Page 56 of The Corruption of Hollis Brown

I . . .

Walt was shifting though emotions too quickly for Hollis to keep track. It was like standing in a river with a current rushing past, until Walt settled on that breathtaking anguish he’d shown Hollis on accident. Open and shocky, like a raw nerve. Too big to shove anywhere, to hide.

Hollis wondered if he was the first person Walt had ever shown this to. The first person who knew.

He remembered Walt making bread and flirting with Yulia and laughing at him and taking a bath and getting ready for school, just smiling and talking like he wasn’t a thing that hurt so bad it would drive a stronger man than Hollis to his knees.

Walt clenched their fists tight and breathed hard, a pitiful noise.

He was trying to force it back inside, but it wasn’t working; Hollis didn’t think Walt could while Hollis was looking at it so close like this.

Hollis pulled back the layers, crimson bright, until it was a shape that made sense. Until he understood what he hadn’t before.

It’s hard to be you, isn’t it?

Walt flinched. He wiped their nose hard.

What does it matter? You shouldn’t care. It’s not your responsibility to care.

You don’t control that, Hollis said firmly. I do.

The red got deeper, like someone was tugging out the bottom of their lungs, their heart.

You can’t decide whether someone cares. I care that you feel this way. I care. Don’t think I don’t know what loneliness feels like on you either. You make me hungry with your hungers. You’re the one who said we’d be sharing, so share.

Walt covered their face, hid.

I feel like I’m bleeding all the time, Walt whispered, wet. I’m sorry for scaring you, I just got frustrated.

Hollis could understand that. Walt was a frustrating kind of guy; it was probably the most predictable thing about him, if he was being honest.

Hollis grinned.

Please don’t laugh at me.

I’m not laughing at you, Walt. I’m laughing at me. I’m sorry for trying to choke us. And for being a pain in the ass.

Walt giggled softly, then took back control of Hollis’s left arm, wiping their face as dry as he could manage.

All right . . .

Somehow it was easier to admit this to Walt than it was to himself. That Hollis didn’t “like this” exactly, but he was dealing with it. Apparently better than most people. And it was strangely a bit of a relief to know that Walt was miserable too. It made them . . . equals in a way.

Just . . . stop crying in the street, Hollis said, kind. You’re making me look like a loser. Take us home.

Ouroboros

They splashed their face with cold water until it wasn’t puffy anymore. Walt let Hollis have his own arms back so Hollis could make a snack for them for the first time in over a month, and Hollis almost wept again at how good fresh food was.

Walt never made salads or roasted vegetables, everything was just boiled and fried and creamed. They were going through lard faster than they had in years.

You could make this a career, Walt said as they washed the dishes. You’d have to travel out to the city, but you could open up a place.

No one would want to buy my stupid food.

Walt stacked a plate on the rack.

I would.