Free Sunblind by Michael Griffo Page A

his eyes focused on the carpet.
    Clutching my towel, I make a mental note to bring my clothes into the bathroom from now on so I can change before exiting into shared territory. Even though I’m totally covered and wearing more than I would at the pool, I guess the fact that I’m naked underneath the plush cotton is making Louis a wee bit uncomfortable. I decide to give the guy some slack and apologize.
    â€œSorry, Mr. Bergeron,” I say.
    â€œThat’s okay,” he mutters, busying himself with lifting the closet door and jamming it back into its correct position with one easy push.
    Before he heads out into the hallway where he doesn’t have to deal with guns or half-naked teenagers, he turns back around. A glutton for punishment?
    â€œAnd I told you I’m not Mr. Bergeron anymore,” he declares. “I’m Louis.”
    As he waves at the three of us, his smile can barely contain the joy and the sorrow that’s filling up his heart. He’ll never replace my father—he, more than any of us, knows that—but he really is a good man. And after he leaves Barnaby takes one step closer to making me wish I were an only child.
    â€œNice to see that your scars are almost all healed,” he hisses.
    Involuntarily, I cover the faint remnants of my wounds with my hand.
    He takes another step closer to me, and I can feel the gun in his hand rest against my thigh. “You know, the scars you got the night Jess was killed,” he whispers.
    After Barnaby closes the door, I wonder if Arla heard him. I wonder if she knows how complex he’s becoming. When she speaks, I realize she didn’t hear him.
    â€œThat’s sweet,” she says, flopping onto my bed. “My dad’s really enjoying having a son.”
    And my brother is really enjoying taunting me.
    What exactly does he know? Has Luba filled him in on our secret? Has Barnaby told Louis what he knows? These are the questions that are racking my brain so I don’t hear anything Arla’s chattering on about. Through the window the moonglow is so bright it looks like sunlight, and it illuminates Arla’s face. Her bronzed skin shimmers in the light, and she looks beautiful, until she takes off her wig and I can see her entire face. The light glistens on her scar, the scar that runs diagonally from the outside of her left eye down toward her cheek, the scar that I gave her when I wasn’t in control of my body.
    I stare at the scar and marvel at how close she came to losing her eye, how close I came to blinding my friend. Even though I can’t remember it, I can’t remember slashing the air with my paw and connecting with her flesh, I’m still responsible. And no matter what everyone says, they all know it.
    Unable to look at the product of my actions any longer, I announce, “I think I’m going to turn in. Been a long day.”
    I don’t know if Arla agrees with me, but thankfully she doesn’t argue. Alone, I try to focus on the shapes that the moonlight creates, but my mind is buzzing with thoughts, so I close my eyes tight, try to force my brain to be quiet. Forget about the friend I mauled, forget that I’m living in the house of the man who wants me dead, forget that he’s working with my brother to achieve the same goal. Good, Dominy, focus on all the really positive things in your life.
    After what seems like hours, I finally drift off to sleep. Just as I do I remind myself that things can’t possibly get any worse. When I wake up in the morning, I have proof that I’m wrong.
    â€œMorning,” Arla chirps. “I tried to wake you, but you changed from Little Red Riding Hood into Sleeping Beauty overnight.”
    â€œWhat are you doing?” I croak.
    â€œDidn’t think you’d mind if I used your mascara,” she explains. “I ran out.”
    Arla’s fully dressed and putting on the last touches of makeup at my vanity table.