[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
you really think I'm the sort of person you should be
listening to? Do you really think my opinion is worth a
shit?"
"It is to me."
For a long moment, Spike just stared into Galvin s
eyes. Then he gave a small nod. "Bring some of your
work in tomorrow."
Feet of Clay - 44
Galvin hesitated. But Spike hadn't offered a choice --
he'd given a flat out order. Somehow, that made it
easier. He didn't have to make the decision, because it
had been made. Still, his insides clenched with anxiety.
What if Spike didn't like it?
What if he did like it? And why was that thought
almost as intimidating? Heart pounding, he turned away.
"Galvin."
He hesitated, looking over one shoulder. When he
met Spike's gaze, he was struck all at once by the
overwhelming sense of being seen. Spike was looking
straight into his eyes, consciousness focused on him like
a beam. He stared back, unable to breathe.
Galvin drifted through his day to day life trying not
to attract attention. He was the sort of person that other
people instantly forgot, a small, pale blur of humanity
who slipped through others' awareness without leaving a
mark. Yet Spike looked at him as if seeing and
understanding every particle of his soul. As if
memorizing him.
"I'm not disappointed in you," Spike said.
Galvin's breath caught. He stared a moment longer,
then gave a tiny nod and whispered, "Okay."
***
The next day, Galvin arrived at the usual time with a
bundle of pages clutched in one sweat-damp hand. He
didn't have a printer; he'd had to use one of machines at
work. Luckily, Shelly hadn't asked him about it.
Spike met him at the door and glanced at the bundle
of pages. "That one of your short stories?"
"My novel. Well, what I have of it so far. You don't
have to read all of it, of course, I just thought -- "
Feet of Clay - 45
Spike sat on the couch and held out a hand. "Let's
have a look."
Galvin sat across from him and handed him the
pages.
He waited, gripping his knees, heart thumping as
Spike removed the rubber bands and began reading.
Spike s gaze moving back and forth. He turned one
page, then another
Galvin swallowed, fingers tightening on his knees.
His throat felt as if it was full of grit. He'd expected
Spike to read five or ten pages at most. He wouldn't
have asked for more than that. But Spike kept turning
page after page.
Galvin's hand strayed to the tin of Xanax in his
pocket and thumbed at it absently. He considered
slipping one under his tongue. Would Spike notice? His
pulse thundered in his ears as the minutes stretched on,
and he wondered if he should just be sitting here or if he
should be using this time to type up more of the
manuscript. That would probably be less stressful than
waiting and wondering what Spike was thinking. But he
couldn't move. He trembled, frozen to the spot. Paper
rustled as Spike turned another page.
Galvin wanted to break the silence. To ask Spike to
say something. Somehow, he held his tongue.
After more than an hour of reading, Spike finished
the last page, set the whole stack down and met Galvin's
gaze. For a long moment, he just studied Galvin s face,
his fingers laced together.
Unable to bear it anymore, Galvin asked, "What do
you think?"
"You want my honest opinion?"
Feet of Clay - 46
Dread coiled in his stomach. When people said that,
it usually wasn't a good sign. But he needed to know.
"Tell me."
"When I read this, I see you bound and gagged."
Galvin stared, mouth open slightly, not sure how to
respond. His first panicked thought was that somehow
Spike knew. But of course he couldn't. That was
impossible. Galvin had never told a soul about those
dreams, not even his counselor. "You -- what?"
"You're holding back," Spike said. "You're
restraining yourself with every word, silencing yourself,
censoring your own thoughts. This isn't your voice; it's
some amalgam of teachers and critics and editors in your
head. They're binding you, controlling you with guilt
and fear, and you're letting them do it."
Galvin stared down at his hands. He wanted to
protest that Spike couldn't know that, couldn't possibly
know what had been going on in Galvin's head when he [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl fopke.keep.pl
you really think I'm the sort of person you should be
listening to? Do you really think my opinion is worth a
shit?"
"It is to me."
For a long moment, Spike just stared into Galvin s
eyes. Then he gave a small nod. "Bring some of your
work in tomorrow."
Feet of Clay - 44
Galvin hesitated. But Spike hadn't offered a choice --
he'd given a flat out order. Somehow, that made it
easier. He didn't have to make the decision, because it
had been made. Still, his insides clenched with anxiety.
What if Spike didn't like it?
What if he did like it? And why was that thought
almost as intimidating? Heart pounding, he turned away.
"Galvin."
He hesitated, looking over one shoulder. When he
met Spike's gaze, he was struck all at once by the
overwhelming sense of being seen. Spike was looking
straight into his eyes, consciousness focused on him like
a beam. He stared back, unable to breathe.
Galvin drifted through his day to day life trying not
to attract attention. He was the sort of person that other
people instantly forgot, a small, pale blur of humanity
who slipped through others' awareness without leaving a
mark. Yet Spike looked at him as if seeing and
understanding every particle of his soul. As if
memorizing him.
"I'm not disappointed in you," Spike said.
Galvin's breath caught. He stared a moment longer,
then gave a tiny nod and whispered, "Okay."
***
The next day, Galvin arrived at the usual time with a
bundle of pages clutched in one sweat-damp hand. He
didn't have a printer; he'd had to use one of machines at
work. Luckily, Shelly hadn't asked him about it.
Spike met him at the door and glanced at the bundle
of pages. "That one of your short stories?"
"My novel. Well, what I have of it so far. You don't
have to read all of it, of course, I just thought -- "
Feet of Clay - 45
Spike sat on the couch and held out a hand. "Let's
have a look."
Galvin sat across from him and handed him the
pages.
He waited, gripping his knees, heart thumping as
Spike removed the rubber bands and began reading.
Spike s gaze moving back and forth. He turned one
page, then another
Galvin swallowed, fingers tightening on his knees.
His throat felt as if it was full of grit. He'd expected
Spike to read five or ten pages at most. He wouldn't
have asked for more than that. But Spike kept turning
page after page.
Galvin's hand strayed to the tin of Xanax in his
pocket and thumbed at it absently. He considered
slipping one under his tongue. Would Spike notice? His
pulse thundered in his ears as the minutes stretched on,
and he wondered if he should just be sitting here or if he
should be using this time to type up more of the
manuscript. That would probably be less stressful than
waiting and wondering what Spike was thinking. But he
couldn't move. He trembled, frozen to the spot. Paper
rustled as Spike turned another page.
Galvin wanted to break the silence. To ask Spike to
say something. Somehow, he held his tongue.
After more than an hour of reading, Spike finished
the last page, set the whole stack down and met Galvin's
gaze. For a long moment, he just studied Galvin s face,
his fingers laced together.
Unable to bear it anymore, Galvin asked, "What do
you think?"
"You want my honest opinion?"
Feet of Clay - 46
Dread coiled in his stomach. When people said that,
it usually wasn't a good sign. But he needed to know.
"Tell me."
"When I read this, I see you bound and gagged."
Galvin stared, mouth open slightly, not sure how to
respond. His first panicked thought was that somehow
Spike knew. But of course he couldn't. That was
impossible. Galvin had never told a soul about those
dreams, not even his counselor. "You -- what?"
"You're holding back," Spike said. "You're
restraining yourself with every word, silencing yourself,
censoring your own thoughts. This isn't your voice; it's
some amalgam of teachers and critics and editors in your
head. They're binding you, controlling you with guilt
and fear, and you're letting them do it."
Galvin stared down at his hands. He wanted to
protest that Spike couldn't know that, couldn't possibly
know what had been going on in Galvin's head when he [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]