Chapter 8 Kai
Kai
The Airbnb’s door opens with a faint creak.
Thank fuck.
I slip inside, shoes in hand. The last thing I need is Haven waking up to my drunk ass stumbling in at quarter to eight in the morning like some piece of shit who stayed out all night getting wasted after he walked out on his girlfriend.
Which is exactly what I am, but my girlfriend sure as hell doesn’t need the reminder.
A slurry of booze and ranch-slathered nachos pushes up my throat, but I force it down with a hard swallow. My head’s been pounding like a fucking bass drum since I woke up on Kruger’s frat house’s couch this morning. All I want is to climb into bed and sleep my way through this hangover.
But before I’ve even closed the door, something’s telling me I should never have come back.
The place is clean.
Not just picked up. Fucking spotless.
Gone is the pizza box. The beer bottles we lined up like trophies last night. My notes that were scattered everywhere like I’d had a goddamn seizure while studying? All of it gone.
It’s creepy as fuck.
Like she erased last night.
Fuck my paranoia. I’m taking this as a good sign.
Haven wanted a fresh start—and so do I.
She’s in bed, curled on her side facing the wall, one hand tucked under the pillow, the other in a fist near her head. Her hair is a bronze spill across the white pillowcase, and—
Jesus. She’s wearing one of my old football jerseys. I didn’t even realize they’d ended up in the duffel I packed, but thank God they did, because fuck me, the sight makes my cock twitch.
I walk to the bed like a fucking zombie when I should head for the shower to wash off last night’s booze and sweat.
…And the inexplicable stains under my fingernails.
Since I’d made a point of drinking enough to black out last night, there’s a huge chunk of time missing. If anyone in Kruger’s frat had been awake this morning, I’d have interrogated them, but they were all dead to the world.
Fuck it.
I don’t need soap, or memories…I need Haven.
I creep closer, trying not to make the floorboards creak.
Her shoulders rise and fall so peacefully as she sleeps.
She stayed.
I was so sure—sitting in that Uber, head pounding as I pieced together how I got from the bar to Kruger’s frat house with zero memory in between—that I’d walk in to find her gone.
Maybe a ‘fuck you’ scrawled on the bathroom mirror, if I was lucky.
But she’s here.
In our bed.
Looking hot as fuck in my shirt.
I close my eyes and just breathe. The panic that’s been eating at me since I woke up has finally shut the fuck up.
Then I lift the covers and slide in behind her.
She’s so warm. So solid. So fucking real.
I don’t touch her. Just lie close enough to feel her heat and inhale the scent of her lotion and shampoo and let myself believe we’re okay. Whatever I said last night, whatever she’s thinking, we can work it out.
I draw her hair away from her shoulder, pausing when I feel how wet it is.
Guilt surges inside me.
How long did she stay up waiting for me to come back before she realized I was going to stay out all night?
I trail my knuckles down the curve of her shoulder and lean in, intent on pressing my mouth to her skin and waking her up so I can—
Her necklace is gone.
My heart fucking stops.
I swipe away more of her damp hair, but her neck is definitely bare.
What the fuck? Did it fall off? Maybe the clasp broke. Maybe—
I sit up, the world spinning as I scan the nightstand by her side of the bed.
Nothing.
Fuck.
I check under her pillow, careful not to dislodge her, even though I’m suddenly desperate to shake her awake and demand to know why the fuck she isn’t wearing my necklace.
Instead, I climb out of bed and go to my knees to check under the frame.
I hurry into the bathroom because maybe she took it off when she showered.
But it’s not there either.
It’s fucking gone.
Fuck. What if she threw it away?
I spin around to face the bed, staring at her through narrowed eyes that pulse with every frantic heartbeat.
My chest does that thing again where it forgets how to work properly, and I’m not spiraling, fuck that, I’m just—
Something glints at me from her curled-up hand.
I stride over, leaning down to stare at the length of silver chain draped over one finger.
My head thumps double time along with my heart as I gently—so fucking gently it’s pathetic—pry open her fingers.
Her butterfly necklace drops onto the sheet.
The thing probably cost me five bucks back then. I thought I was hot shit for getting it. Looks like the cheap metal chain gave out, snapped right through.
She kept it with her as she slept.
I sit there on the edge of the bed, staring at the tiny silver butterfly with its plastic sapphire, trying to swallow through a too-tight throat.
She was holding it so tightly. Like it still mattered. Like I still matter.
Even after I walked out.
Even broken.
I look at her—still breathing slowly, still peaceful—and I want to wake her up. Want to apologize. Want to be better than I am.
But I don’t.
I know I need to fix this, but not with a pathetic apology I’ll probably mess up anyway. Haven fucks with my head on a good day…add in a bunch of emotions I’ve never been good at handling, and my mind turns into a fucking dumpster fire.
Necklace in my fist, I pad quietly into the kitchen.
There’s a notepad by the fridge. Haven used it to scrawl down some groceries.
MARSHMALLOWS X2
TOILET PAPER
COFFEE
RAMEN
BEER
I added the beer and ramen yesterday, but I see there’s another addition under mine.
TRASH BAGS
I grab the pen, tearing off the grocery list and shoving it in my hoodie pocket before writing out a quick note.
Hi!!!
Went to get breakfast!
Be back soon!
- K
Then I scrawl a crappy attempt at a heart next to my name.
It’s not a love letter, but at least she’ll know I didn’t just bail. I head for the door, hesitate, and go back to the notepad.
I want to make sure she sees the note, so I tear it off the notepad and go to the bed, hesitating before propping it against the base of the lamp on the nightstand.
No way she can miss that.
I bend and plant a soft kiss on her temple, freezing when she murmurs something under her breath.
My paranoid as fuck mind hears, “Bastian.” I stamp down a swell of anger and turn on my heel, grabbing my shoes and slipping them on as I head for the door.
I have to turn around halfway because—thank fuck—my brain reminds me that my phone only has a couple of minutes of charge left, and I fetch the charger from the kitchen counter and shove that in my hoodie pocket too.
When I go to leave, an icy gust of wind ruffles my hair and flaps my oversized hoodie against my torso, nearly ripping the door out of my hand. A handful of orange leaves whip past me before I can step outside and pull the door shut.
Jesus, fuck.
The air smells sharp and clean. Like snow, even though November’s still a week off.
I check my phone. Just past eight, and four percent battery. Too early for most places, but fuck it. I’ll wait outside the jeweler’s if I have to.
I request an Uber, groaning internally when it tells me the closest is five minutes away. I huddle against the garage wall below our Airbnb to shield myself from the random gusts of icy wind as I stare at the necklace in my hand.
The cheap, broken chain. The fake blue stone.
It’s not good enough anymore.
Haven deserves the fucking best.
And when I give it back to her, she’ll know.
She’ll know I’m not the same pathetic kid that thought this was the fucking best sixteenth birthday present ever.
And she’ll know I’m staying.
The Uber driver doesn’t talk. Probably because I look like shit and smell worse. No wonder he mumbles something about his USB not working when I ask him to charge my phone.
I stare out the window, watching Agony Hollow’s early morning enthusiasts. Mostly joggers. Some old dude with his dog.
Everything normal. Peaceful.
Like the world didn’t almost implode last night.
I pull out my phone to check my notifications and keep myself awake so I don’t feel so tempted to take a nap in the backseat. It’s down to two percent.
Nothing from Haven, probably because she’s still asleep. Got a VibeFeed DM from Kruger though.
@notfreddykruger
Thought we were doing a wake and bake
I smirk, shaking my head as I type out a reply.
@wanderkind
Gotta fix things with H
Also hungover AF
Kruger annoyed me when he said I should just have been straight with Haven about my mother’s call…but a few shots later I realized he was right.
I shouldn’t have been so fucking defensive, but Jesus, last night’s call floored me. Not just that Sharon finally deigned to contact me after all the shit that’s gone down the past couple of weeks…but that she had the motherfucking audacity to invite me to dinner?
The Uber driver gives me a weird look in the mirror when I snort out loud.
Fucking family dinner.
As if.
@notfreddykruger
What happened last night bro
@wanderkind
Was going to ask u the same thing
I remember the bar. Way too many shots. Someone suggesting we move the party to Kruger’s frat house. And then…waking up on his couch with my shoes.
Fuck.
@notfreddykruger
Who was the guy in the alley?
What guy? What alley? Jesus, did I get into a fight? Is it blood under my fingernails?
I’m about to text back when my phone dies.
“Everything okay, man?”
I look in the rearview mirror, frowning. “What?”
The Uber driver glances down a side street before meeting my eyes. “You get in a fight or something?” His eyes drop to my throat.
I shift to the middle of the backseat, lifting my chin so I can catch sight of my neck in the rearview.
Jesus fucking Christ, Haven.
I chuckle. “Yeah, uh, it’s not what it looks like.”
The Uber driver twitches an eyebrow and murmurs, “Whatever you say, buddy.”
I stroke my skin, shaking my head as I stare at the bruises on my neck. When did she get so strong? Then again, she had her hands on my throat for a while. Maybe that counts for something.