In the darkness of the motel room, while I'm smoking one of Dad's cigarettes, Casper whispers, "You awake?"
"Sure."
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Depends."
"Whatever happened when I left? What happened with your dad?"
I take a long, hard drag and blow it out in the air even though I know he hates it. "We fought."
"That's it?"
"Sure."
"Does he know about you?"
"He wasn't entirely dumb. I'm pretty sure he figured it out."
He shifts on his side of the bed. "You're using past tense."
"Because I don't have to worry about him anymore. Now go to sleep."
But neither of us can sleep—not with the other lying within arm's reach. I know that and he knows that, so I continue to smoke while he sits in the silence and thinks about what I just said.
Outside, we hear the sound of a cricket chirping, and I start thinking about the crickets that sing in the night back home and if his parents are home yet and if the man at the office sleeps there or has his own home. Does he have a family too? Or is he alone like me?
"I think you know some things about me," I say after a while.
He sighs. "Maybe I do."
"And I think you're not willing to admit them."
He stiffens. "Maybe you're right."
And we say nothing after that. Not a word. I'm pretty sure he's guessing some things in his head by now. Tying two and two together. But he doesn't say it aloud. He doesn't try to get up or break free. He's just lying there, and it almost makes me feel like he's okay with it. Or maybe he isn't, but he's just trying to be.
After all, I mean everything to him. A one of a kind find. I know that much.
YOU ARE READING
Disequilibrium
Mystery / Thriller[A psychological thriller] When you can't even pay for a bottle of water, you might want a friend like Casper. This may be hard considering he's the God-given prophet of Seabrook high; the type of kid who offers existential philosophies on a Monday...
