Cold Coffee and Stale Cigarettes *on hold*

Chapter 27

“Oh I’m sorry; I forgot tough macho guys don’t talk about their feelings. Why don’t we discuss chemical and hormonal happenings in that weird squishy pink thing beneath your skull?”

Dalton looked at me for a moment, head flat against the side of the couch, chin tilted upwards so his eyes were hooded, the light barely washing across his upper cheeks. My eyes traced his jaw, and the curve of his neck, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob towards the hollow at the bottom of his throat.  A smile flickered across his lips, pained, and he closed his eyes, sinking further into the couch.

“Fuck off, Sam.” he sighed.

“Asshole.” I retorted, digging my nails into the skin of my knees.

“I’ll make a deal.”

“Yea?”

“Get some sleep first and then we’ll talk.”

“That’s it?”

“Yea.”

“No.” I disagreed. “Not worth it.”

“Yea it is.” His dark eyes opened and he turned back to my direction. “Because I’ll also tell you something else you said.”

“What do you mean?” My spine stiffened. His eyes shifted slightly, eyeing my hands, which I forcefully relaxed, trying to erase the white on my knuckles.

“See you in an hour.” He smirked, turning back to the TV.

“But-”

“All you gotta do is close your eyes.” He didn’t look at me, picking up the remote control, flipping the channel.

“It’s not that simple.” I whispered, a void gaping in the center of my chest. I couldn’t stand the nightmares. They never ended. In the dark of night they ghosted over my skin, seeping into my pores as they intertwined with muscle and bone, flowing through blue veins before flooding my system, following the bile that sat sticky on my tongue, filtering the air I breathed till only poison entered my lungs.

“Yea,” he said, “Yea it is.”

So I closed my eyes.

I was walking through the front door, a smile tugging the edges of my mouth.

“Gimme a second, honey!” My mother’s call echoed from the confines of the car as she pulled the items that had fallen from her purse on a particularly sharp turn.  “No. Not again.”  Letting my bag slump to the floor, I skipped up the stairs in the pair of converse Mason had bought me for Christmas. He had bought a plain white pair and designed a pattern onto the canvas, creating an original design no one could compete with. “Don’t do it.” The hallway was dark, the only streak coming from a crack in Mason’s door. He wouldn’t be expecting us home. We were supposed to be at a “doctor’s appointment” for me when we were actually getting him concert tickets for Skillet, his favorite band. They were coming in town for one night only and I had seen him looking at the ads since the moment their tour was announced. Mason grew stiff when I entered the room, his hazel eyes unusually dull. I should’ve seen it then. I should’ve noticed. If I hadn’t been so caught up in my own excitement I would’ve noticed he was hiding something, leaning over the object to protect it from my sight.

“Sam? What’re you doing here?”

“Mom and I have something for you! Come on! You’re going to love it!” I went to walk towards him, to grab his sleeve and drag him to the tickets waiting in our mother’s palm, and he stood, glancing nervously at the object beside him. “Walk away. Please. Don’t talk. Turn around. Get mom. Do something.”