Page 37 of Left In The Dark

He laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, then it’ll really be a good day.”

I take more steps away from his car. “I’ll see you Saturday and you can tell me the good news then.”

“See you Saturday.”

He watches me as I get in my car before slipping into his. As soon as he shuts the door, I grab my phone and send over one last message for the day.

Me: Hi.

Blake: Hi.

A smiley face shows up next, and again I try to hate myself, this time for my lips matching the emojis. A fluttering sensation stirs in my stomach and I’m suddenly not sure Saturday should happen after all. Not if I’m randomly going to keep forgetting what and who he is. He’s the only one who’s supposed to lose his way, not me too.

Closing my eyes, I listen to the humming sound of his car as it drives away, and I envision him going somewhere other than home. To some hotel with my dad, getting from someone else what I’m making him wait for, and I open my eyes. With blood boiling through my veins, I have my priorities straight again, back to remembering what I need to. He’s the enemy, and nothing good comes from someone like him, even if my body says otherwise.

Nine

Blake

I jump up on my bed, pounding a fist in the air after reading over one of the emails I’ve been waiting on. I got another modeling job. Reading over the contract, I laugh when I see what it says I’ll be doing. It’s an underwear ad. Grabbing my phone, I pause when I’m on Logan’s name. What am I doing?

When you have big news to share, the first person you message shouldn’t be . . . What even is he to me? He was nothing . . . and then he unlocked this side of me I can’t help but want to explore.

He thought I hated him, but never was that true. If anything, I envied him for getting to be his true self without merit. It didn’t matter what others thought of him. Our harsh treatment didn’t stop him either. Not us, not his dad, or the stupid thoughts in his head screaming at him about consequences.

Logan wore what he wanted, hung out with everyone who would have him, and didn’t blink twice at going for his dream. He was given more options, too, while all I had was my dad’s, or I risked starving. It took so long for me to come back. I tried everything I could to prevent it. Slept on strangers’ couches, accepted random jobs here and there—from babysitting, to pet sitting, to house cleaning, to stripping at several clubs.

But it all came down to the pictures. Logan wasn’t the only one to find them. My dad did too, threatening to have my car repossessed if I didn’t come home. It disn’t stop there either. So many people in the food industry owed him favors, and a friend of his spread rumors around where I danced, saying I was drugging the customers. No one would hire me after that. My boss didn’t involve the cops, because he had other illegal shit going on in the back he didn’t want them accidentally stumbling on, but he did ask me to leave immediately without pay.

So I came back. I didn’t want to but I had no choice. Turns out my dad’s right—I can’t survive without him, and I can’t stop doing the wrong thing.

“You’re a fuck up. The worst excuse for a son,” he said yesterday, slamming a fist on the desk. “Get out and come back when you’re ready to make me proud.”

I look at the door and back at the white screen, rolling my thumb over Logan’s name. I have no one to tell the news to but him. No one else would understand or realize how important this is for me. His flickering eyes told me he did, and I couldn’t stop baring my soul to him with how relaxed I was.

My sister might let something slip to my parents, but what’s shared between me and Logan stays there. He’ll get a laugh out of his first guess finally being right. Alcohol ads really were gateways to Calvin Klein apparently.

I stare harder at the screen, a sheen of sweat spreading across my brow. I want him to know . . . I want . . . I bang my head against the headboard. What will he say back? Will he respond? Will he call me a . . . a good boy?

A smile plays on my lips and I slowly tap at the keys, sucking in a breath. Lifting my finger, I hold it in midair before continuing and hitting send.

Me: I got a call back from one of the agencies I met with. Guess what the job is?

I stare at the screen, heart galloping as I wait. Who knows how long I sit here, not moving, before finally getting a reply.

Logan: Lip‑gloss ad?

I laugh into my hand, shifting in bed. What is this weird sensation fluttering through me? Giddiness? Can’t be. That shit only happens in movies. People fake finding the love of their life, allowing outsiders to see only their smiles and forced hand holding. My parents took their masks off as soon as they were home. My first crush in middle school was a bust too. He got what he wanted twice and moved on to one of my friends the following week.

It’s not real. Loneliness has a way of fucking with your head. I bow my head, pinching between my brows. We’re merely taking a break from reality and finding new ways to survive.

Me: Guess again.

Logan: Hmm . . . sock commercial?

Me: Getting warmer.

Logan: Underwear.