Complementary Colors by Adrienne Wilder Page A

a way only liquefied foods should.
    Whatever was in the bowl reeked so strong of hot sauce and black pepper I wasn’t a bit surprised when our waitress retreated.
    Roy made a sad, sad attempt to hide his smile. I’m not even sure if you could call half coughing, half covering your mouth with your fist, a real attempt in the first place.
    “People eat this?” I stuck a spoon in and waited for it to dissolve.
    “They must, or they wouldn’t have it on the menu.”
    “Do I even want to know what it is?”
    “Sorta looks like chili.” Roy snorted another laugh.
    The spoon remained intact so I scooped up a bite.
    “Are you sure you want to eat that?”
    “Like you said, it’s on the menu.” An oily burn ignited across my lips before I could get any chili into my mouth. I’d eaten plenty of hot food in my life, but at least there’d been flavor beyond bitter, burnt, and slightly salty.
    “How is it?”
    I blinked back the tears. “I’m not sure. I think my taste buds have melted.” I bit down, and something crunched.
    “Was that your tooth?”
    I ran my tongue over my molars, but everything felt intact. “Must have been a rock.” I chewed and swallowed.
    “Good?” The smirk on Roy’s face told me he knew damn well just how good it was.
    “If you like sucking on cheap paint thinner.”
    He raised an eyebrow. “Why were you drinking paint thinner?”
    I jabbed my spoon at him. “If you knew me better, I’d be insulted. I didn’t drink it. I have a bad habit of putting the wrong end of my paint brush in my mouth when I’m thinking.” I stirred the chili. Peppercorns floated to the top. “I think I found what—”
    “Then let me.” Roy watched me with a soft expression.
    “What?”
    “Let me know you better.”
    All the creamers were empty, and our waitress was nowhere to be found.
    “Please.”
    I propped my elbow on the table and stirred my chili. Beans traded places with chunks of meat only to be taken down by gobs of cheese.
    “Look at me, Paris.”
    I scraped my spoon along the edge.
    “Look at me.”
    I did.
    “Give me a chance.”
    If he’d been any other man, I could have turned on my smile, flashed him bedroom eyes, and promised him his heart’s desire. But Roy was not any man. He was special, pure, kind. He deserved so much better.
    “I can’t do that.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t want to hurt you.”
    “You won’t.”
    “Yes, I will.”
    “How do you know?”
    “Because I hurt everyone. It’s what I do, Roy. It’s all I am.”
    He put his hand over mine. A long time ago, someone else had held my hand, but I couldn’t remember his name. “What if I’m willing to take the risk?”
    I shook my head.
    Roy pleaded with his eyes.
    I’d spoken the truth. I would hurt him. It was fact. As firm and absolute as the sunrise.
    Because blood had already been spilled.
    ********
    By the time we left the Waffle House, there were more cars on the road and several of the big rigs were pulling onto the highway. A man came out of the RV with a little white dog under one arm. Where did he plan on walking it?
    Humidity replaced the bite in the air, creating a fine mist that somehow reached deeper than the cold.
    Roy drew me to him. It was an awkward way to walk, but the contact was just too addictive to give up. Some of the early risers we passed gave us funny looks until they sized up Roy, then they tried really hard not to look at all.
    If he noticed, I was glad he didn’t care. I needed this. A fleeting moment of comfort might be enough to get me through the year, the month, or at least the week.
    Or at worst, the day.
    I took the bottle of liquor out of my pocket.
    “You shouldn’t drink that.”
    “Why not?” I guzzled a few mouthfuls. The burn of cheap alcohol was nothing compared to the nuclear chili.
    “It’s not good for you.”
    I drank some more. “Life isn’t good for me, Roy.”
    He took the bottle away.
    “Hey.”
    He took a drink.
    “I thought you said it wasn’t