A bright light fills the room, causing me to wake up. I open my eyes and find myself bundled up in a blanket that I don't remember having on me when I fell asleep.
The light goes away and I see Colton enter the room and sit down on his bench. He's not even trying to be quiet.
He has a cup in his hand and he sips out of it, not realizing I'm awake. He locks eyes with me once he sees me move my legs.
"What time is it?" I ask, rubbing my eyes.
"No clue. Late." He answers, setting the cup down on the nightstand.
I keep the covers over my body, as it is quite cold in this room. "Why aren't you sleeping?"
"Sometimes my thoughts keep me awake. I'm not really that tired anyway." He leans back against the wall. I find that hard to believe since we hardly rested this entire trip and have been walking all day.
It's pitch black outside, I can see some of the stars through the window. I had to have slept for at least a couple of hours. "I would go to bed, but I'm already too awake to do that."
"I saw your scar." He looks down at my wrist and I follow his glance. My eyes fall to my scar, which is still present, but faded. "You haven't fully recovered from your death yet, have you?"
I shake my head slowly but surely. I don't know quite what he was getting at nor why he knows about my death, but my heart physically hurts whenever I think about it. "My mentor suggested that I go to therapy."
He nods in acknowledgement. "I could tell from the second I saw you. Your eyes didn't light up like everyone else's."
I sit up in my seat, suddenly intrigued and I swear my heart skips a beat. "You notice that too? I don't understand what it means, everyone has that sparkle in their eyes but me!"
"It means that you haven't fully adapted to the Afterworld, that you aren't completely happy there. Usually people get over their death as soon as they wake up in the stage one dorms, but others take much longer to do that. It makes sense because I can't imagine that burning to death is a peaceful way to go." Colton's smile is genuine this time and I can almost touch the sincerity radiating from his body. Why is he being nice all of a sudden?
I narrow my eyes, deep in thought. "But that doesn't make sense. Brooke and I died together. Her eyes sparkle."
He thinks for a moment and takes another sip from his cup. Then his eyebrows raise ever so slightly like he has an idea. "But you watched her die, didn't you? You watched the fire burn her flesh and you inhaled the smoke a few more minutes longer than her." He looks into my eyes, which are wide open with fear.
"I did." I whisper, my lips remaining parted. His eyes are looking right through me, examining every thought, every memory in my mind. He can figure me out in seconds, which petrified me. Not one lie would get through him, I can tell. He's intuitive as hell and it's annoying. "Why do you care?"
He pauses for a moment, looking away. "I don't really. Just trying to make conversation."
Now I feel bad, like I had ruined his mood. "But your eyes don't sparkle either. How did you die?"
Within seconds of me asking that, he turns me down. "Nope. I don't do interviews."
I tilt my head to the side. "Oh come on, you know about my death. It can't be that bad."
He looks up at me, his eyes like daggers looking into mine, his glare piercing through my body. His eyebrows are narrowed downward as if to say it is that bad. He doesn't say a word, but he doesn't need to. "Will you just tell me? Please?"
"Why do you care, blondie?" He crosses his arms.
"Because you made it seem horrible and now I want to know."
"Mine definitely isn't as bad as yours." He pulls a pear out of his backpack that looks a bit deformed since it spent so much time in a warm backpack that has been thrown around all day.
"Prove it." I arch my eyebrows and he has a puzzled look on his face when I do so.
"You wouldn't understand. I wasn't alive at the same time you were." He says in between bites.
"When were you born?"
"1914." He answers, then continues to eat his pear. I think about that date for a few moments. It has to be significant. My memory of four years of history class isn't helping me out at the moment. I can't come to any ideas until I remember what happened 25 years later.
"You were in World War II. You were drafted, weren't you?" He must have been shot or something while he was in battle, that makes the most sense.
"Great job. You figured it out." He remarks with a hint of sarcasm.
"Can I see your scar, then?" I reach my hand out to see his wrist, and he hesitates at first but then holds it out in front of me. It's much bigger than mine and not what I expected.
"It just looks like a bunch of scratches." I hold his arm still with my hand to examine the marks, but nothing makes sense. It looks like someone slit his wrists or something and the scar is still there.
"Good. That's how I wanted it to look. I covered it up, smart one." He pulls his wrist away and covers his body with the blankets.
"Isn't that forbidden? To cover your scar?" I ask, trying to avoid the thought of him cutting himself.
"Oh yeah, it's very forbidden. I almost got kicked out but Carter helped me out and persuaded them not to. That's why I'm here with you." He explains.
"That's why you owed him a favor. It all makes so much sense." I can't believe that covering a scar with more scars would be something you can get kicked out for, but it makes sense considering everybody in the Afterworld has a pure soul, so every small wrongdoing is considered to be bad.
"Great connection. I'm going to bed." Colton places his sweatshirt over his eyes to block out the faint light coming from the ceiling. I do the same.
"Goodnight." I say while pulling the covers over my chest.
"Goodnight, blondie."