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Finally, Colt broke our silent impasse. “So, is this the part where you take me out into the woods to dismember my body?” he quipped dryly.
I barked out a laugh. “What?”
“You said we were going on a date, and now we’re in the middle of nowhere,” he gestured expansively to our surroundings. “Pretty sure only serial killers opt for dates where there aren’t people around to hear them or their screams.”
“I may not be very well versed in the realm of dating, but I’d liked to think that I’d at least show you a good time before I resort to homicide,” I teased, attempting to inject some levity into the conversation.
“Oh would you now?” he said, his voice taking on a husky note.
“Wait, no! I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant I’d want to have a nice date beforehand. Not that I’m going to kill you,” I rushed out.
“So you wouldn’t at least give me a sympathy fuck?”
“Of course not!”
“Oh, so you don’t find me attractive?” he pouted, angling in his seat to face me.
“No! Shit! I mean yes. Of course I find you attractive, but I don’t want to fuck you in the woods and kill you,” I rambled. Hell, our date hadn’t even officially started, and already Colt had knocked me off-kilter, causing me to ramble like a flustered idiot.
“Gray, relax. You should know by now that I’m just fucking with you,” he said slyly.
I took a deep breath. Right. Duh, Gray. Of course, he’s just teasing you. Like he always does. Don’t take everything so seriously. Stop acting like the clueless jock people already think you are who can’t pick up on sarcasm.
I could feel the weight of my own nerves, sensing I was veering into a minefield of potential missteps. I cleared my throat and attempted to adopt a more relaxed, playful tone, reminiscent of how I’d chat with just about anyone else.
“Just for that, I’m really not telling you where we’re going now,” I declared, punctuating the statement with a moment of silence, before another thought struck me. “And what if I was a serial killer, huh? You seem awfully calm for someone who thinks they’re about to be murdered.”
“Eh, I’m sure there are better ways to go,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “But what is the point in panicking? It never stops bad things from happening.” The last part slipped from his lips under his breath, likely not intending for me to catch the words.
Well damn. A sudden somber air settled over the truck cab. “Has that happened to you a lot? Bad things?” I asked softly, my eyes glued to the road, hoping the lack of eye contact might make him more inclined to open up.
I glimpsed the casual shrug of his shoulders from the corner of my eye. “I mean, probably by most people’s standards. Having drug addicts for parents didn’t leave me with the fondest memories of my childhood. But compared to most kids in the system, I’m lucky. The worst my mom and stepdad ever did was spend all their money getting high instead of feeding me.” His tone remained remarkably composed, and only the subtle bob of his Adam’s apple, along with his unwavering focus on his lap, hinted at the deeper pain hidden beneath his calm exterior.
His nonchalance unsettled me. Every fiber of my being urged me to pull the truck over and envelop him in a comforting embrace. The thought of the situations Colt must have witnessed in his short life left me shuddering. That he considered himself one of the lucky ones for only being neglected and starved instead of beaten, haunted me.
He must have seen the horror etched across my face, since he continued before I could respond. “Like I said, probably sounds bad to you, but that was the only world I ever knew. It was my normal, so I didn’t think much of it. They were actually pretty chill addicts from what I’ve heard. I never felt like I had to be afraid of them. Meeting other kids in the system really hit home how much worse things could have been for me.” His detached delivery made it sound like he was discussing the weather, not recounting a traumatic past.
Oh God, it just kept getting worse. The weight of Colt’s narrative settled heavily in the air, the fields outside serving as a backdrop to his retelling. His gaze remained fixed on the passing scenery, as though entranced by the memories of his tumultuous past.
A profound sense of helplessness washed over me. Why wouldn't he look at me? I wished I could rewind time, find that frightened child, and shield him from the horrors he had endured. Colt deserved to know that his pain wasn’t insignificant, that he was too special to ever be made to feel that way.
“I had a pretty uneventful stint in the system. I bounced around a lot, but most of the families were fine. Not super friendly or welcoming, but a step up from my parents,” he stated with a casual shrug. Like he needed to convince me, or perhaps himself, that he didn’t care about the way he’d grown up.
Colt, the master of disguise, presented an exterior that suggested he didn’t care at all but he couldn’t fool me. He carried deep scars, invisible to the casual observer. He could shrug his shoulders and gaze out the window, but he wouldn’t convince me otherwise.
Nor would he sway me from my mission to show him the love he always deserved.
As Colt continued his monotone narrative, seemingly oblivious to my growing discomfort, a disturbing revelation tumbled from his lips. “There were some cool families that were super nice, and I wanted to stay with them. They didn’t have the ability to adopt me, though, so off to the next place I went. There was one foster dad who was a piece of work, but I had an older foster brother there who usually took most of the beatings for me.”
“Colt…” I choked out his name, my head snapping to the side in shock. Anger surged within me, momentarily eclipsing my focus on driving, and the outer wheels of the truck veered off the dirt road.
Shit! I swiftly corrected the course of the truck, and Colt finally looked up from his lap, shooting me a confused glance.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. Well… mostly. I’m not a people person, and I don’t like to get close to anyone, but I survived,” he asserted, downplaying the gravity of what he just revealed. I caught the subtle tremor in his voice, a fissure in his stoic facade.
On the verge of pointing out how close he’d come to not being “fine,” I refrained, sensing it might only piss him off. Instead, I opted for a different approach. “I’m sorry you went through any of that. And before you brush it off again, just know that it’s okay to be upset or angry about the hand you were dealt. There will always be others out there who’ve had things worse but that doesn’t negate your own pain. Seeing someone suffer more doesn’t lessen your own suffering.” I treaded carefully, aiming for a balance between sympathy and being patronizing.
“I know that,” he snapped. “Like I said though, what’s the point in dwelling on it? I’m kinda fucked up in the head, in case you haven’t noticed by now, and I don’t have the money to pay for a shrink. So the best I have for now is denial and weed. This is who I am. I hate talking about my past, and I’ll probably push you away until you get sick of me and bail. Take it or leave it,” he concluded with finality.
