Chapter 30 #2
Lilia leans back against the pillows, popping a piece of popcorn into her mouth. She chews for a second, then says, completely out of nowhere, “Is there anything going on between you two?”
I stiffen. “No.”
Too fast, I realize when Lilia raises her eyebrows, chewing slowly, clearly amused. “Uh-huh.”
I frown. “What?”
She points to her eyes. “I see all, Addie.” Then she exhales, drags it out a bit. “I see all.”
I roll my eyes. “No, go on. Tell me what you saw.”
Lilia grins. “You look at him like you’re in love with him or something.”
My eyes widen. “What? No! Are you kidding?”
But even as I say it, something unsettles me. Because the thing is—I wouldn’t even know if that were true. I don’t know what love feels like.
Is it supposed to be warm? Soft? It’s meant to feel good, right?
It’s not meant to be confusing. Shouldn’t it be clear? Shouldn’t it make sense?
I swallow, pushing the thought away.
Lilia narrows her eyes, watching me closely. Then she says, all too casually, “Yes, of course, I’m kidding.”
I exhale, relieved.
“Or am I?” she adds, and I’m mortified.
“Lilia,” I say, exasperated, “why on earth would I be in love with him?”
Lilia presses her lips together, staring at a spot in the ceiling. “We don’t choose who we fall in love with. It just happens.”
I tilt my head at her. “You’re speaking from experience?”
Lilia shrugs, reaching into the popcorn tub and tossing a piece into her mouth. “Or so I’ve heard,” she grins.
I smirk, leaning back against the cushions and arching a brow at her. “Okay then. What’s going on between you and Will, hm?”
Lilia instantly groans, tipping her head back. “Oh, don’t even start.” She drops the popcorn tub onto her lap, one hand dragging down her face dramatically. “He’s infuriating.”
I laugh at how physically pained she looks.
“I mean it,” she continues, snapping a piece of popcorn between her teeth. “The boy has not changed a single bit since prep school. He really works my nerves.”
My jaw drops. “Wait—hold on. How long have you known him?”
“Too long,” she mutters, tossing another piece of popcorn into her mouth.
I tilt my head. “He’s pretty scary,” I admit, thinking back to… well—the majority of our encounters.
She nods, considering that. “He can be, I guess,” she says, shifting the popcorn tub to the side, and settling cross-legged on the bed. “You know, I actually witnessed first-hand Kai and Will become friends.”
“You’re kidding,” I whisper.
Lilia shakes her head. “Not even close. Will was always just… alone, and everyone sort of left him alone because they were intimidated or something.” She rolls her eyes, “And Kai took him under his wing. Will never left after that.”
I stare at her, trying to imagine it, and for a moment, I can’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like if I’d had that. If I’d had my own Kai—someone to stand at my side, someone who could have helped me.
Maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe I would be different.
The idea lingers longer than I want it to, and before I can stop myself, I almost envy Will.
Lilia leans back against the headboard. “I didn’t stick around long after that, though. My parents pulled me out of that school not too long after.”
I frown. “How come?”
Her fingers still. She looks over, and there’s something cautious in her expression now. “Kai was getting a lot of attention back then. Media, mostly,” she says. “My parents didn’t think it was safe for me to be around that.”
I blink. “Did they show up at your school or something?”
Her mouth pulls tight. “More than that.”
My heart stutters.
“They’d send stuff to his house. Packages, letters…” Lilia says, not looking at me. “I mean—he was a little nine-year-old. He shouldn’t be seeing things like that.”
I feel the blood drain from my face.
She goes on, and I kind of wish she wouldn’t. “Some of them would come to the school. Asking for him. Saying they were there to see him.”
Why would they have any reason to see him? A nine-year-old? What valid reason is there to do something like that?
A sick feeling coils in my gut. My skin’s too hot now, flushed with something sharp and furious. I suddenly feel like I need to sit down, or punch something, or scream. Maybe all three.
“He was just a kid,” Lilia murmurs, almost under her breath, and she pales—cringes. Like the thought alone makes her sick. “And they were old men and women.”
I don’t even realize I’m gripping the side of the bed until my knuckles start to ache.
He was a child, and they ruined him. With their words and their hands and their obsession.
Because nothing is ever what it looks like.
Fame doesn’t protect you. Beauty doesn’t heal you. Money doesn’t keep the nightmares away. It just makes them easier to hide.
That’s just how it is, isn’t it? Everyone wants the storybook version, and no one wants the truth.
The ugly kind of perfect. The kind that bleeds behind closed doors. The kind that smiles on cue but cries in parking lots. The kind that is all performance, all the time.
No one wants to know that perfection is just the prettiest lie we tell ourselves about other people.
That it’s not a real place. And it never will be.
I glance over at Lilia. She’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, picking at a loose thread in the duvet. Her hands won’t stay still.
“Lilia?” I ask, carefully.
Her head turns. “Yeah?”
“What did Berlin mean,” I say slowly, “when she said you went to rehab?”
She draws her knees up to her chest and rests her chin on them, arms wrapping loosely around her shins.
“For a while,” she says, “I had quite an awful drinking problem.”
I just look at her.
I don’t mean to stare, but I do.
And I know I should wipe the pity from my face, but it stays. Painted stupidly all over my face.
“I’m all better now,” she says quickly, forcing a smile. “Just took a few long months at rehab.”
The words are light, and don’t match the way her voice dips. Or the way her shoulders draw in, turning tense.
She looks… ashamed. Embarrassed.
I shift slightly on the bed, trying to think of the right thing to say. There probably isn’t one.
“That must’ve been hard,” I manage timidly.
Lilia shrugs, but it’s not casual. “It was.” She pauses, looking thoughtful. “I didn’t think I’d get out.”
Then, almost immediately, she laughs—a brittle, humourless sound. She presses her face into her knees for a moment before glancing at me. “You know, I don’t get to talk on this topic much.”
I hesitate. “Do you want to?” I ask gently.
Something wary and fragile flickers behind her beautiful eyes. She shrugs, though her voice doesn’t match the gesture. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that feeling. That helplessness.”
I nod once. “Tell me about it.”
“But the bottle doesn’t care how broken you are,” she says, “it just waits for you to shatter again.”
I’m about to say something, but I realize she isn’t finished.
“And my parents… they just didn’t understand,” she says softly, staring at some invisible point in the room. “The craving was so deep it felt like it was in my blood. Screaming for just one more sip. Just one more, and everything would be fine. One more and I could breathe again.”
Her voice hitches slightly on breath, and I don’t know if she notices. She presses her lips together, an attempt to compose herself, but her shoulders curl inward.
“Lilia… I’m so sorry. I had no idea,” I say eventually, though it feels small. Inadequate in the face of what she’s told me.
She turns her head slightly, giving me a look that’s… fond, maybe. Tired, but not unkind. Then she smiles.
“You have a frustrating tendency to apologize for things that aren’t your fault,” she says gently.
I open my mouth to respond—to say something, anything—but she cuts in before I can.
“It’s hard to know these things. People like to think it’s obvious, but it’s not. Most of the time, you never end up finding out.” She trails off for a second, eyes unfocused. “Most of the time, it’s the person you least expect.”
I nod, suddenly feeling something thick in my throat. “Things are rarely how they seem.”
For a few moments, I’m lost in thought until Lilia speaks again, suddenly jolly.
“I don’t know about you, but it’s starting to feel really depressing in here.” Lilia perks up. “Are you tired?”
I shake my head, still having a little trouble breathing after what Lilia had just told me. It seems she’s eager to move on, though.
And honestly? Maybe that would be better.
“Good.” She grins, sitting up straighter. “Because Divergent is calling my name.”
I blink. “Who’s that?”
Lilia’s face drops. She stares at me, mouth slightly open, her whole body stiffening. “The Divergent movies?” she says slowly, in disbelief.
I stare back, unimpressed.
Her jaw drops. “Oh, you have not lived.”
“It’s just a movie,” I point out, then quickly realize the grave mistake I made. Because Lilia lets out an actual gasp, and clutches her chest, looking at me like she’s reevaluating our entire friendship.
“Tell me you’ve at least watched The Hunger Games.”
I shift slightly. “I can’t tell you that.”
Lilia slaps a hand over her mouth.
“Harry Potter?” she demands, voice higher pitched now, bracing herself.
I scoff, offended. “Of course I’ve watched Harry Potter. Who do you think I am?”
Lilia exhales. “Oh thank goodness.” She flops back against the pillows. “There’s hope for you yet.”
I smirk. “You’re acting like this is some kind of moral failing.”
“It is a moral failing,” she says, dead serious.
I shake my head, leaning back against the pillows. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you are severely lacking in the cinematic experience department,” she counters, then she claps her hands together. “Which is why tonight, we are starting your education.”
I sigh. “Here we go.”
Lilia grins. “Buckle up, Addie. Your life is about to change.”
***
I wake up to the sound of something unholy.