Page 77 of Chalk Outline

It’s nice today.

A grin pulls at the corners of my mouth, mirroring hers.

I rarely smile.

Sometimes, I smiled at the kids in the circus. They were loved—the evidence was written across their faces. They felt secure and unstoppable. I lived vicariously through them, craving to be loved that way.

As a kid, I often wished I had a sibling because I wanted a best friend. I never attended school; Mom called it homeschooling, but I mostly read books. She didn’t reallyencourage my intellectual growth, but I was curious enough to learn on my own.

I didn’t want to be the kind of person who opens his mouth and lets everyone hear his lack of education.

I wanted to be somebody.

Dick knew that and used it to get closer to me. He had a library in his tent, and I read all his books.

I constantly immersed myself in books. They were my only friends, even though I was surrounded by kids all the time.

I’m an introvert.

I stayed away from everyone and spent my time in my favorite spot. It didn’t matter anyway. Dick forbade me from walking outside the trailer when people were roaming outside. I could only go out during live shows for a limited time.

I became invisible, just like Dick always said.

I felt like dying, but I didn’t die at their hands; I died in their eyes, and that’s a look I could never forget.

So I can’t ask her, “Hey, do you want to be my friend?”

God, I would sound like a creep, given the timbre of my voice and my intimidating height. Plus, that’s probably not the best way to make friends.

I refocus on the girl from a distance. Her hair spills around her delicate face, creating a perfect contrast. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and her hands are stretched to either side.

That radiant smile still decorates her face.

Inching closer, I settle into a chair, ensuring her safety like a protective bodyguard. No one approaches her, and it will remain that way.

I will keep her safe.

I lean back, absolutely enthralled by her.

I wonder what her life is like. What is her favorite book? Does she even like reading? What does her voice sound like? What makes her smile?

I want to know everything about her.

Her resemblance to the woman who sent me here is uncanny. Maybe she is her daughter. I still don’t know her name. She promised to check on me, but promises slip like water, so I don’t tend to believe them.

The girl jerks upright, shifting her gaze from side to side in search of something until she finally locks her eyes with mine.

Big aquamarine eyes stare at me.

Astonishingly, I can still see them from several feet away.

Her hair shimmers against her fair complexion, while a constellation of light freckles dots her face, accentuating her beauty.

Paralyzed in my seat, I stare dumbfounded.

What should I do?

I had never talked to a girl before because I was ashamed of my appearance. I didn’t want them to think I was a creep. I’m not. But I did kill someone. I’m a killer. I don’t deserve to have a friend, especially someone as innocent as her. So delicate. Precious.