Page 130 of Adam
“Hey,” he says without lifting his eyes from the book he’s reading.
He’s sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard, gray sweatpants, simple black T-shirt. The only surprise is the glasses—thick frame, sharp lines, and yeah, he wasn’t joking about wearing them while reading.
They sit on him almost too well, drawing attention to the angles of his face. He looks like the kind of guy who could pass for a superhero trying to blend in, and not doing a great job at it.
I walk closer, and that’s when I notice the book in his hands.The Shiningby Stephen King. Of course. He wasn’t lying about his tastes either.
Horror, glasses, and an attitude problem. Figures.
“You’re staring,” he mumbles, his eyes still nailed on the almost-yellow pages.
“And that’s my only crime.” I sneer, doing everything short of waving my arms to get him to react or at least look at me.
Nothing.
He just gives a low hum, eyes glued to the book as if I’m background noise.
I don’t say anything else. I just cross my arms, my fingers tapping against my forearms while I wait for him to stop being an ass and actually acknowledge I’m standing right here.
He finally lets out a smug little laugh. “The guy is handling that axe like it’s gonna break a nail.”
My eyes roll involuntarily. “Are you gonna talk about it?”
“No.”
Anger starts boiling under my skin, and he just keeps feeding it with that whole “I don’t give a shit about you” attitude.
Every second he ignores me makes it worse.
“You killed my mother!”
“Mm.” He turns the page. “Yeah.”
“Testa di cazzo …”Dickhead …
“That face is because of that?” he asks, lifting his eyes over the glasses to look at me. Finally.
“Yeah! What do you think?”
“My bad. I was under the impression she was a manipulative bitch who treated you like garbage.”
His words hit like a knife in my back, but they’re true. And somehow that part hurts even worse.
“Yeah … I mean …” I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at anything but the floor. “I don’t know if I’m sad. I feel like I’m supposed to be, but I’m … not. Not really.”
He hums quietly, eyes drifting back to the book. “Then you’re one step closer to figuring out your own damn peace of mind.”
“Why did you do it?”
“You don’t wanna know.”
“Of course I do,” I say, crossing my arms.
“You don’t.”
In an instant, I’m on my feet. I snatch the book right out of his hands, and he actually looks a little surprised for once.
“I do.”
