, warm and steady as he keeps me upright.
“You’re not okay,” he says, all that anger cracking under the weight of his concern.
“I’m great,” I insist, my words only slightly slurred.
“Patrick—”
“I think, uh—” Talking is hard. The words trail off, my tongue heavy and my thoughts even heavier. I try again. “I think we should kiss again.”
There, I did it.
I’m still not sure why Colten’s mad at me, but I know he enjoyed the kissing.
I’m not sure why he still wants to break the spell, why he doesn’t want me to be attracted to him, but maybe if we kissed again, he’ll be happy, like before.
Maybe it will keep him from leaving me again.
The last thing I see before everything goes black is Colten’s face, his eyes wide, mouth open, and jaw slack as he watches me.
And then I pass out.