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God almighty, why did you give the man with the blackest soul the most heavenly eyes? They’re long, narrow, and light gray in color. Lighter than his skin. The gray almost looks silver, shot through with darker bands that radiate out from the pupil like a starburst. He turns those eyes on me, sparing a glance from the road. It feels like a spike driving into my chest. For just a second, I wish that I were beautiful, so he’d want to look at me the way I’m looking at him.
The truth is that Camille isn’t my type at all. But I sort of felt like we might be becoming friends—a little bit. I kind of liked her. And I don’t like anybody. I barely like my own family. In fact, right now, I’m only 50/50 on Aida.
If you could see my whole life laid out on a string, this would be the one bright bead. The one moment of happiness.
“My whole family’s a fucking mess. That didn’t stop me going after what I want. I’m going to keep working. Keep saving money. Make something of myself. If they want to stay in the same cycle forever, that’s their problem.”
I want Camille like I’ve never wanted anything in my life. I want her to love me. She’s the only one who knows me, so she’s the only one who can. And I want to love her. I’m fucking awful at it—I’ve never had any practice.
