Page 53 of The Corruption of Hollis Brown

“Clementine?” she whispered in the back of geology, and Walt shrugged for them. Let her believe that.

Hollis let Walt autopilot, and instead he ran the image of Walt arching in surrender to the violence of his hand in his mind over and over from every angle.

It reminded him of Walt standing in the snow, in Sam’s body, arched against the night. There was despair in it. He recognized the recklessness.

“You don’t want to die,” Yulia reminded him when he’d struggled with this, too often for Hollis to forget. “You’re just very sad right now.”

He thought about ninety years. How sad could one get, given that amount of time? How many flavors of fucked up could one learn about sitting in the wreckage of other people’s lives? He was still angry, by God, Hollis was still very angry, but . . .

At night, hours later in the blackness of the shower, water beating at the nape of their neck, Hollis asked:

Do you want to die?

Because it was cruel, and because he could.

Walt just tipped his head beneath the spray and let the soap glide down their back.

Sin

Hollis had to get Will R.’s address from Yulia. Walt spent Saturday watching TV and napping off and on. Mr. and Mrs. Brown had gone to the city for a romantic day together, and Walt wanted to take advantage of the emptiness in the house to be lazy in the common areas.

He hadn’t answered Hollis’s question the other night, but he seemed happier now, or at least more content.

Currently, they were eating olives Mrs. Brown canned two years ago like they were potato chips.

What are you going to dress me in for the party? Hollis asked over I Dream of Jeannie.

Black, Walt answered immediately. You don’t wear much of it for school, so it’ll make an impact.

He rustled up one of Hollis’s ma’s sweaters and some black dickies from a couple of years ago that he’d let out during the first week. Instead of borrowing Hollis’s pa’s cologne, he rifled through Mrs. Brown’s dresser to find a perfume that suited him better.

Scents don’t have gender. Your pa’s stuff is too metallic for you.

Hollis watched while Walt iced beneath his eyes and brushed out his hair. He eyed the purpling marks around his throat.

Are you going to cover that?

Walt paused mid-brush.

You gonna need me to?

He looked Hollis dead in the mirror, then raised a single brow. Hollis wasn’t sure what Walt wanted him to say to that.

Walt went back to brushing.

“I gave you the scarf on the first day, but we’re done with that now. Don’t do things you’re ashamed to show,” he said out loud. “You’re gonna treat me reckless from now on? People are gonna look at it.”

You didn’t have to give me control. What did you think I was going to do with it? Hold your hand?

Walt huffed. You could, if you wanted.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’re lucky I didn’t gouge our eyes out, Hollis snapped.

Walt put the brush down on the sink. You wanna try it?

What?!

Walt sighed.