“Not a big talker. Noted,” I mutter, preparing to leave.
“Don’t.” The boy’s sudden words surprise me to say the least.
His voice is rough, deep, and there’s something almost intimidating about him. “Don’t what?” I ask, and then it hits me. “So you’re lonely too, huh?”
I swear I see him roll his eyes, or maybe it’s just my imagination playing tricks on me. “I’m Adeline,” I say, but I’m met with more silence.
“So, what are you doing out here all alone in the dark?” I inquire. The boy finally pulls his hood down, revealing a dark mess of hair that’s somehow both messy and perfectly in place.
“Could say the same thing about you. Aren’t you scared?” he retorts.
I just shrug. “I’m more scared of the people in the light. I still wouldn’t pick walking around in the dark as my ideal Friday evening though.”
“So why are you?” he asks, a coldness underlying his words.
“It was my only option, I guess,” I say, feeling the weight of his scrutinizing gaze.
There’s something about his eyes… that makes me a bit sad. I don’t know how, or why. It’s just a feeling I get while looking into them.
“What? And you can’t call anyone to come get you?”
“Nope,” I respond, realizing that, even in darkness, the boy’s expression remains detached and indifferent.
The boy leans back against the bench again, his eyes still obscured by the darkness. “No one to call at all, huh?” he remarks, his tone unchanged.
“No one I want to call,” I say truthfully. Because I’ve known for a while now that blood doesn’t mean respect. I don’t have theirs, and they don’t have mine. I guess that comes with being an inconvenience for so many years.
The only difference is now, I won’t be so naïve. I’ve been relying on too many people to lead me through the dark. How stupid is that? That I didn’t even realize that the people in front of me were the ones keeping my eyes shut.
But what’s even more foolish is that I let them.
“So… what are they like? Your family,” the boy asks flatly, cutting through my thoughts.
I let out a breath, watching it cloud faintly in the air. “They’re fine, I guess. They’re nice when they want to be.” I pause, then roll my eyes. “Except my older brother. He doesn’t like me very much.”
The boy shifts slightly on the bench. “How come?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit, even though that’s not entirely true. “He’s nice to everyone else. Has a lot of friends. Smiles at strangers, helps old ladies cross the street, all that. So everyone else sees this version of him that’s… different, I guess.”
“And how do they see him?”
I glance down at my hands. “He’ll always be perfect to them.”
There’s a long beat of silence. The boy’s jaw flexes once, twice. “Nothing real ever looks perfect up close.”
My gaze snaps to him. But he’s not looking at me—he’s looking somewhere far away. For a moment, I want to ask him where it is he’s drifted off to.
And if I can join him.
But I don’t.
“I guess you’re right,” I murmur, my voice softer now. “Perfect people don’t exist.”
“Just exhausted ones,” he finishes after a pause.
We sit in the silence that follows, neither of us moving.
Above us, the wind shifts through the trees, and somewhere far off, a dog barks once and falls quiet again.
