Page 10 of Insidious

“Toolbox goblin.”

He grins.

“Dishwashing peasant.”

“Absolute muppet.”

“Knobhead.”

“Bellend.”

“Aircraft maintenance failure.”

“Utter spanner.”

“Professional loser.”

“Certified idiot.”

We’re both laughing now. He grabs my favourite hat from the counter.

“Oi!” I protest.

He lifts it high above my head.

“Too slow, shortie.”

“Give it back!” I hop on my toes to reach it but he is too tall. Dirty dishwater sprays everywhere.

He laughs. “Come on, Luna. Use your engineering brain.”

I jump again.

“Colin!”

He holds it higher, coordinating his jumps with mine.

I grab his arm with both hands and hang on, trying to pull his arm down.

“Give—it—back!”

The tea towel falls to the floor. He’s still laughing.

And then my fingers slide against something rough. A ridge on his skin.

My curious hand slips slightly under his sleeve.

It takes my brain a while to comprehend what I am seeing. Thin lines. Some angry red. Some white, and crisscrossing.

Some old, some newer, running up his arm like a ladder built by an amateur.

I can feel my face change. His smile disappears instantly, and I look up to see his Adam’s apple move as he swallows.

His arm drops. Without looking at me, he turns, silently picks up another plate, and starts drying it slowly and carefully as if nothing just happened.

“Colin,” I say quietly.

Nothing.