Page 40 of The Corruption of Hollis Brown

Walt gave him a haircut.

He spent an alarming amount of time online looking at what was fashionable before deciding on layers in the front and shorter in the back. He parted Hollis’s hair an inch from the middle and blow-dried it until it gleamed, bouncy and sleek.

Hollis didn’t even know his hair could look like that.

Everyone you see who looks good puts in effort. Most people act like they don’t, but they do. You don’t have to be tall and strong to catch eyes. Just dress like you’re paying attention. The guys have their shirts a bit tighter and their jeans a bit looser than what you’ve got. We can fix that.

Why does this matter so much to you?

Being square isn’t a terminal illness, it’s a default setting. This stuff you don’t care about has impact and value. You’ll see on Monday.

Walt rubbed a bit of Hollis’s mom’s jealously guarded hair dye into his eyebrows to darken them a little.

This one’s a trade trick. I was in a man with a model girlfriend a while back, Walt said. She was educational, among other things.

So she was hot.

Walt grinned. Among other things. She dressed like a concept. Taking in the whole picture instead of throwing together a bunch of stuff you like individually. Once you get it, it’s hard to unlearn.

If she was a model, she was probably hot enough to wear whatever.

Walt blew air out of Hollis’s nose, annoyed. A weird thing that Hollis never did.

Doesn’t mean she wasn’t right. Take you, for example. Tall as a beanpole and just as skinny, no money for threads or shoes. Prettier than handsome, which ain’t a disadvantage. The way you are, y’look like you just rolled off someone’s farm. But with my owl eyes in your head, the right cut of fabric, better hair and posture, you could look like . . . well. Like a liability.

Do you look like a liability? Hollis asked dryly. He knew Walt wanted him to.

Walt smiled fully this time, the way he did on the night they first met.

A liability is only halfway there. I was full-time trouble, sweetheart.

Greed

Arrogance.

That was Walt’s weakness.

It was not difficult to figure out how to stay awake while Walt fell asleep.

Hollis let Walt babble about fashion and women as he got them ready for bed. Asked the sort of questions that made Walt feel good and knowledgeable until Walt’s fondness welled up in their chest like a summer sunrise.

Then, when it was time to sleep, Hollis let himself drift to a place that was quiet and calm, and stayed there. Like lying in bed for a few hazy minutes before getting up.

It was strange to hear his mouth begin to snore, when he had nothing to do with it.

REM sleep is deep, and Walt had said he needed that, so Hollis waited longer. Until his body stopped tossing and turning and a whisper didn’t change the pattern of his breaths.

Hollis wasn’t stupid.

He was younger than Walt and absolutely less conniving, but he wasn’t so stupid he would forget the way it felt when Walt gave him access to his fingers.

It was a pulling feeling, from somewhere between his bones and the top of his skin. It didn’t hurt. It was like spending a few hours with someone’s hand lying on top of yours until you got so used to the weight and the temperature that you forgot it was there. Then, when they lift off you for a few seconds and cool air rushes in, you remember what it is to be free.

It took until the dawn began to light the world beyond his eyelids.

But Hollis moved his own fingers himself—just a twitch—once again.

Wild