by Rina Kent
The only reason why I haven’t told him my secret is because, unlike me, he really doesn’t keep his mouth shut.
Before I can carry on with the crazy idea, the door opens.
Aiden and Elsa come inside, arms around each other while Teal walks alongside them. We’re watching them upside down, considering our position.
My chest tightens when I search behind them and there’s no trace of her.
Not that I want to see her.
Lie.
You’re a fucking liar.
I need a drink – or two – right about now.
“Fuck, I missed the fight.” Aiden appears genuinely offended. Arsehole.
Ronan stands up first and offers me his hand. I take it as I rise to my feet and wipe my bottom lip with my thumb.
“Where’s that fucker Nash?” I ask.
“Busy.” Aiden motions at us. “By all means, don’t stop on our account. Can we have a redo?”
“Sex and drugs and now violence.” Teal stares down at Ronan like he’s a stray, dirty dog. “What a charmer.”
Since he’s close to me, I notice the change in his demeanour, the way his body leans forward as if for a fight, but he grins, showing his teeth.
“Glad to be of entertainment, ma belle.”
“Entertainment?” She rolls her eyes. “More like a war zone.”
“Then you should take shelter, huh?”
“Are you okay?” Elsa leaves Aiden’s side and retrieves tissues from her bag to wipe the blood off Ronan’s mouth and nose.
Teal puts earbuds in and saunters to the midst of all the mess as if it doesn’t exist. Then she sits on the sofa, saying in no uncertain terms that she’s lost interest in the scene.
No idea why she’s here anyway.
While Elsa wipes Ronan’s face, Aiden’s left eye twitches, which means his inner demon is about to come out.
Just to be a dick, I say, “What about me, Elsa? He ruined my face.”
“Not you.” She doesn’t break her attention from Ronan.
“Not him either.” Aiden pulls her by the arm and throws the tissues at Ronan’s chest.
The latter smirks. “But I like Ellie’s soft hands.”
Aiden offers him a mock smile. “I’m sure you’ll also like the grave I’ve been digging for you. I’m making it nice and cosy.”
“Why not me?” I ask Elsa.
“You’re acting as if you don’t know?” She folds her arms over her chest, pinning me with a scowl like a stern teacher.
“I don’t know.”
“I can’t believe this. You’re such an arrogant bastard.”
I give her a smug grin. “I’d probably take the compliment better if we put it into context.”
“Kim pretended to have a fever so she could escape you today. She’s not even answering my calls or texts.”
Ronan glares at me as if to say, ‘I told you so.’
I resist the urge to flip him off. “As I was saying, I’m not her guardian.”
“Then stop confusing her, damn it,” Elsa snaps. “Leave her alone so she can pick up her life without you polluting it.”
“Too bad you don’t get to tell me what to do.” I wave at them. “I’m out of here.”
“You’re just a coward!” Elsa shouts at my back. “You’ll never deserve her.”
I glance at her over my shoulder as Aiden holds her in place with both arms around her stomach while she struggles to be set free to no avail.
“We agree on that,” I say, and then I’m out in the night.
The cold air causes goosebumps to erupt over my skin. My face turns numb and the freezing air seeps to my bones.
I stop in front of my car, retrieve a joint, and light it. The smoke is like an instant tranquiliser. I close my eyes for a bit, savouring the pungent taste.
My options are either to drink or to fight.
Or I can do both at the same time.
After all, I’m on a limited time until I’m shipped off to where Dad sees fit. I’m eighteen and could leave on my own, but where would I go?
Maybe it’s the thought of being alone that grates on my skin more than the lack of the luxurious life.
I can see myself ten years from now, partying and fighting and drinking. Or maybe I won’t be alive ten years from now, because I’ll get myself killed in one of those fights.
Or because of drowning my liver in alcohol.
My phone vibrates.
I leave the joint in my mouth as I retrieve it.
The thing in my chest picks up speed immediately. It’s as if I’m in a bleak world and then she barges in like a spark.
A spark I’ve been slowly killing – while also killing myself.
It’s a text message.
Kimberly: I wish you were never my friend. I wish you had never told me you’d be there for me. I wish you didn’t know so much about me and still chose not to be with me. I wish there was never me or you or us.
My lips part and the joint nearly falls to the ground as I read and re-read the text.
No.
No, she didn’t.
I hit her name and call her. She doesn’t pick up. I kick the car and don’t stop to think about the pain as I type.
Xander: Pick up the fucking phone, Kimberly.
No answer.
Xander: I don’t wish I didn’t meet you. I never did.
Still nothing.
Fuck!
I throw the joint away and jump into my car, driving back home in a speed I’ve never done before.
I arrive in five minutes sharp. All the time, I keep calling her over and over again.
Then I call Kir and he says he’s spending the night with his friend.
That makes me hit the steering wheel as soon as I hang up on him. He’s been her balance, and the one she’s looked at when she’s had those destructive thoughts.
Now that he isn’t there, there’s nothing that stops her.
Don’t you dare, Green. Don’t you fucking dare.
I swerve the car to the Reed’s driveway and barge outside, not bothering to close the Porsche’s door.
I don’t pretend to be clueless as I hit in the code to their house. I’ve seen her put it a thousand times. Besides, Kir often forgets it and I have to help him.
No one greets me when I step inside. That bitch Jeanine must be in her studio, and Mari is probably fast asleep.
I hit in the code again to shut off the alarm, then I ascend the stairs two steps at a time.
There’s been this something in my chest since I read her text. Something morbid and dark and so fucking wrong.
Don’t.
Don’t.
Don’t.
I pause outside her room, my fingers hesitant as I push the door open.
There hasn’t been a day where I forgot where her room is or how we used to sit and watch shows together, or how she used to tell me jokes that weren’t funny, but I laughed anyway because her expression was adorable.
The fact I’m coming back here under these circumstances is like a jab straight to the groin.
“Kimberly.” Her name catches in my throat as my feet slowly drag on the floor.
No answer.
“I’m coming in.”
Still no reply.
I step into her room, and there’s no one there. Just her made-up bed and the open wardrobe that’s filled with green clothes.
Instead of releasing a breath of relief, I’m unable to breathe at all. My lungs burn as I head to the bathroom, a strange premonition telling me she’s there.
“Kimberly?” I call in a helpless try to get an answer. Or a sound.
Anything from her would do.
I drag my feet to the entrance and the worst-case scenario materialises in front of me.
Blood.
So much fucking blood.
Kimberly sits on the floor beside the toilet, her back leaning against the wall, and she’s surrounded by bags of crisps, pills, and a bottle of alcohol.
&nbs
My eyes go straight to the trail of blood soaking her cat pyjamas and the tiles beneath her.
So much fucking blood.
One of her hands holds a blade and her previously scarred wrist is now cut open, oozing blood all over the white tiles.
I run towards her, cursing out loud like a lunatic and grab towels on the way.
The first towel soaks immediately after I wrap it, so I add another one. Then something glints in her cut hand.
A bloodied bracelet dangles from her fingers.
I almost break at the view. It’s the bracelet I gave her for her eleventh birthday. The last gift I ever gave her, which I thought she threw away.
I push that thought out of the present and place two fingers on the pulse point in her neck while keeping pressure on her wrist.
The waiting time is probably seconds, but it feels like centuries. The more she doesn’t show any sign of life, the more I stop breathing altogether.
“Come on, Green.” My voice is hoarse with the pent-up emotions swirling inside me.
My grip tightens around her wrist as I lean my forehead against hers. “Don’t go, please. I’ll be the one to go, I promise.”
The moment her pulse thumps under my thumb, I release a long breath. It’s as if I’m coming from the dark, suffocating underground.
Her pulse is weak and barely there, but it exists.
I bandage one more towel around her wrist, keeping the pressure as I dial 999.
From here on, there are only two options. Either she lives or I don’t.
21
Kimberly
Numb.
That’s the only feeling that remains in my head as I slowly open my eyes.
It’s something strange. Being numb, I mean.
There’s nothing in there. No emotions. No thoughts. And most of all, no pain.
It’s like a blank canvas.
I always loathed blank canvases when Mum brought them over. At least she paid them attention and made them pieces of art.
People think the ‘nothing’ state of mind is the best to have.
It’s not.
Slowly, that nothingness morphs into irrevocable darkness that you can never escape.
A fog. A numbness.
While I never had Mum’s artistic streak, I always wanted someone to touch my blank canvas, paint on it, somehow revive it.
Make it a piece of art.
Slowly, too slowly, my surroundings register. The white walls and the bleach. The unfamiliarity and then…the familiarity itself.
The hospital.
I’m at the hospital because I cut myself. This time, I went in too deep that I had to be admitted. This time, I don’t have to google ways to stop the bleeding or hide the scars.
That’s when the most dooming realisation hits me.
I’m not dead.
A tear slides down my cheek as I soak in that reality, in the fact that I went all the way but still couldn’t die.
How could I be a failure even in death?
I’m still breathing, and the fog will soon cover my senses and envelop me in its tight embrace, and this time, it’ll never let me go.
The pain will be tenfold worse.
The harshness will be a hundred times crueller.
The reality will be so much more brutal.
Then that ‘something’ will attack me and I’ll find no reprieve from it.
Who found me? Why did they do it? Should I be thankful? Mad?
“Angel?”
My muscles lock at Dad’s voice.
No, not him.
Please, not Dad.
I don’t want him to see me this way. Why did he come back?
Facing away, I screw my eyes shut so tight, hoping against hope that he’ll think I went back to sleep and leave.
Just leave, Daddy. Don’t look at what I’ve become.
Big hands wrap around mine and I nearly lose the fight against the overwhelming emotions whirling inside me.
“Angel, please look at me. It’s Daddy.”
“It’s because you’re Daddy that I don’t want you to hate me.”
“I’ll never hate you, Kimberly.” His voice turns non-negotiable. “Never, do you hear me?”
My lids slowly open and I take him in, sitting by my bedside, holding my bandaged hand so softly, as if it’ll break any second.
Dad, Calvin Reed, is a clean-cut man in his mid-forties. A slight stubble covers his sharp jaw. He has a strong, tall build that gives him so much charisma and power. His blond-chestnut hair is always styled and perfected, his suits are tailored for him and him alone.
Dad and Mum are dubbed as one of most beautiful couples in the media, and while Kir fits in that picture-perfect family, I never have.
Right now, Dad isn’t in his usual impeccable attire. His hair sticks out as if he’s been running his fingers through it. His tie is gone and the first buttons of his shirt are undone. Black circles surround his eyes as a reminder that I disturbed his life.
“Did you have to take a night flight because of me?” I whisper, my voice spooked.
“I’d take a million flights because of you.” He reaches a hand to loosen his tie, then realises it’s not there and lets his arm drop to his side. “You’re not a burden, Angel. You’re my only daughter. I know I’ve been a failure, but I’ll work harder for you – for us and our family. I just need you to talk to me.”
My chin trembles and it takes everything in me not to take refuge in him. I can’t bother Dad. He’s a busy man and doesn’t need this whole mess in his life.
“Please, Angel. Please let me help you…” His voice breaks and the first tears flow down my cheeks simultaneously.
“D-Daddy, I don’t want to see Mum, please? I don’t want to see how much she hates me and is disappointed in me.”
His jaw tics and he says in an eloquent voice, “You won’t. I promise.”
“What if… What if Mum hates me, what if she –”
“Fuck her,” he snaps, then forces a smile. “If she hates you, it’s only because she thinks you’re a reflection of her ugliness. It’s not you, Kim. It’s her and her self-image and her damn artistic philosophy. I’m so sorry I didn’t take the time to tell you this earlier. I’m so sorry, Angel.”
Those words are my undoing.
I lunge at him, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my head in his shoulder.
The sobs that rise from my chest are ugly and unhinged, but I don’t stop.
I can’t stop.
It’s as if I’ve been waiting my entire life for a moment like this. It’s even better than the purge I felt whenever I cut or popped those pills.
Those were imaginary and temporary releases; this one is real.
All too real.
Dad smells of sandalwood and cosy nights. His embrace brings back my childhood days when he used to carry me on his shoulders and just take me out.
When he used to let me sleep in his embrace whenever I was spooked by a nightmare.
When he used to play with me and read me stories after Nana couldn’t.
That Daddy was a part of my armour against Mum.
I lost him to his job and was never able to get him back.
“K-Kir,” I manage between sobs. “I-is he here? Don’t let him see me this way, Dad.”
“Don’t worry, he’s with Henry.”
Oh, thank God. I can’t scar him again.
What is wrong with me?
How could I do this without thinking of the other people my life? How could I not think of Kirian and how alone he’d be in the world? How could I not think of Dad, who, even though he’s holding me and whispering soothing words to me, his chest rises and falls with harsh breaths as if he’s about to combust?
I was going to leave Dad and Kir behind. I was going to stab them in the chest and go without thinking about the depth of the wound I caused.
��I’m so sorry, Daddy.” I hiccough, my voice muffled with his shirt.
“I’m sorry, too, Angel. I’m sorry I didn’t see this sooner or protect you sooner.”
“D-don’t say that, Daddy. You always protected me.”
“Not enough.”
“Dad…”
He reaches between us and wipes my tears away. “From today on, promise you’ll talk to me.”
I nod, sniffling. For a long time, I’ve dreamt about a moment like this. I practised it every night, too.
Yes. I practised the time I’d open up to someone about the fog that’s been residing in my brain.
I couldn’t be any happier that it’s Dad, not some therapist.
“Promise you won’t hate me?” I ask anyway.
He strokes my hair back. “Never, Angel. You’re my only daughter.”
I inhale a deep intake of air, my heart slamming against its cavities so hard, I can almost hear it.
No idea how or where to start, so I let my gut lead me as I pour it all out.
“You know when you sometimes wake up and you’re disoriented and don’t know where or who you are? I’m that way every day. It’s not a phase and it doesn’t go away. Every day, I remember I’ll meet Mum, talk to Mum, and see the disappointment in her eyes. Every day, I remember I’ll go to school and see the boy who used to be my best friend, then realise I don’t exist for him anymore. Every day, I wonder if I’m invisible and if maybe I stopped existing altogether at a moment in time. Every day, I struggle with the need to stay afloat, to eat, to keep fighting because Kirian needs me. But other times, I think maybe he’s better off without me. Other times, I get too weak and can’t fight anymore. Sometimes, Mum snaps at me and I just have to relieve that pain someplace else, so I cut and watch the pain disappear with the blood. I know it’s wrong and I feel so bad afterwards, to the point I can’t look at myself in the mirror, but I can’t stop, because the physical pain is better than the emotional pain. The blood is better than being suffocated by the fog.”
I’m sobbing by now. A tear slides down Dad’s cheek, but he continues holding me close as if he’s afraid to let go.
I grip him by the shirt, digging my nails in. “Help me stop, Daddy. I need help.”
22
Xander
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