Page 82 of The Corruption of Hollis Brown

Is it because I’m just a house? For you?

“No,” Walt said into the smoke and the gloom of the bathroom. “You’re not just a house to me.”

Hollis wished he could press his forehead against Walt’s collarbone, drag his nose up his neck, taste the skin behind his ear.

Why d’you even . . . Hollis, what is wrong with you?

Hollis had thought about it. Quiet one night, when Walt was asleep and he’d stopped trying to reach his phone.

I like your face. I don’t move mine the way you do, the way you make our eyes crinkle when you feel like smiling but don’t want to go all the way. Your expressions are pretty. You have a . . . The way you stand, it’s . . . strong. I could imagine it before you even told me what you looked like. I like your voice, and I want to hear it all the time; it drives me crazy. Even on the first day.

I don’t need to touch you to know that I want to.

It was easy to be honest when he didn’t have to speak out loud. When these felt more like wishes than admissions.

“Christ.”

You say the Lord’s name in vain a lot for someone religious.

Your bad behavior is inspirational.

Mm. More than that, Hollis continued. I just like you. You’re funny, you’re kind. When you bitch about things you do it in a way that makes me want to laugh. When you’re scared or sad, you make me feel glad that you’re here in me and not in anyone else. You make me want to take care of you. I want to take care of you.

Walt didn’t say anything to that, but he was thinking. Hollis could feel it.

He brought his hand to the curve of Walt’s neck, grazed the edge of his finger against their skin. Walt flinched and hissed. Hollis did it again, and the water slopped out of the tub onto the floor.

I’m not a coward, Walt.

You make me feel weak.

Is that so. Do I still make you feel sad?

Hollis scraped a line up his neck, and Walt slammed their head back against the tile. Teeth clenched tight.

Shit. Walt hissed.

That’s better. Be quiet for me for a bit.

Hollis clamped his hand around the back of his own neck, cupped it like Yulia did when she thought he needed grounding. Not rough and mean.

Sweet.

Walt slipped them beneath the water to scream.

Kiss

How come it didn’t feel that way the first night, when I bruised us?

We are sharing, always. But I took it in, so you wouldn’t have to feel it. I pretended, for your sake, that it didn’t hurt to hold all of it.

Don’t hide it from me like that ever again.

Why?

How can I take care of you if you don’t let me know when you’re hurting?

It wasn’t fair. I couldn’t take away your chance to be angry. You deserved to be angry.