“This hurts my poor black heart,” I mutter as I push past the dresses, searching for something I can actually wear.
When you’re younger, color is everything. Then you grow up and somehow lose the color inside you. You learn to love black, not just because it’s simple, but because it lets you blend in. When you wear black, no one asks questions. Sometimes I miss color; mostly, I miss the time when I was allowed just to be a kid.
I close my eyes and inhale softly. I bite my lip as I search through the dresses again. Nothing feels right.
So I just stay in a white T-shirt and navy sweatpants.
I walk through the bedroom door and head down the stairs. Judas walks just behind me. A white shirt now covers his six-pack. As I turn halfway down, he brushes past me, forcing me to step aside, my shoulder hitting the railing.
“What’s your problem?” I mutter under my breath.
He doesn’t answer. He turns his back to me, chuckling softly, that same evil smirk on his mouth. He walks toward the living room on the left, one hand tucked into his pocket, as if nothing had happened.
I inhale again, my eyes closing as I keep walking. I pull the hair tie against my wrist once more.
When I reach the living room, I realize it is much wider than I imagined. A large table is positioned by the windows on the right, overlooking the garden. Catherine and Judge Harrington are already seated, waiting for us. Judas takes a seat across from Catherine, and as I step closer, I notice a plate already set beside him for me.
Carmen, you survived Juvenile Hall. You can survive lunch with Judas Harrington,I tell myself.
I sit down. As soon as I do, I look at Catherine and I smile.
Shealwayssmiles. It creeps me out.
I smile back.
People like that always have something to hide.
On the table are two silver trays of meat with vegetables and two glass bowls of salad. Catherine places a piece of meat on Judge Harrington’s plate, then adds salad and potatoes. He touches her hand, his fingers tangling with hers.
Is it wrong that I find it so gross?Growing up without this kind of affection, it feels strange. Uncomfortable.
As everyone starts serving themselves, I reach for the salad bowl. At the same time, Judas grabs it too. His fingers brush against mine.
His skin is soft.
Eww. What’s wrong with me?
“You know you can just ask, right?” I say, letting him take the bowl.
He rolls his eyes and gestures toward Catherine with his hand.
She presses her lips together, then looks at me.
“Judas can’t talk, Carmen.” She turns to him. “He can understand, but he can’t talk.”
“Like he can’t, or he just doesn’t want to?” I raise a brow, looking at him, then back at her.
He brushes his thumb under his chin and slowly drags his hand down his chest while looking at Catherine.
She laughs. “Judas!”
I raise my brow again, my brows pulling together.
“He can’t, Carmen,” she says. “There was an accident in 2005, and he hasn’t been able to talk since.”
“Oh.” I lean back, pushing my fork around the salad, my appetite fading. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“How could you?” she says gently. “And it’s okay to feel confused.”
