“Kira. It’s Elias…are you…”
No answer.
My heart’s practically hammering in my chest, as though it’s fighting for a way out, scared shitless by the situation it’s been presented with.
I shake her a little, “Wake up, Kira,” I say. And again, nothing.
Jesus fucking Christ, if her father sees her like this, only the devil himself can save her.
“Kira, wake the hell up,” I try again, shaking her shoulders this time.
She’s completely fucking unresponsive. I check her pulse because I’m not really sure what the hell else to do. I’ve seen people drunk off their asses. This doesn’t exactly look like that.
I check her pulse again.
Again and again and again. I feel something. It’s not much, but it’s there.
“Shit. Kira, what the hell did you do?!” I whisper, pulling her up into a seated position. Her head lolls back, as if there are no bones left in her body. Her make-up streaks down her cheeks in smudges of charcoal. I take the mask off to find myself breathless as I gaze upon her. There is beauty in this soul of hers. A fragility I’ve seen before, but never dared to admire from up-close. There’s also a bottle of pills. My eyes widen as it rolls onto the ground.
“Kira!” I whisper again. When she doesn’t answer, I gently slap her face, hoping for a reaction. “What the fuck did you do?” It’s more than just a question. It’s a plea for her to wake up, to snap the hell out of whatever trance she’s in.
Her eyes peel open, but only for a short moment. There’s supposed to be some form of comfort when that happens, however, they’re the saddest blue I’ve ever seen.
Gripping her to my chest, I lean forward and pull the bottle of pills from the floor. Oxycodone. “Jesus Christ, Kira…”
I look up, thankful not to see Giselle anywhere. Kira’s father is out in the garden, laughing with some Hamptonites, so at least I know that he’s out of the way too. The last thing I need is for Kira to be on the receiving end of her father’s wrath. Not while she’s in this state.
“Elias…You know,” she starts, and a laugh, void of every single ounce of humor, staggers from her throat.
I press a finger against her lips, “not now, Kira,” I whisper.
Her eyes roll a little and another small mimic of a laugh slips past her lips. “We could’ve been friends,” she mumbles, drool trickling from the corner of her mouth. I have no time to respond to her words, though I feel them in every crevice of my being. I swallow hard, noticing that with each second, Kira’s getting paler. I’m suddenly terrified that if I don’t get her out of here and into a hospital, she’ll die.
Yes, we could’ve been friends.
Maybe it’s not too late.
I pray to a God that has failed me more times than he’s saved me, that she’ll be okay. I promise him, that if this one goddamn time, he listens to me when I ask him to spare a life, that I’ll do better. I’ll be better. I’ll even take care of Kira so that he can keep his eyes on someone else.
There’s a back exit through the garden, about fifty yards from the gazebo. The parking lot is within walking distance from there. I can do this, without anyone seeing us. I have to. Fuck Giselle for now. She can pleasure herself on Kira’s bed, if she wants. Or she can grab one of the waiters. I don’t really care.
My phone buzzes. She must’ve found Kira’s room. Jesus…
I ignore the message and scoop Kira into my arms and carry her out of the gazebo, careful that no one sees me. She’s as light as a feather. Her head falls back, her lips parted as she breathes audibly. It’s ragged and shallow, and the urgency washes over me like a freezing ocean.
Panting, I rush through the garden and manage to slip through the back gate, leaving the noise and music behind us. Kira keeps mumbling, though I can’t make out much of what she’s trying to say. All I know right now is that everything I had planned for this evening will have to wait.
I need to make sure she’s okay, first. There’s my car. I try to let Kira stand, but her legs are jelly, so I prop her against the car instead, while I dig into my pocket and fish out the car key.
“Hold on, Kira,” I say to her. “You’ll be okay.”
It’s a promise. I’m making her a promise, and I had better come through…
6
Kira
Everything is hazy. Yet I feel nothing.
I’m being carried. I hear Elia’s voice, like an echo, ever present in the middle of my consciousness. He tells me I’m going to be okay, and I want to believe him. But I’m not sure I even have a body anymore. My limbs tingle, and I can only open my eyes for the briefest of moments. What did I do? What the hell did I do?
The engine hums and the tires screech as Elias drives dangerously fast. I should be more scared by all the swerving and roaring through the town streets, but I’m not. I know now that combining Oxy with booze was a terrible idea. Shouldn’t have taken a genius to figure that out, really.
I don’t feel anything, so I must’ve done something right. At what cost, though? Am I dying? I’m not sure. My heart feels like its barely beating. My breathing is shallow, and every inhalation feels like a godsend. Every inhalation feels like it’s going to be the last.
Looking to my left, I see Elias in his tux. He looks angry and worried. About me, maybe?
He pushes the pedal to the floor, occasionally looking at me. There’s fear in his forest eyes. I’m scaring him, and I don’t like that feeling. I never did. I hated upsetting him, too, but I did it anyway… because I could. Because I had to. Because of our dads… How stupid it all seems now. How far away and meaningless.
“Kira, stay with me,” he says. The car takes a tight turn to the left, and my eyes roll. Darkness follows, but I hold onto his voice—a thin, golden thread that keeps me alive. If only I could tell him how much this means to me. That he’s doing this. That he looks like he cares.
There is so much pain in my body and in my soul… perhaps more in the latter than the former. A thought crosses my mind, that if I die, at least I won’t have to feel any of that anymore. Giving up hurts too.
“I don’t want to die…” I hear myself mumble.
“Kira, you won’t. I won’t let you,” Elias replies. I know he means it. I feel it in my bones. Hell, it’s the only thing I feel right now—his determination to save me. A determination that makes no sense, of course.
With all our fights and feuds, I’m surprised he even bothered to get me out of the gazebo. How did he find me? Was he looking for me? I have questions, and many of them, but I can’t seem to find the strength to voice them. All I can do is listen to the sounds around me. To let his voice guide me back to reality…
Back to life.
The next time I open my eyes, neon lights almost blind me with their clinical brightness. A sea of white and pale green scrubs. A voice bursting through the hospital’s speaker system.
“Dr. Ganz, report to OR 15. Dr. Ganz. OR 15.”
“Just stay with me, Kira,” Elias says, rushing by my side.
I realize I’m on a gurney, the wheels rattling beneath as I’m rushed somewhere. For the first time since I took the pills, I feel pain. A sharp pinch. Someone put a needle in my right arm. I’d like to tell Elias not to worry, that I’m not going anywhere, but I’m not sure I’d be telling him the truth. I’m tired of lying to him, anyway.
The more I think about it, the dumber it all seems.
Our rivalry. Our pokes and prods. Our hatred for each other. It’s not just stupid. It’s fake. It’s all fake. I don’t hate Elias. I never did. We were supposed to be friends. We were supposed to play with his dog by my pool. His mom and my mom could’ve made us lemonade and cookies. Our dads could’ve worked the barbecue.
We could’ve all been happy and laughing and better together. Not broken and splintered.
“Elias… I never meant it,” I manage, wanting to tell him everything. I need him to know that I never meant any of this. That I was just foolishly
following in my father’s footsteps. That I was terrified of what my father would do to me if I befriended him. That I was terrified of being attracted to him, terrified that if I didn’t force him to hate me and force myself to hate him, I would have been tempted to purse something that would’ve made my father snap my neck in two.
“Hold your breath, take it easy,” Elias tells me.
“Her blood pressure is dropping,” a nurse says.
A doctor cuts in. His voice booms authoritatively around my consciousness. “Get her into OR 12. We need to pump her stomach.”
I’m not sure what that means, but it can’t possibly be pleasant. There’s a price I must pay for my shortcomings, and I have a feeling this will be it. My skin burns. I have trouble breathing. My hand finds another—not mine, since its grip is so strong, and I can barely sense anything around me.
“I’ve got you, Kira. Your dad won’t know a thing,” Elias says, and I know it’s his hand holding mine with such determination. “I’ll take care of everything.”
“You can’t go any further,” the doctor warns him.
I forget the overhead lights when I realize that Elias won’t be with me for what comes next. I turn my head again and find him, his eyes still darkened by fear and… longing, maybe? I’m not sure. Maybe I’m projecting my own feelings onto him.
“I’ll be right here!” he says.
I believe him.
7
Kira
Retching was extremely painful and uncomfortable. I blacked most of it out. I slept for hours, without a single dream. Just the pitch black and the rhythmic beep of a hospital machine. Opening my eyes slowly, I exhale sharply. Thrilled to be alive.
I didn’t die.
I didn’t fucking die.
What an idiot I was.
What an idiot I am…
Blinking repeatedly, I see an image come into focus. I’m in a hospital bed. A private reserve. My guess is Saint Anthony’s. It’s the closest to my house. I don’t remember much from last night, but I can think of one word to sum this whole thing up. Overdone. I overdid it. The Oxy, the champagne, the cocktails… I nearly destroyed myself.
And for what? For a war with Elias that I never even asked for?
Or for a father who gives more shits about his real estate empire than he does about his own daughter’s dreams and aspirations?
For a mother who died before she could see me grow up into a ballerina?
For that bitch who tripped me and screwed the only dream I had… of making it into Julliard?
I’m not done yet, I realize. I’m not done. I’m not dying today, and I’m not fucking done! My first instinct is to get up, but the room starts to spin, and I dip my head back into the pillow, exhaling sharply. Nausea threatens to remind me of what I just escaped.
“Kira…” Elias’s voice comes through, and I’m suddenly comforted and calm. He has that effect on me, it seems. At least for now.
I remember bits of last night. My desire to stop the fighting. To try and be his friend instead. I remember the pang of… jealousy I experienced when I saw Giselle, of all people, hooked onto his arm. I remember him carrying me to his car. I remember the look in his eyes.
“You… You brought me here?” I manage, my throat raw and incredibly sensitive. A side effect of the stomach pumping episode. Cactus pins grow on the inside, making every breath and every swallow incredibly painful.
“It’s a private reserve,” Elias replies. I find him at the foot of my bed, watching me. I doubt he’s slept much, judging by the dark circles under his eyes. He’s been here, this whole time. My heart swells, hurting in a whole new and different way as I process this realization. Elias has spent the night by my side. “No one knows you’re here, and no one will, for that matter,” he adds. “I texted your dad from your phone, told him you were spending the night at Janelle’s. I asked Janelle to back you up on that, as well.”
“Does… Does she know?”
“No. I texted from your phone, but I didn’t go into any details.”
I can’t help but smile. “Quick thinking… Thank you…”
“Kira, I’m not going to tell anyone about what happened. Take all the time you need to recover, then head home and put yourself back together. If you want that Julliard spot, you still have time. You can still get it and be who you want to be.”
I look at him, and I can’t believe I’m hearing any of this. He smirks. “Just because we hate each other’s guts doesn’t mean I’m unable to appreciate your talents. Take this olive branch. Your secret is safe with me. Of course, you owe me a favor now, and I’ll eventually cash it in.”
“I don’t hate you…” I whisper. Tears well in my eyes, and I have no idea where they’re coming from. The only thing I know is that I would kill for a hug. But Elias doesn’t move. He just watches me as I unfurl and release the many emotions that have been tormenting me since my mom died.
Life has finally caught up with me, and I am scared out of my mind. I nearly killed myself last night, and the thought of death has jolted every feeling that I’ve struggled so hard to keep numb and away from my awareness. The dam broke, and I’m helpless, crumbling and crying and wishing I could’ve done a thousand things better.
“I’m sorry,” Elias says. “I have to go. Just… Take your time. Rest. Eat. Lay off the Oxy, Kira. You’ve got too much to lose if you keep taking that shit.”
“My ankle—”
“I already spoke to your doctor. Your ankle is fine. Barely a trace of the fracture. Excellent remodeling. But you already knew all that. You don’t need the Oxy. You need ballet. You need your purpose. Get that back, Kira, and whatever pain you think you’re still feeling will go away.”
As much as I hate to admit it, Elias is right. My doctor has mentioned psychological pain as the root cause of my ankle issues. Maybe now is a good time to take his diagnosis under consideration. I’ve been self-medicating for far too long, and it almost got me killed.
Shame floods me with liquid fire, tears streaming down my cheeks as I watch Elias leave. I feel miserable, yes… but I also feel alive. My stomach hurts. My heart throbs. My throat burns… but I am alive. I survived, and if I don’t make something good come out of all this, I don’t deserve this second chance.
I fucked up. I need to unfuck everything. Elias is right, there’s another Julliard scout coming this winter to see our school’s rendition of the Nutcracker. I had better be on stage when that happens, or I will wind up proving my dad right—and that, in itself, is worse than death.
“Elias,” I call after him, just as he’s about to pull open the door.
He doesn’t just let go of the handle, he turns back, stopping at the side of my bed. I don’t like the way he looks at me. I don’t like the feelings that are trying to rip me apart as I fix my gaze on his.
“I don’t want your pity,” I say, shaking my head at him.
He laughs a little and reaches for my hand, taking it into his. So much of what’s happening here is forbidden, so much of it shouldn’t feel as right as it does. “You don’t have my pity, Kira,” he says, squeezing gently.
I suck in a deep breath and prep myself for what I’m about to say. They’re only two words, but I’m counting on them to lift this boulder sized weight from my chest. “I’m sorry,” I say, finally letting go of the words that I should have said to him ages ago. Words he should have said to me too. The weight I was wanting to have lifted, however, doesn’t do anything of the sort. Before I know it, both his hands are cupped around my face. His Adam’s Apple bobs a little and I can tell that despite the boldness of his move, he’s nervous.
Slowly, inch by inch, he moves forward, until his forehead is pressed against mine, our lips barely avoiding each other’s. “Get better,” he whispers, and I wonder just how much he’s fighting the urge to move a little closer. Just how much he aches for closeness the way that I ache for closeness.
I nod and my head moves against his. And even though he doesn’t kiss m
e, there’s an intimacy in this moment that is impossible to miss.
WHEN WE WERE YOUNGER
ELIAS
I didn’t do it because I hated her. I did it because I was pissed. And because she made me cry. I never effing cry. Tears don’t make a man, that’s what my dad said when Sally died. I’d managed to suck it all up and push the pain down…until Kira. So yeah, when I showed her the picture of Sally and she mouthed off about my stupid dog and my horrible family, the only thing I wanted was revenge.
I knew revenge sucked. Or, as my dad likes to put it – revenge is a long-tittied bitch. Revenge was what he used to rile Kira’s dad all the way up. That one picture at the Indino Mall where Malone looked like a tomato, that was because of my dad’s revenge.
I wasn’t going to have Kira make me cry without getting my revenge. I watched her as she dumped her backpack into the room with her name plastered on the door. She came over with some stupid apology that I didn’t want to hear, no matter how sorry she looked. I might have liked her one time, maybe I didn’t even hate her now, but I didn’t like what she said about Sally. And even though she’d apologized, it still hurt. So I needed to make her hurt too.
When she slipped back into the garden, Thomas kept watch by the door and Gage followed me inside the fitting room. He was a little bit older, a little bit taller too, so I wasn’t worried about him having my back.
It took me less than a second to find Kira’s ballet shoes. Part of me didn’t want to do it. Mom always went on about how much of an amazing ballerina Kira was – just like her mom used to be. And it was true. I’d seen her dance a couple times and even though I knew next to nothing about ballet, I knew it was pretty damn hard to keep my jaw from dropping whenever I saw her dance. But revenge, right. It mattered. Dad said so himself.
Mom liked to say that I should take my dad’s words with more than just a grain of salt. I didn’t know what that meant and it didn’t matter now.
Beautiful Hell: A Contemporary High School Bully Romance Page 8