Page 22 of Enzo
He reached up and tugged at a lock of his long blond hair, pulling it forward over his shoulder. It was soft now, thick, with a natural wave. It had been a matted mess when he’d first showed up, but he’d been using the shampoo I left out. Combing it, maybe. Taking care.
“A box dye,” he said. “Black. Opposite of this.” I nodded. “And contact lenses. Some boring color. Blue, maybe, same as loads of other people, just not…” He trailed off, still tugging at the strand. “Not like my eyes now.”
I kept my face neutral. He was trying to change his appearance—I understood that, although the thought of his unique eyes and all that long blond hair being obliterated made me murderous at whoever he was scared of all over again. “Okay.” I wanted to tug him into my lap and hold him there, wrapped up in my arms, in my warmth, in something solid and safe. I wanted to press my cheek to his hair before he cut it off and tell him he was safe now. That I’d keep him safe. That he didn’t need to hide anymore.
“And I need scissors,” he added. “To cut it.” His voice cracked on the last part, a tiny fracture that gave him away, no matter how steady he tried to sound. The words cut going out. He was trying to take control—to vanish in the only way that ever felt safe.
“I can cut it if you?—”
“I can use scissors you know! I won’t try to kill myself.”
Jesus. Fuck. “Of course you won’t. But are yousureyou want to change the way you look?” I asked. I looked at him for a long moment and he nodded. “Okay,” I said, already rewriting the entire world to make it safer for him. One fucker at a time. “Okay then, we’ll get it. All of it.” I clicked around, found the box dye, “I’ll get the dye in the morning from the store, a few boxes for your roots when they come through, and uhm… oh… the contact lenses we can get…from…” I clicked around, pumped a fist when I found a place online that carried lenses to change eye color. “Dark hazel? Like a brown-green color?” I asked and got another nod in answer. “Done.”
“And Logan will paymeto pay forthem?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
He shifted on his feet. “Then I need a photo. Because I need ID for Robbie Elwood if I’m going to be new. But no one can know who I am, no one can find me. Can you do that for me? Do you know people?”
I met his eyes. “Yeah.” All of us at Redcars knew people who could get IDs—the kind of people who owed us favors and didn’t ask questions. Guys with heat-press machines in the backs of pawn shops and friends behind glass counters in state offices who knew how to bend rules far enough to help someone disappear. I didn’t pull on those connections lightly—but for him? For this? I’d burn through every last favor I had.
“Promise me it’s safe.”
“I’ll make sure it is.”
He didn’t press; just simply nodded as if that was all he needed to hear. Then he stood, picked up his mug and the cookie plate, and carried them to the sink where he rinsed them without a word.
I was about to thank him—something simple, something easy—when he spoke, voice tight.
“You held me today,” he blurted.
I paused, caught off guard. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I startled you and when you fell I?—”
“That’s not what…” He stopped, jaw clenching. His eyes flicked toward mine, frustrated, uncertain.
I waited.
“I didn’t hate it,” he whispered. “I d-don’t understand why.”
My throat closed a little. I raised both hands, giving him space. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. But if it helps to talk?—”
He took a breath. “Would you…” He hesitated, glanced down at his feet, then back at me. “Would you touch me again?”
That damn question nearly undid me. “I’d like that,” I said.
“Can I hug you?” he asked, and there was no confidence in the words—only confusion as if the want itself was foreign and dangerous.
“Of course. Do you want me to stand up?” I didn’t move, letting him decide.
“No… I need…” he sounded so confused then stepped toward me, awkward and uncertain, arms twitching like he wasn’t sure where to put them. Then he wrapped them around me.
“Can you hold me, again?” he asked, so quiet it was hard to hear.
I placed my hands on his lower back, light as breath. “Is that okay?”
He whimpered. But he didn’t pull away from this awkward side hug. He leaned down further, and wriggled until he was sitting on one knee, light as a feather. For a long time, we sat there, him moving gently until he was fully in my lap, and then he pressed into me, hard, burying his face in my shirt as if he was trying to disappear in it. I tightened my hold, to speak the words I couldn’t say out loud.I’m here. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you now. I poured every promise into that grip, hoping he’d feel it in his bones.
He shook once. Not a sob, more a shiver rolling through his whole body, as if letting himself be held was its own kind of earthquake.
