He nodded sharply. “Yeah.”

“Thanks.” My voice was soft and quiet as I took the offered clothes while we stood in his living room. Licks of colour still baptised us from our lack of cleaning and too much kissing in the shower.

His eyes met mine.

Any sign of an emotional connection was gone. Snow and ice decorated his features, placed there by self-preservation. “I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.” Turning on his heel, his white T-shirt and grey sweatpants looked delectable with his bare feet and damp hair.

I clutched the clothes and towel and followed him as he opened the door to the right in the graffiti artwork of jungles and wildlife. My eyes strayed to the left door. The door I’d caught him exiting the night vodka and lapsed decisions ensured a memorable event on my hands and knees.

What’s in there?

My curiosity clawed to find out as I stepped over the threshold into Gil’s bedroom. I paused, studying the dark slate-grey walls and the simple king mattress on the floor. No bedframe. No side tables. No lamps or art or sign of habitation.

An impersonal box with no hint of the complex man standing beside me.

I frowned, sensing a pattern with his belongings. Either he didn’t have time for the typical stuff an ordinary person did or he lived frugally.

Peering deeper into the shadows, I noticed indents in the beige carpet where a tallboy would’ve stood. There were signs of a rug at the bottom of the bed. Hints that this room wasn’t always so sparse.

“Did you always live this simply, or is it a new lifestyle choice?” I asked, feeling as if I’d once again trespassed and wasn’t welcome.

Gil raked a hand through his yellow-streaked hair. Polite decorum camouflaged barely leashed sorrow. “Over the past year, I’ve sold some stuff.”

“Why?”

He winced as a tidal wave of pain washed through his eyes. “Doesn’t matter.”

My stomach twisted.

That response was getting old.

I wanted to ask if it was related to his regular bruises, beatings, and mysterious secrets, but I bit my lip and stayed silent.

What was the point when I already knew?

Heading toward the small wardrobe in the corner, he pulled out fresh sheets and blankets. Tossing them onto the mattress, he stood and shrugged as if he was as lost as I was about all of this. “I’ll, um, leave you to rest.”

“We haven’t even had dinner.”

He grimaced as if I’d announced he had to fight a hundred wolverines and battle for his life instead of eating a meal with me.

His reaction bruised me. His tension made me fake a yawn. “You know what? Doesn’t matter. I’m not hungry.”

He gave me a grateful nod. “Good.”

“Okay, then...” I moved toward the bed, uncomfortable and desperate for my own space.

I wanted to go home.

I wanted to be alone...so I could come back when I was calmer and tell Gil once and for all that he had to choose.

Choose me.

Choose help.

But Gil gave me a tight smile and bowed his head. “Goodnight, Olin.”

Olin.

No more nicknames. No more thawing.

Hugging the clothes he’d given me, I nodded as he stepped from the room. “Goodnight, Gil.”

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Twenty-Two

______________________________

Gil

-The Past-

I’D BEEN PAINTING a lot.

Ever since Ms Tallup hinted at what she wanted from me, I couldn’t outrun the terrible sensation of sickness. Each class we had with her, I was repulsed. Each look she gave me, I was petrified Olin would guess something was wrong.

I despised Ms Tallup for taking the one place where I found sanctuary and turning it into yet another cesspit. I was no longer safe there. I was as hunted in those corridors as I was at home, and the stress steadily increased my sleepless nights, giving me a temper toward Olin when she didn’t deserve it.

The only thing that helped was when I lost myself in a drawing. Sketching had been the Band-Aid I needed, but when I stole some spray paint and decorated the side of an industrial building one night while everyone slept, I found a drug I needed to eradicate the symptoms of my life.

If only temporarily.

I hadn’t told Olin I’d been breaking the law.

I hid the overspray on my fingers and didn’t show her my sketchbook again in case the images I drew scared her—images of violence and gore and people being tormented by circumstances outside their control.

But tonight, Olin’s parents had been particularly cruel to her. She’d shown me a text her mother had sent during school. Some short sentence about going to a gala and for her to fend for herself. It wasn’t anything unusual apart from the gala was for the children of the employees who worked for their telecom company.

Her parents were hanging out all night with their employees and their children and didn’t even want to take their own.

Arseholes.

The second the class ended, I’d stolen her hand while throwing a loathsome look at Ms Tallup, and yanked Olin from school grounds. We used the small amount of money her parents gave her for dinner and shared a burger and fries, then blew the rest on some game parlour in downtown Birmingham, playing air hockey and racing car games, earning a few tokens to win a silly stuffed ostrich which became Olin’s new nickname for the evening.

Afterward, licking sugar from our fingers and wandering empty streets, I pulled a can of spray paint from my dirty backpack and shook it. The mixer inside clicked against the metal. “Fancy doing something not exactly legal, little ostrich?”

I waited for her to shake her head in shock, but instead, a dainty smirk twisted her lips. “With you? I’d do anything.”

And I fell head over heels.

No one else could compare.

No one else meant this much to me.

Of course, I’d known for a while now that I was in love with her.

I knew it each time my heart flipped when she wriggled in her seat in front of me in class. I tasted it every time she touched me, smiled at me, cooked for me, and studied with me.

But right there, I knew I loved her to my very core while standing beneath a streetlamp on a dreary English night.

I loved her.

I wanted to keep her.

My life would be infinitely better the moment it was just the two of us.

No matter how much time passed. No matter what shit I put her through, I would always love this girl because she owned me heart and soul.

“So...you’re a secret rebel?” I chuckled under my breath. “Who knew.”

“I’m a rebel if you’re a rebel.” She plucked the can from my fingers and shook it. The rattle made my heart pick up speed. “You’ve done this before?”

“Done what?” I crossed my arms, feigning innocence.

“Graffitied some innocent building.”

I laughed cynically. “No building is innocent. Most of them house monsters. I’m just making them pretty.”

“So you have done this before.”

“Maybe.”

“Show me?” Her sneakers scuffed the pavement as she came closer. So close the gold in her hair glittered beneath the streetlamp and her eyes were more green and stars than hazel and reality.

Without a word, I grabbed her hand, looped my fingers in hers, and together, we jogged to the last place I’d ‘decorated’.

It didn’t take long to get there, but excitement coursed through me to show her how my art was improving. Always improving. And improving fast with the amount of time I dedicated to it these days.

I barely slept. I hardly went home.

I focused on a talent that’d been hidden from me but I never wanted to lose again.

“Oh, wow. Gil...” Olin broke away from my touch, running toward the wall where the trio of colours I’d been able to steal blended together to form a monochromatic landscape of flamingos.