Facing Us (Kids of the District #1)

by Nicci Harris

  “What do you mean?” he asks, sounding concerned. “Kitten, where are you? I’ll come get you.”

  My eyes start to well up, and my lungs contract in my chest, making my breathing strained, and my head dizzy.

  I jump and clutch my heart when someone touches my waist, feeling strangely on edge. When I fly around wide-eyed, Konnor has his hands held up in clear view, and his face is riveted with shock.

  “Whoa, Duch,” he grimaces, “what the fuck’s going on?” I tighten my face and try to stop the tears that are pooling in my eyes from escaping.

  He ducks his head to stare me straight in the eyes. “What’s going on?”

  My dad’s voice comes through the phone that is now at my side. “Kitten?” Kitten? “Blesk?” Konnor looks down at the phone and then back to my face, drawing his brows together. Disapprovingly, he grabs it and although I gasp when he snatches it from me, I don’t try to stop him. He ends the call then holds down the lock key until the display blackens.

  Konnor pulls me into his arms, kisses my temple, and rests his cheek on my forehead. “Who was that?”

  I embrace his waist, scrunching his shirt behind his back and nuzzling into his chest. His gorgeous scent makes my body melt into him on an exhale.

  “That . . . was my . . . dad,” I stammer. “Erik’s awake.”

  I’m not sure why I’m tearing up, I’m not sure why my hands are shaking, and I’m not sure why I’m equally happy and sad. “Please don’t be mad at me, Konnor, please don’t, but I want my brother back. I feel like I’ve lost him. He might as well have died because I can’t see him. I can’t talk to him. I feel like I’m in mourning.” I peer up at his face, and my chest tightens when I see how wrecked this conversation is making him. He stares straight ahead, his eyes are narrowed, and his jaw muscles dance beneath his skin.

  “Konnor, you’re my best friend, and I just need to try and organise all these feelings. Baby, I’m so sorry if this hurts you.” His scowl remains unwavering, trained on something in the distance. He combs my hair and keeps me tightly pressed against him, very tightly. With his heart beating ferociously against my ear, I can barely hear anything else. “Baby?”

  His eyes drop down to acknowledge me, but his head stays rigidly stationary. “Duch?”

  “Don’t be mad,” I plead.

  Don’t cry, Blesk.

  He shakes his head just once, and scoffs slightly. “I’m not mad. I can’t shake this feeling, Duch, that’s all. Just ignore me, say what you need to say, and we’ll work through it.” His tone is chillingly apathetic.

  He’s lying. He’s mad.

  I rest my cheek back against his chest, partly because I don’t want to see his wounded face a second longer, and partly because I want to inhale him, knowing it will help soothe the knot I feel in my stomach.

  “What do I do?” I ask, defeated. “What do you want me to do?”

  He takes a violent breath in and then slowly exhales. “I want you to be happy.”

  “Konnor, what do you want me to do?”

  He flinches. “I hate him. The thought of him makes me feel crazy.”

  “I know, I know. So what should I do?”

  “What does he want?” His voice sounds clipped, hoarse, and cold.

  “My dad says he doesn’t remember much,” I admit. “But his memories may come back.”

  “So what, you just forgive him and pretend it never happened? Is that what you’re thinking? Please tell me that’s not what you’re fucking thinking.”

  I shudder at his tone. “It isn’t that black and white, Konnor. How do I explain to my dad why I don’t want to see his son? His only living blood relative?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he hisses, sarcasm lacing his words. “Maybe, just maybe, tell him he’s a FUCKING RAPIST!”

  My breath catches in my throat, and I nearly choke when I hear his words. He drops his arms to his side and pumps his fists so hard his shoulders quake. Refusing to let go of his waist despite his rigid stance, I squeeze him tighter and stroke his back soothingly. His body is frighteningly taut, and his muscles ripple under my fingers as I attempt to calm him.

  “Should I?” I ask. “Is that what I should do? Honestly?”

  He grabs my shoulders and pushes me away so he can search my expression. “I’m sorry, Duch. But look at me, I’m seething. But I love you. Sooo fucking much. If you want me to…” his eyes turn to slits as his voice falters "-Christ, I don’t even know what you want.” He releases my shoulders and feeds his fingers through his hair, scuffing it back and forth aggressively. “What do you want?” He groans. “What do you want from me here?”

  I don’t know.

  “I think I need to see him,” I whisper, hating the words and the feelings they are evoking. “And then I’ll know when I look in his eyes. I’ll know.”

  His cheek muscles contract as he grinds his teeth together, and he stares at me like I’m completely crazy. “A few seconds ago when I touched you, you jumped, you were scared,” he shakes his head, “and that isn’t a normal reaction when your boyfriend touches you, Duch, especially when he spent a good half of last night inside you.” He yells the last two words. He shakes his head again, becoming more uneasy as he speaks. “You shouldn’t see him. You shouldn’t be in the same room with him.” I hardly notice Elise and Jaxon as they jog, bright-eyed, up the steps towards us, slowing when they hear our conversation. I glance at Elise just as her expression crumples.

  I turn back to Konnor as a sob escapes me. “Come with me?”

  His face distorts like I just slapped him. “Are you fucking crazy? I would strangle him with his own IV line, Duch.” He grimaces and waves his hand towards Elise. “Take Elise. Fuck, I gotta go for a walk. This is such bullshit.” My mouth drops open and before I can reply, he’s sauntering across the property.

  “Konnor!” I yell out to him, desperation clutching at my voice.

  “Konnor!” Elise echoes.

  Jaxon jogs after him, shouting, “Slater, slow down!”

  Elise walks slowly over to me and leans against the wall at my side, watching me as I grip the pillar and squeeze it tightly. He hates me, and his pain is so much harder to bear than my own. I can’t make everyone happy. I can’t make anyone happy. I can’t make my dad happy. My brother. The love of my life. I am at a loss. For the briefest of moments we had a glimpse at a peaceful life together, but 'life' keeps throwing obstacles at us.

  “Wally, I’m going to take a leap here and say that was about Erik.” Elise whispers.

  “What gave it away?” I blubber, trying to suppress all the boiling emotions. Sniffling, I wipe my eyes and look out over the perfect garden to avoid looking directly at her.

  Elise moves to stand in front of me. “The, and I quote, ‘I will strangle him with his own IV,’ bit. That part really gave it away.”

  I release the pole and look straight at her. “I’m sorry. I know what I said last time we spoke, but Erik is awake, and I just got all messed up. I have to see him. I need to look him in the eyes and see if he is still Erik."

  She nods, dubious. “Okay, let’s do it then.”

  “Really?” I say with desperate hopefulness. I don’t want to go alone.

  “Yes, of course,” she sighs. "If it's what you want to do, then I am here to support you."

  TWENTY-THREE: Konnor

  She hums sweetly, rolling her shoulder to her cheek, grinning, and squirming under my sheets. Her face is soft, pleasured even, as her body arches and feminine sounds of bliss escape her mouth. As I move towards her and sit to the side of my bed, I can tell she's dreaming, and I hope it's about me.

  Fuck, yes.

  My breathing quickens with hers, and I shuffle my weight on the bed.

  Christ.

  My hand goes to her cheek, and she moves into it, applying tender pressure to my palm. I lick my lips, in preparation to kiss her. She smiles. “Mmmm,” she moans, “Erik.”

  My eyes fly open and I sit up.

  It des
troys me that whenever I close my eyes, I see him. His body grinding against hers, her dress hiked her up around her waist, underwear tangled at her ankles. Smudges of mascara line her teary eyes and she remnants of paint in her hair. His greedy claws grasp her thigh as he presses himself into her. What I don’t see me.

  When I close my eyes, I don’t see me under her, stroking her skin that smells so fucking good, rubbing her cheeks and staring into her eyes to make sure she is right there with me, her clenching around me as I move in and out of her, and the way her lips look when she says “I love you.” I don’t see that.

  When you give someone everything, when you offer them everything you are, heart, body, mind, soul, sometimes you end up an empty shell, like there is nothing left of you because that other person fucking took it all. I’m excessively intoxicated, but besides the liquor burning my throat and the drumming in my cranium, I don't feel much.

  I almost killed a person. I tried to kill my friend, as much of a friend as he could be with what little we have in common.

  I stare up at Jax from the grassy patch I've been sitting on for a while. “So, could I have done something different?” As I speak with my hands, the liquor in my glass sloshes around. The bourbon splashes onto my shirt. “Oh, crap,” I complain, wiping it with my hand.

  “Yeah, mate, that isn’t going to work, that stain can just join the others,” Jax says, exasperated.

  “Could I? Because she loves him, and I could go to jail for what I did, so I just don’t know anymore,” I say, then laugh hysterically. Because it is so funny. Seriously. What a riot. I lie back on the grass, the condensation seeping through my shirt, making me feel not unlike I’m in a pool. I think I like it.

  Jax is sitting on a fold-out chair to my side, nursing his glass and frowning at the horizon.

  “So, there you go, Jax,” I slur. “Erik’s been keepin’ this secret from us. You jus rape a girl for a goo four years, and then she’ll eventually fall in love with you.”

  “Shut up, man,” he groans, not making eye contact with me.

  “Fuck you!” I growl.

  “Slater, you’re my bud. Okay? You’re one of the best. Maybe, just maybe, you deserve better than this.”

  I sit up abruptly. “Seriously? Fuck off. She’s my girl. I could never deserve better than her.”

  “I don’t mean you deserve better than her,” he exhales loudly, “just better than this. Look, I love B, but you guys need to, like, mellow or something. Man, girls claw each other’s eyes out to be with you, and you just so happen to also be a really decent bloke. A much better bloke than Erik. All I’m saying, and doing a crap job of it, is look after yourself, too.”

  “I love her,” I say, very matter-of-factly.

  “Yeah, I know you do. And she loves you,” he states emphatically.

  I scoff and splutter my drink out. “Right.”

  Does she love him?

  He has been her everything, lived in her house, held her while watching scary movies, he’s been in her bed, been inside her. I groan as these thoughts pass through my mind, and with them more unwelcome images. When the police told me Liz was in heaven, I believed them despite the concept of the word heaven being foreign. I didn’t even try to find her. I saw her, over and over again, in every face, in every reflection, in every blonde-haired, brown-eyed girl, but I never actively sought her out. When the police declare someone’s death, then they are dead. If only I’d followed my gut. If only I’d searched for her. Then maybe I could have been what she needed. Maybe I could have stopped her from slicing her thigh open, I could have stopped him from touching her. I could have loved her every day of her life preceding this one and every day hereafter. I wince and hug my stomach. “Do you think she loves him?”

  Jax exhales loud enough for me to hear. “I don’t know.”

  ✽✽✽

  In the last five hours I’ve managed to drink my weight in alcohol, despite Jax’s best efforts to moderate me, and I’ve passed out twice. When I hear the friction of the Prado’s tyres on the pavement, and that familiar low howling that accompanies the outer gate closing, I immediately regret my current physical and mental state. Blesk is in that car. She’s been to see Erik. I feel sick.

  Thankfully my father and Cassidy have more productive things to do at 2:00 on a Sunday than witness my impending emotional breakdown.

  The car pulls up and parks in the drop off circle, as I pretend to swing casually on the wicker chair at the house’s entrance. My expression is firm, molars grinding together within my caged jaw. Between my heaving chest, my fisting hands, and my neck that is begging me to crack it, I can’t possibly concentrate on suppressing my aggravated expression.

  Fuck, look at her dress…

  I want to snap out of this. I want to, because she is getting out of the car, wearing that sundress, with those legs exposed and that golden hair over each shoulder, but of course, I had to use my personal choice of crutch, and now I’m fucking wasted. I want her to see me smiling and charming.

  I hate Erik.

  Elise jumps out and meets Blesk by the passenger door, cuddling her, whispering in her ear, and then walking with her hand-in-hand towards me.

  So, I’m the fucking enemy? Blesk needs an escort to approach me because I can’t be trusted, or my reaction could be unpredictable. I stand, make the briefest of eye contact with Blesk and strut through the doors. My feet take me away from her, as fast as possible, not because I’m mad at her, but because I actually can’t trust myself. I am unpredictable right now. Damn Elise for knowing that. I want more than anything to hold her, to smell her. I freeze.

  Go to sleep, Konnor.

  You’re fucking dirt-drunk.

  I stand like a statue still in the hallway and listen for the front door to click closed and their feet to shuffle towards me. I spin around and look at her, and her big, brown Bambi eyes blink hesitantly at me. I want to hold her in my arms, feel our hearts beat together, and kiss and lick and taste her to remind her who I am. Elise releases her hand and walks up the staircase quietly. Blesk bows her head, closing her eyes just as she walks straight into me. My arms sweep open seconds before I realise, she’s moving into my embrace. Then she’s gripping me so tightly, fisting my shirt behind my back and panting into my chest, expelling every ounce of emotional strength she holds. Blesk begins to sob as I wrap my arms around her shoulders and head, enclosing her within me.

  “Konnor,” she sniffles. When I hear that sweet voice, my arms tighten around her, twitching with the need to protect her, and clutching with the need to keep her. I lower my head, nuzzling into her golden hair and breathing her perfect scent in.

  Fuck, I’m an idiot.

  “God,” I find her upper arms and clasp them with my fingers, before pushing her away so I can study her face. My shoulders drop when I see it, when I see her sad little face.

  “Baby, fuck,” I shake my head, not wanting to ask the question, and anticipating my revulsion towards the answer. I work up the courage to say it. “What happened?” She leans back into me, and I can feel her nails on my back through the fabric of my shirt, her breath spouting hot on my chest.

  Sniffling and tilting her head just enough to talk, she murmurs, “I love you, Konnor. I hope you know that.”

  Something in me breaks, and I feel my insides twist. “What happened?” I repeat, monotone.

  She isn’t saying goodbye, Konnor.

  She isn’t.

  Her eyes drop. “Let’s sit down.”

  Fuck.

  I won’t survive losing her.

  Again…

  What is this?

  He’s convinced her to tell the cops.

  She’s leaving me for him.

  Defeat and self-loathing crawl into my veins, wheeling and dealing irrationality.

  She takes my hand in hers and drags me along behind her as she enters the living room and sits down on the couch. She motions for me to sit, and then crosses those impeccable thighs over each other, entwining h
er fingers around her knee. Desperation sits heavily in my bones, weighing me down.

  She leans forward and watches me half-stumble to take a seat on the couch opposite her.

  She blinks at me. “How much have you had to drink?”

  I scoff, rubbing my forehead and temple with my fingers therapeutically. “Not enough for this talk, Duch.” A strained chuckle escapes me.

  I slump back into the cushions and fold my arms over my chest defensively, defending my soon-to-be broken heart.

  She flutters her lashes at me. “You look mad.”

  I scoff. “Mmm, not mad.”

  Her eyebrows raise practically to her hairline. “Okay, that was convincing.”

  “Sorry,” I say, sarcastically.

  Stop it, Konnor. Drunk dickhead.

  “Do you really want to know what happened?” she asks, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek and tucking it behind her ear. Her eyes are so full of sadness.

  “Yup, shoot,” I state, feigning nonchalance.

  She reluctantly begins to talk. “Let me finish everything before you react, okay?” She takes a deep breath. “When I got to the hospital with Elise, we got some coffee from the vending machine and had a chat because I was nervous. I don’t want you to think this was easy for me, because it wasn’t. It was horrible, and I felt sick the whole time. As I approached his room and heard his voice, everything in me froze then recoiled. I wanted to turn and run away. I didn’t want to be there. I heard the same two sentences over and over again in my head: ‘I’m the only person who has been inside you, right?’ I need to make you feel this again.’”

  My molars slam together. “Stop.” I fly up and thrust my hands through my hair, before kicking my dad’s ottoman. “Did he fucking say that shit to you?”

  “Sorry, Konnor. I’m just trying to tell you how I felt,” she says, peering up at me as I pace the living room.

  I grimace. “Can you save me those kinda fuckin’ deets, Duch?”

  “Yes, sorry, sorry.” She shakes her head as if she should have known not to say that.