Chapter 2 Kit
KIT
PRESENT DAY
I should take heed and filter out with the rest of my classmates since Samuel isn’t the kind of lecturer you should ignore.
Still, I throw caution to the wind and quickly jot down a new direction for my essay before my moment of brilliance flies out the window.
I’ll have to rewrite a good chunk of my assignment, but the influence of dance on early noughties film is far too obvious to ignore.
I can’t believe I missed it to begin with.
I race to capture my scrambled thoughts, my handwriting so illegible that it hardly matters when a stern cough makes me jump so hard I slash ink across my page.
“Kit,” Samuel drawls from the front podium. “If you’re not gone from my room in the next thirty seconds, I’ll assume you’re volunteering to clean the foam rollers that have been rotting in the faculty cupboard for the past decade.”
Like I said, Samuel isn’t one to suffer fools. I once saw him frisbee a student’s notepad out the window because she was doodling during his impassioned monologue on Bob Fosse.
“Sorry, Mr S. I had a moment of inspiration.”
“Well, can you please have it elsewhere. I want to smoke, and according to the powers that be, it’s not appropriate in front of students.” The ‘so fuck off’ is implied.
Hastily, I gather my things and stuff them in my backpack before Samuel gets the chance to make good on his threat. Though it doesn’t stop me from throwing a cheeky wink over my shoulder, just before the door hits me on my behind on the way out.
Some days, I still can’t believe this is my life.
Five years ago, I was at the bottom of my class in the borough’s roughest secondary school, focused only on keeping my head down and making it through unscathed.
Now, I’m willingly staying late after lectures, studying for an actual degree, a fricking BA in performing arts and choreography of all things, and, to top it off, driving home in my shiny, baby blue Smart car.
I still remember Lucien ceremoniously lapping it around our driveway on my seventeenth birthday, a garish red bow flapping about on top, and Damian hanging out the passenger window like an overgrown cocker spaniel. Mum got a matching Audi because god forbid she was left out.
I start up the engine, more than ready to kick start my weekend when, right on cue, my phone buzzes in my cup holder, my stomach fluttering right along with it. Because, even without looking, I already know who’s texting me.
Damian: Hey! How was class?
I wait, knowing full well that my stepbrother won’t be satisfied with just those four words.
Damian: When are you back? Are you coming home now? I miss your face.
Urgh, why does he have to be so bloody cute? Be still, my pure, gay heart.
Okay, I know that falling for my funny, single, ridiculously hot, and ridiculously straight stepbrother is a bit cliché.
But I challenge anyone to be the centre of Damian’s universe, to be revered, and worshipped, and fucking snuggled by him, and not fall hopelessly in love.
And that’s before you take into account those big brown eyes, hair so black it falls like ink over his forehead, and carefully sculpted muscles that are both functional and fucking glorious to look at.
He has this whole dark, mysterious vibe going on that’s at complete odds with his sunshine personality.
In case it’s not obvious, I’ve been obsessed with Damian since the day we first met. Luckily, I don’t think he’s noticed…
Me: Calm down, clinger. I’m on my way back now.
Damian: Hurry up! I’ve got a surprise for you when you get home.
A surprise? I wriggle happily in my seat. Oh, he knows me too well.
Me: What kind of surprise?
Damian: I bought a new game for us to play this weekend.
I deflate instantly.
Me: That’s hardly a surprise considering we’ve got a new game every single weekend since forever.
Damian: Yeah, but this one’s different. It’s an interior design game. We can create our own rooms!
Interior design? Is he joking? I stare at my phone in disgust. This is exactly why I should be in charge of game selection.
Me: But what about zombies? And bazookas? And button mashing? Have you considered that we might actually be good at interior design? You’ve seen my room, it’s a fucking palace! Do you really want to break our losing streak? Do you?!
I picture Damian’s dawning horror and chuckle. It’ll be a miracle if that disk still exists when I get home. My phone chimes again, and I eagerly scroll to see how he’s handling the news… except there’s no response showing in the thread. Huh?
I’m ashamed of how long it takes me to realise that someone else has thought to text me.
Ah, yes. Other people exist, too.
Will: Want to meet up later?
My smile drops. Will is my latest hookup. Not that there have been sufficient other hookups to warrant my use of the word ‘latest’.
Me: Hey…
I reply, because I’m not a heathen and I at least know how to start a conversation.
Me: Who’s going to be there?
Realising I’ve probably lingered in the student car park long enough, I send a quick text to Damian telling him I’m on my way, silence my phone, and head for the coffee shop halfway between Spires West University and home.
The drive will take me about forty-five minutes.
It’s a long commute every day, but when Damian got his place for business at SWU, and I received my own offer, we both agreed we didn’t want to live in student accommodation, especially if it meant we’d be separated.
So, we decided to carry on as we were and live at home.
Lucien was delighted and even let us completely redecorate our rooms to mark our new, more mature chapter. I chose a theme of cream and gold, with soft fabrics and antique furniture to match. My vision was an elegant boudoir to relax in after a long day of dancing.
Damian, on the other hand, refreshed his blue paint and got a bed with a television that rises out of the footboard.
I almost bought one myself, but Lucien convinced me that the modern tech would look out of place with the rest of my décor.
He was probably right, and I could hardly argue when he footed the bill for my custom-made chandelier without batting an eyelid.
The London traffic is surprisingly sparse for a Friday afternoon, and I reach the coffee shop in record time.
I give mine and Damian’s usual order at the little drive-thru speaker and check my phone while the barista finishes up.
I’m not surprised to find that Damian hasn’t texted me back.
The only time that boy is willingly quiet is when he knows I’m driving.
I do, however, have a response from Will.
Will: It would just be you and me tonight. Wanna go to the cinema?
Oh. There’s a fizzle of… something… in my chest. It’s not quite the swarm of butterflies that erupts whenever Damian holds a door open for me or tucks me in at night, but it’s there if I really concentrate.
I’ve been messing around with Will for a month or so now, making this my longest relationship ever.
Which, if I stop to think about it, is sort of depressing, especially when all we’ve done so far is slip away together whenever we happen to be at the same party.
That makes this text a new territory for us.
It’s going against our modus operandi. What Will’s proposing would be like, an actual date, one with no one else around, just the two of us.
I’m intrigued, and perhaps even a little excited.
No one’s ever asked me on a date before.
I don’t know Will enough to say if he could be the man to finally get me over my obsession with my stepbrother, but that’s the point of getting to know someone, right?
I text him back, asking him where to meet and then turn my attention to something I’ve never done before.
Bailing on Damian.
Me: Sigh, change of plans. Can we design shitty interiors tomorrow instead? Will wants to take me out on a date.
Damian reads the text, and then… nothing. A minute goes by. And then another. Once five minutes have passed and he finally, finally, starts to type back, I’m practically hyperventilating in the driver’s seat.
Perhaps Mum’s right, and I am too dependent on Damian. Wait, what am I saying? Of course I am.
Damian: Oh, yeah, no worries. I’ll just stay in and play on my own. All alone. With nobody to talk to *sad face*
Oh god, I can just imagine his puppy dog eyes. Maybe I can push Will back to next week, give Damian some time to get used to the idea of…
No, wait. Bad Kit. Stay strong. You need this date!
Me: Ask Jasper over. You’ve not seen him in ages. I’m sure he’s as crap at interior design as you.
Damian: Nah, I think I’ll get caught up on some assignments. I have an essay due on Monday.
Monday? And he was going to spend the night playing with me? Jeez, maybe it’s lucky I’m going out. That boy’s approach to our fancy education gives me heart palpitations.
Me: Okay, but before you bury yourself in journal articles, maybe you can help me pick an outfit?
Damian: Heck yeah! I’m the best at being a wingman.
A whole host of confetti-related emojis burst across my screen, and I can’t stop the goofy smile that spreads across my face.
There’s the excitable Damian I know and love… perhaps a little bit too much.