by Iris RIvers
Anyone who knew Kai would describe him as messy, cluttered. Each space he inhabited quickly turned into a place for his clothes, for his papers, for his unnecessarily bought items from Target or some other overly priced shop.
It was Friday, and he was bored. That didn’t mean he was going to go out though. It meant he planned to walk around his apartment the rest of the night wishing he had gone out but silently knowing he’d done this to himself.
Baker decidedly interrupted his plans, knocking on his door while he sat on the cold floor, doing absolutely nothing.
Kai opened the door.
“Hello, hello,” said Baker, pushing past Kai to set two large Urban Outfitters bags on his kitchen counter.
“What,” asked Kai, “is that?”
Baker stared at him like he was stupid—like it was obvious what they were doing here, clothing in hand. “We’re going to a party tonight,” they said. “Clearly.”
Kai laughed. “Maybe you are, but I’m not.” He started moving back to his spot on the floor until Baker stopped him, grabbing him by the arm.
“You haven’t gone to a party since freshman year,” they said, not breaking eye contact with Kai. “Do you understand how pathetic that is?”
“I don’t like parties.” He didn’t. He hated the crowds of people—sweaty, intoxicated, clingy; surrounding him and pushing him, pulling the air from his lungs. Kai didn’t drink and, because of that, parties tended to be incredibly boring. Nobody wanted to be the lone sober person in a room full of drunks.
“I know you don’t. But you’re going to go to this one, tonight, for me,” Baker said, eyes softening. Kai let out an imperishable breath. He didn’t speak aloud, but Baker knew that was an admission. Baker knew he’d follow them anywhere.
Suddenly, Kai was being pulled into his darkened bedroom, pushed to his desk chair and forced to watch Baker as they pulled out the different things they’d purchased: pants, shirts, oversized hoodies.
“Which for tonight?”
“I don’t remember a single thing you showed me,” Kai said dumbly.
Baker groaned. “You are impossible.”
“Undoubtedly so.”
Kai rose from the spinning seat and walked to his closet, pushing aside the worn clothes stuck in the closet door.
“What are you wearing?” Baker asked, changing behind him.
“I don’t know,” said Kai. “Black pants. A button-up shirt. Converse.”
“No Docs?”
“I’m feeling risky.”
When Kai turned back around, Baker was wearing high-waisted jeans and a cropped, dragon-printed tee—showing off their muscled skin underneath. Kai nodded in approval then silently moved to the bathroom to change.
His reflection startled him, strangely. He wasn’t one for confidence; he had never felt it, had never felt comfortable in his own skin, and he wondered if he ever would. He wondered if the person staring back at him would ever cease to grieve him—cease to make him anxious and tense, but most of all, sad. It was a childish word—one he didn’t use often—but the sadness that came along with his deathless insecurities weighted the word, made it more meaningful.
Baker pounded on the door. “You almost done?” they asked. “We have thirty minutes to get there.”
“Where is it?” Kai said, still inside the bathroom. He couldn’t move his eyes from the mirror.
“Jersey City,” Baker responded.
“You’re dragging me out to Jersey?” Kai questioned. “Are you driving?” Baker had their own car—a luxury most people in New York wished for. They liked to drive instead of taking the subway. An odd decision, considering how busy the streets were, but Baker didn’t mind.
“Yes,” Baker confirmed. “But we’re going through Holland, so hurry up. I don’t want to be stuck in traffic.”
Kai said nothing as he dressed. He slipped into the pants he’d grabbed earlier before buttoning into a silk shirt, the material so smooth it felt cold against his skin.
Finally, he pulled open the bathroom door.
“All black,” Baker noted. They looked down at his bare fingers. “Put on some rings; I have to get something for you.”
“For me?” Kai asked, walking over to the random assortment of rings on his coffee table. He twisted a few silver ones onto his fingers, the metal catching the light of his apartment.
“Where is it?” Baker grumbled, sifting through the many shopping bags they had brought with them. “Ah, here it is.” They pulled out a long red coat. It looked gruesome, eye-catching—a color he’d never worn; a color he’d never wear. The color of death. The color of blood.
Kai stared at them. “Absolutely not.”
“You are so boring.” Baker rolled their eyes. “Try it on, at least.”
When Kai didn’t move, Baker stepped forward and pulled his arms out, forcing the coat onto his body. Their face gleamed with delight. “This coat looks amazing—I knew it would. I seriously am so brilliant.”
Kai looked uncomfortable. “Baker...”
“Come.” Baker grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the full-length mirror in his living room. “See, you look hot.” Turning around and putting their hands on Kai’s collar, Baker said, “What are you, a prude?”
“Far from it,” Kai muttered, watching Baker unbutton the first few buttons.
“There,” they said, tapping their hands on Kai’s chest. “Now let’s go.”
Despite his inhibition, Kai agreed to wear the coat. Then they were off.
“WHAT FLOOR?” ASKED Kai.
“Thirteenth,” said Baker, leaning against the wall of the elevator, shutting their eyes. Kai pressed his finger to the peeled button that read 13.
“You good?”
“Fine,” they said. “Just tired.” Kai nodded, wanting to say more, but was stopped by the opening of the doors before he had the chance. The elevator shuddered to a stop as the pair stepped out.
Walking down the hall, they saw a small group of people standing outside an apartment door, laughing amongst themselves.
“Is this Lauren’s party?”
The group’s conversation silenced slightly when Baker spoke. A short brunette looked Kai and Baker up and down—deciding whether or not she wanted them to be there—and said, “Yes.”
“Thanks,” said Baker. They pushed their way into the apartment.
Instantly, Kai was struck by the humidity. A swarm of people filled the open loft, all sweaty, all holding Solo cups. Smoke danced through the air. Kai watched a few people in the corner—blunts in hand—as they stared up at the ceiling.
“You made it!” a girl said loudly, running up to Baker and hugging them tightly. Her styled hair was dyed a platinum blonde—her dark roots obvious against the paleness.
“I had to force him here,” Baker said as they let go of one another.
The girl looked over to Kai, smiling softly. She waved. “You can call me Em.”
“Hi, Em,” Kai said. Then, after a few beats of silence: “Kai. I’m Kai.” Em laughed, nodding. She looked to Kai, taking in his appearance. “Nice coat.”
Baker grinned, shoving Kai’s shoulder and leaning into his ear to whisper: “What’d I tell you.”
Kai scowled. Baker looked between the two, looking so smug that Kai felt uneasy—like he knew they were planning something malicious. Kai shoved his sweaty hands into his pockets.
“Well... I need to go to the bathroom.” Baker’s grin grew. “I’ll leave you two to it.”
Kai tried stopping them. He tried grabbing their arm and mouthing What the hell are you doing? But they were gone—their back already facing Kai and Em. He started laughing—obviously uncomfortable—trying to think of something to say.
“So... Do you go to—”
“Sorry,” said Kai, already backing up, “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Wait!” she yelled back. “You don’t even know where it is.”
“I’ll find it,” he said. “Thanks.”
&n
bsp; Kai’s breath shortened as he sped through the crowd—pushing people to the side and mumbling Excuse me as he stepped over red cups and empty beer bottles and plastic cups and, oddly, toilet paper. He reached some sort of makeshift bar toward the back of the living room and leaned against the sticky counter, slowing his breath.
In.
Tick.
Out.
Tock.
He looked over the counter, eyeing tequila bottles and whiskey. Maybe I should take a shot, he thought. Maybe it’ll help. Maybe I’ll feel something. Anything. Kai grabbed a full bottle of vodka and brought the rim to his lips. He winced against the burn, his throat itching at the sensation. He shook his head, letting the liquid settle into his veins. The feeling was familiar, comforting.
“Hey, man,” someone said from behind him. Kai turned quickly. “Can I get some of that?”
Kai passed the bottle over silently, looking him up and down. His hair was an inky black while his skin was a deep brown—the color of fallen leaves, of tourmaline. He was attractive in a unique way, like a slightly misshapen Greek sculpture. He wore a shirt so pale that Kai could see his skin underneath. He was skinny, lean. Like a ballerina. Like Lara.
“I’m Trevor,” he said, the bottle still in his hand.
“Trevor,” Kai repeated. “Okay.”
Trevor let out a laugh—it was scratchy, deep. Kai couldn’t tell if he liked it or not.
“This is the part where you tell me your name,” he said. Kai started to speak, but something behind Trevor’s shoulder caught his attention—short, dark hair sharpened his vision.
He didn’t have to look at her face to know it was her. She stood between two girls, wearing a dress so red, so intimate. It looked like the red of his parents’ blood—the blood that had poured from their torsos, from their throats—onto the tiled floor. Kai sucked in a shaky breath. She danced slowly to the song—the “Crazy in Love” remix, he realized as he listened closer—her hips swaying to the beat, the tan of her bare legs gleaming underneath the strobe lights. She reached up to her face, pulling hair from her eyes as she smiled quietly. Kai felt his pulse stutter, quickening inexplicably.
“Dude, are you even here?” Trevor waved a hand in front of Kai’s face.
“Yeah,” Kai said, his gaze still stuck on Lara.
He felt angry all of a sudden—angry that she was here; that the red of her dress matched not only the color of his coat but also the color of his parents’ death, of their final moments. He felt like she’d stolen something from him, being here.
Trevor was saying something, something incredibly trivial, but Kai couldn’t hear him. The voices, the words surrounding him, blurred into a single sound—the sound of the song mixed with a kind of heated static. The sound of heavy breathing after slitting someone’s throat; the sound of chaste kisses in an abandoned parking lot. The sound of devastation, of an oxymoron of thoughts that could never be explained.
Kai watched as Lara grabbed some girl, her arms circling her waist as she pulled her close to her body. Watched as she smiled into the girl’s neck. The girl she’d grabbed danced against her waist, leaning back onto Lara’s shoulder.
Suddenly, as if she’d felt it—his hostile stare; his vehement gaze—Lara snapped her head toward Kai, her eyes trailing across his face, his clothes. Her venomous lips turned up in disgust. Her eyes remained on him as she danced against the girl, tugging at her hips, dragging her hands down her arms.
Kai took a step closer to Trevor and mindlessly reached for his collar. As Kai and Trevor neared each other, their breaths mingling, Lara brought her lips sloppily to the girl in her arms. They kissed open-mouthed, careless, Lara’s gaze burning through Kai’s skin.
He brought his own mouth to Trevor, kissing him with such vexation, such hunger, he wasn’t sure Trevor could keep up; wasn’t sure if he could replicate the passion Kai was putting into the kiss.
While Trevor closed his eyes, sighing, Kai’s stayed open, stuck on the girl in red. The girl painted in blood. The girl with daggers in her eyes and knives in her heart.
Lara, Lara, Lara. Her name was a drum against his skull. The pain of it was excruciating—incomparable. Trevor pulled against the fabric of Kai’s coat and kissed him harder—stronger.
Sweaty bodies moved impatiently around Kai and Lara, but they were fogged, a muddy palette of colors compared to the red of Kai’s coat—the red of Lara’s dress.
It was only Lara and Kai. Kai and Lara. It was them, watching as the other kissed someone else, watching as they tugged on the person’s hair, reached for the person’s waist, all while never betraying their gaze. They gripped to the violent string that held their eyes together like a lifeline; like it was what kept their hearts beating but also what split them in two.
Kai pulled away first. He was breathless, sweaty. His heart hammered against his chest, yet he wasn’t sure if it was because of the kiss or something else. Something worse. Something dangerous. Destructive.
Lara didn’t break the kiss. She looked away from Kai with painful slowness, like she had to break apart that string with all her might—all her strength—and smiled as she deepened the kiss.
“I’ve gotta go,” Kai said, his breath heavy. Sweat lined his palms.
“Go? Can I get your number, at least?” Trevor asked. Kai ignored him. He turned from Trevor and hurried to the exit—to the door. Anywhere to get him from here. From Lara.
No one stopped him. Not Baker—who he assumed was in a bedroom, hooking up with some girl. Not Trevor.
He somehow found his way to the old elevator, pressing the button over and over, a steady rhythm against his swirling mind. Finally, the doors opened up. Kai rushed inside.
As he reached the lobby, his thoughts strayed back to Lara. He thought of how she’d looked at him with such disgust—such revulsion. How her fingers had gripped the arm of the girl, most likely imagining she was squeezing the life out of Kai’s own neck.
He didn’t think it possible to feel such an incredible amount of hatred toward another person. Kai thought of when she’d carefully placed glass into his ballet slippers—her cruel face lighting up as she watched blood ooze from the sole of his foot; he thought of when she’d stuck a long, skinny needle into his leotard before practice to slice the skin of his stomach—not for any particular reason, just for fun. Lara was sadistic. Misanthropic.
Kai pushed open the glass doors and stepped out onto the dirty sidewalk. Black trash bags lined the street, clustered together like friends warming each other in a winter storm. Voices surrounded Kai—loud conversations, screams, whispers.
Lara in red. Lara, watching him, as she kissed someone.
It was suddenly all too much. This—he thought—this is the worst pain I have ever felt. Worse than glass in the tender parts of my feet. Worse than needles cutting through my skin. The aversion had become painful. He didn’t know when it had made the transition—he couldn’t tell—but it had.
Lara haunted Kai on his way home—followed him; breathed in his ear. When he finally stepped into his own bedroom—the lights off—he tore the blood-red coat off abruptly, shoving it to the back of his closet and slamming the door shut.
He promised himself he would never wear it again; he promised himself he would do something to Lara—something she deserved.
CHAPTER FIVE
“In time we hate that which we often fear.” ––William Shakespeare
Lara woke in a bed she didn’t remember, next to a girl she didn’t know. She peeled her eyes open hesitantly, a headache building in the back of her skull. A scratchy sheet rubbed against her bare skin, making her itch. She sat up—her vision foggy; her memories faded.
She remembered a party, remembered the thrum of music as she danced frivolously into the night. Lara blinked against the bleariness. She looked to the girl next to her; her cheeks flushed, her lips soft—pink. Tainted rosebuds with perilous secrets.
Kai.
She remembered Kai. She remembered red.
Kai, his lips on a fortuitous boy, telling secrets that Lara would never be able to hear.
Let him tell his secrets, Lara thought heatedly. He’s just a boy. His secrets aren’t worth hearing.
He’s just a boy, caged in scarred steel and cemented locks; so far away from the world—away from himself, even—that not even the blood of the oldest, most compelling gods could bring him back to life.
Kai Reeves is just a boy who is dead.
Soundlessly, Lara slipped out of bed, her skin sticky and warm. She needed a bath. She needed to eat. She needed many things—things she had no chance of getting, she realized, because she had rehearsal in fifteen minutes.
Lara didn’t bother searching the room for her clothes, only rummaged through the stranger’s drawer and pulled out a random hoodie and shorts. She pulled both on in an agitated hurry—ignoring the way it smelled of jasmine—and grabbed her phone from the nightstand.
With one last look at the dozing girl, Lara turned from the bed and left. She didn’t leave a note.
LARA WAS LATE, AND Dunne was not impressed.
“I don’t want to hear anything,” she said when Lara tried to explain. “Just put on your slippers and get on stage.”
Lara did as she was told—surprisingly. She wasn’t one for compliance.
“Get in position for Act I,” said Dunne.
The recital began in innocence. It opened with Lara—stranded in the woods; snow falling around her in a solemn deliverance. She was meant to be awaiting Kai—who was supposed to hide between the trees in order to avoid the clouded judgment of his own demise. The intro to Act I was to be Lara’s first short solo of many, before she and Kai were to come together in joined harmony. Their first dance was tenacious—the movements of a life-threatening occurrence. It was a dance with the devil, a race against time itself.
Dunne had told the lovers to appear fearful—yet still very much infatuated with one another. The recital must begin in a fit of passion, she said. It must be an invitation for discovered love; for ghostly becomings.