Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
It was after practice. Kyle’s cheeks were flushed and it was unseasonably hot. “I think the thing I hate the most about this place,” Kyle said, “is how everyone’s trying to tell you what to think, or what to do, as if they know you better than you know yourself. I hate it. Just let me be me, you know? I hate the way Brock has changed. I hate how cocky he’s gotten. I hate—”
Tristan brushed a few bangs out of Kyle’s eyes right then, startling him. Tristan’s pale pink lips curled into a smile. I think you’re beautiful just the way you are, he murmured sweetly.
Kyle was struck at once, his heart hammering in his chest.
No one had ever said anything like that to him before.
Certainly not another guy.
He felt like he had been chosen out of the crowd, as if by lottery, to win the prize that was Tristan’s undivided attention.
Also, if I may suggest something, don’t use “hate” so much. Hate is just a lazy word for something else.
Hate.
The trance faded.
Kyle stared at Tristan pensively, suddenly troubled.
What he hated most of all and didn’t say was that Brock’s words had actually struck a nerve.
“Tell me about your family,” said Kyle.
Tristan squinted at him. Who? Mine?
“You know so much about me, but I don’t know anything about you. Parents, family, what they’re like, where you’re even from.”
You know plenty about me without boring you with the details of who brought me into this world, or—
“Actually, I don’t know much about you at all,” said Kyle. “You’re a mystery. A mystery with no family who can’t go out in direct sunlight and who can’t touch pinky rings.”
It was something in Tristan’s eyes right then.
A glimmer of darkness.
Insolence. Anger.
It terrified Kyle in an instant.
Perhaps Kyle wasn’t as ready as he thought to crack open that thousand-page book. “Uh, sorry,” he quickly said, at once backpedaling. “You don’t have to … to tell me anything, sorry. I think I’m just mad about, uh, Brock. That’s all.”
Tristan didn’t break his stare from Kyle’s.
His eye contact was intense.
And unsettlingly penetrable.
Finally, in a steely yet tranquil voice, clear as a bell, Tristan spoke: Do you remember what I said about evil people and karma? To Brock in the hallway, that one day? Do you remember how I said the most evil person on Earth can get everything they want?
Kyle’s throat was tight. “Yes.”
I believe the opposite is true, too. A good person, a saint by all rights, they can suffer every last day of their lives, with no reprieve, without in any way deserving their pain. He said all of this while maintaining that cold unbreakable stare, without blinking once. There is an evil person out there in the world, this is a fact, a person like you and me, who enjoys the suffering of those good, saintly types. They crave to see others in sorrow. They love it. In the most genuine way a person can love something, the way a child loves candy. They salivate for others’ pain. They yearn for it.
Kyle was shaking.
He couldn’t look away from Tristan’s eyes, no matter how hard he tried. It felt disrespectful to look away. It felt wrong.
It felt disallowed.
Like a staring contest upon which he staked his own life.
Tristan gently brought a hand to Kyle’s cheek, and for one unnerving instant, Kyle was reminded of Brock in the hallway.
But instead of falling asleep, Kyle only watched the tiniest of smiles touch Tristan’s lips. I … would never … ever harm you … nor take pleasure in your sorrows, Kyle Amos.
His thumb stroked Kyle’s cheek, as if to wipe away a tear that wasn’t there.
Kyle let him, spellbound, eyes trapped in the mist.
Then Tristan’s face twisted. You don’t believe me?
The spell was broken. Kyle slipped from Tristan’s grip and took a step back. “Sorry. I gotta go home. I’m … I’m sorry.”
For a second, Kyle was sure Tristan would stop him, but instead he said nothing as Kyle hurried away, backpack slung over a shoulder, then gone.
Kyle stopped at the front of the school, catching his breath.
Every time he blinked, he saw Tristan’s misty blue eyes.
And that moment of discomforting darkness.
That flicker.
He had felt Tristan’s imposing power, the authority in his gaze, his intention. He wondered if that was what Brock felt before dropping to the floor.
Kyle was certain now.
Tristan was hiding something.
That evening at home, Kyle was lost in his thoughts, heavy with emotion. Everything ached. He kept dropping his clothes on his way to the bathroom to take a shower, then only stood there in the water, numb, staring at the wall. When he settled into the corner of his bedroom on a beanbag chair, he stared at a blank page in his notebook, intending to draw anything that came to mind, then couldn’t even make the first mark.