Brightside by Mark Tullius (story books to read txt) 📕

TWO NIGHTS LATER, AFTER my session with Sharon on Day 41, I found myself walking. I couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t as cold as it’d been the day I burned my five-year-old face, but cold enough to snuggle into my jacket and zip it up all the way. Cold enough to remind me my low expectations for this place had been way too high.

The Cabin sat up on the hill, where Rachel was most likely sitting in some catatonic state, wondering why she ever trusted me. I could have visited, but I didn’t want to see what I’d done.

I shoved both hands in my pockets and went to the railing overlooking the park. I leaned on it, but not too far because the weld looked weak and fifteen feet was only high enough to hurt. Still, it was too high. I stepped back.

Brightside spread out before me, our nothing of a town stuck on the side of a mountain. The cemetery was another two hundred feet up. Three hundred yards to the welcome center. The town of telepaths was hard at work, my thoughts all my own.

The statue of Jonas Stonebrook stood by the pond. Jonas was the founding father of this place. His son, William, had been branded a Thought Thief. Some guy shot him in his home. William bled out on his bathroom floor. Jonas was old, angry, thought there was a better way. He sold the land up here for a buck, thought he was giving the government a humane option.

The statue of the skinny old man with his gray hair and scraggly beard stood stoically by the frozen water, almost like he was lost in thought. I wondered if he regretted creating Brightside.

I stayed on the path until I hit the woods, the full and bright moon illuminating the way. I headed for the tallest tree, found the five long slashes buried in the bark. Michelle’s name scratched out. Rachel’s name in her place. I pulled out the knife I’d swiped from the diner, started scratching it out. I don’t know why. I suppose I was simply crossing off another woman, another broken heart, bullshit love.

I’d told myself things could last with Michelle, even if she found out the truth. Then I tried to believe it was even better with Rachel.

Always pretending. Making shit up in my head to believe I had a chance, that happiness was possible, even for someone like me.

Sharon would say my expectations were the problem, that they were setting me up for failure. Reality can never live up to your imagination. Expectations imply a future, which doesn’t exist. There’s only the present.

The next day I met Krystal. I was at the deli and something smacked the tile behind me, made me jump. I spun around and bumped into this amazing ass, grabbed it for balance so neither of us fell.

Krystal was bent over, straight-legged, picking a small box up off the floor. I couldn’t see her face, but the bright red hair gave Krystal away. That and her ass pointed right at me, her white bakery coat so short I could see the tiniest strand of her red thong.

I’d seen her a few times, but always thought she was too intimidating, her arms covered in tattoos, her pierced nipples on full display under that tight shirt.

I wasn’t thinking about Rachel locked away in the Cabin. I also wasn’t thinking about work because I was done for the day. I was only thinking about the present. Krystal’s ass.

I let go of it and said, “I’m sorry.” I left my hand on her hip to help her up. Kept it there because she was nice to touch.

Krystal didn’t pull away. She backed up into me, gave me a little bump then turned around. I knew her name, but we’d never been this close.

Her eyes so green I never had a chance.

I let myself think every nasty thought, let her know it didn’t bother me she was listening. Krystal was used to guys thinking these things. But they’d never say it out loud. I wasn’t either, but thinking it like a roar.

In just about the sweetest voice I’d ever heard, Krystal said, “Hi there.” Then she stuck out the tip of her tongue, slid it all the way around to wet her smile.

Aren’t you different?

You have no idea.

Krystal did the thing with her tongue again. Real slow. She was sizing me up, taking in her latest catch. “You doing anything right now?”

I shook my head. Couldn’t believe what was happening, but I was standing right there, letting my thoughts cascade. She loved it. Krystal wanted to fuck me. I couldn’t wait to oblige. I pointed at her uniform. “Aren’t you working?”

“I can do whatever I want.” She took off her work coat and headed for the door. “You coming?”

My holy-shit-this-is-really-happening happiness shattered. Sheila, this nosey bitch from work, stood four feet away. She was friends with Rachel.

Krystal walked by Sheila, completely ignored her. Krystal wasn’t ashamed she hadn’t said a word about Charlie, the guy she was dating. I hadn’t said a word about Rachel.

Sheila looked down at her watch, her long brunette hair hiding her face. She didn’t want to see me. She hadn’t meant to overhear. She wouldn’t tell anyone else. She promised. My new attitude turned Sheila on.

Krystal pulled me out the door and paraded me back to her place. Neither of us giving a shit what anyone thought.

Lodge Two was the exact duplicate of my building. Walking to work in the morning, I could see right through every window.

Krystal’s room was halfway down on the left side, right in the middle, overlooking the park. Right where she wanted it so everyone could see what she did.

I pinned her up against the wall, ripped her underwear off like she said to. We fell on the floor, did things to each other I’ve never even imagined.

I felt nothing but the moment.

I used to feel guilt. Women would look at me, their minds giving away secrets, a map into their pants. I’d take advantage, use their thoughts to get them in bed. They never knew what a dirtbag I was.

But Krystal knew and she fucking loved it.

Of course, I ruined it. It’s what I do. We’d just finished, both of us sweaty, the sheets all bunched up. She thought about the last time she’d done something like this, back in Vegas, no holes barred at the Green Door.

I wondered if anyone could count the number of men who’d seen Krystal’s tits. How many tourists had stuffed dollar bills into her G-string, let their hands linger, feel her soft skin? How many men had she gotten hard, whispered in their ears, telling them every dirty thing they wanted to hear?

Krystal rolled over and tugged up her panties. “Fuck. You.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

I’m always thinking about everything the wrong way.

The answers didn’t matter. None of it did. Krystal used what she had to trick men into handing over fistfuls of cash. It wasn’t any different than what I did at BMW. Krystal didn’t judge me for how I made my money. I had no right to question her. But there I was, doing the same shit I always did.

Krystal threw my clothes at me. “Get the fuck out!”

With other women, I’d deluded myself into thinking it was okay to manipulate them. It made up for all the terrible things I had to hear. Krystal felt the same, but she didn’t want to listen to my bullshit thoughts. She kicked me out, me hopping around with one pant leg on, trying to slip in the other.

Before she slammed the door I looked at Krystal. Really looked at her.

Krystal was her hair. Torch crimson. Fire red.

Krystal was her clothes. Bakery jacket a size too small, no bra underneath. Her sweatshirt Couture, proving she was worth every penny.

Krystal was her face. Beautiful. Molded. Injected.

Krystal was Mom.

That’s what I thought about as I hopped out of the building. The way Mom loved to go to church to shake her ass for all the lonely men, just like Krystal.