Chapter 31 #3
Again, it’s phrased as a request. And again, it’s not one.
I nod once, curt. “Yeah. This way.”
We move into the living room. It’s dim, the curtains still half-drawn from earlier, the couch cushions slightly out of place from when Naomi had her meltdown an hour ago.
Kym sits neatly on the edge of the couch; hands folded in her lap staring up at the ceiling blankly. But when my gaze slides to Sterling, I see he remains standing for a moment longer, and it makes me wonder what he’s thinking about. How many houses like this he has been in?
How many victims has he managed to save? Or failed to.
Then he sits—composed, one ankle resting over the opposite knee as he reaches into his coat and pulls out a slim notebook, flipping it open with precise fingers.
“This won’t take long,” he says. “I’d like to start by understanding the timeline. From the very beginning until now. Remember, every detail matters. Even the ones that feel small.”
I watch as his pen hovers over the page.
He watches me watch it.
And I tell him. Everything.
***
After what feels like hours of Sterling’s interrogation, my brain has practically melted out of my ears. In fact, I’m convinced he’s trying to set a world record for most questions asked in a single evening. He doesn’t even look at me half the time, just scribbles in that little notebook of his.
“Did you notice if the kitchen window latch was broken before tonight?”
“Has anyone followed you home in the past few weeks?”
“Did you ever get the feeling someone was watching you when you were inside?”
I yawn so hard my eyes water. My head tips against the back of the chair, heavy, my whole body aching with exhaustion.
“Were there any unfamiliar cars parked on your street recently?”
“Has anyone asked about your schedule—where you go, when you’re usually home?”
“Do you keep a spare key anywhere someone could have seen you hide it?”
By the end, I’m half-convinced I’ve dreamed half the conversation anyway.
Somewhere between question number seventy-five and seventy-six, I text Lilia:
Me: You should just go without me. Seriously.
Lilia: No.
Me: We’re going to be here all night.
Lilia: I said no. I’ll wait.
Me: You don’t have to babysit me.
Lilia: You’re not winning this.
We go back and forth for a good fifteen minutes until finally, mercifully, she gives in. But not without calling me three times in a row to make sure I’m sure before she actually drove away.
Which left me here.
I’m beginning to deeply regret not taking Sterling up on his offer to drive us, thinking this would do me good. Spoiler: it isn’t doing me good.
I am so unbelievably over this walk.
We’ve been out here for what—twenty minutes? Thirty? And already my legs are aching, my lungs are burning, and my face hurts.
And the weather isn’t exactly ideal. In other words, English weather. In the winter. I have to say, I didn’t expect a trek like this, and I absolutely didn’t account for the snow.
Meanwhile, Kym walks beside me completely relaxed. Hands in her pockets, her expression calm, barely making a sound as her boots hit the pavement. She isn’t struggling. She isn’t out of breath. She isn’t even remotely phased by the fact that we’ve been walking forever.
It’s slightly annoying.
“You know,” I say, shifting my bag higher on my shoulder, “you didn’t have to walk with me.”
Kym doesn’t answer right away. For a second, I think she might just ignore me entirely, so I quickly add, “But I sure am glad you did.”
Her lips twitch at that. Not a real smile, but something close. She lifts a hand, fixing her beret where the wind has tugged it slightly off-centre.
“It could be worse. We could be walking through the field.” She points out, and I let out a small groan in agreement. We passed a massive field not a few minutes ago, which according to Kym, is another way to get to Kai’s house.
She kicks at a loose rock on the sidewalk, sending it skipping forward. “How can you be so happy?” she asks, voice quiet but sharp. “Your house was broken into, Addie. You have a stalker.”
I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair, exhaling into the cool afternoon air.
For a long moment, neither of us says anything until finally, I shrug.
“What should I do instead?” I ask, glancing over at her. “Cry? Feel bad for myself?”
Her gaze flicks toward me, just for a second, then back to the pavement.
“I could do that. But then what? I’d still be here. I’d still exist. Just sadder. And I don’t want to live like that.”
Why should I let some creep decide what my life looks like?
Kym lets out something that’s almost a laugh. I’ll take it.
“That’s… admirable,” she murmurs, kicking at another rock.
I grin, nudging her with my elbow. “I try.”
She shakes her head, staring down at the pavement, watching as her boots scuff against the ground. “You’re weird,” she says eventually.
“You’re weird,” I say and try to nick the rock she’s been kicking this entire time, but she does a cool trick with it.
I glance at her, then back at the rock. “Do you play football?”
She nods, a simple, effortless nod.
I blink, surprised. “Wow, that’s so cool. For how long? Where?”
“Almost ten years,” she says. Then, after a pause, she adds, “An academy team.”
My eyes widen a little. Academy team. That means she’s good. Really good.
Mason also played for an academy team. And around here, there’s really only one big one. I’d been there once after they won an important match.
I hesitate, then ask, “Did you know my brother?”
Kym looks at me then, just for a second, her golden eyes flickering with something I can’t quite place. She hums softly, nodding once.
When she speaks, her voice is quieter, but certain. “Your brother was one of the best players I’ve ever seen.”
I let out a slow breath, staring straight ahead, pretending that didn’t affect me as much as it did. “Yeah,” I say, voice softer now. “That sounds like him.”
I swallow, glancing back at her. “Were you in the same academy team?”
“Yes,” she says simply. Then she shrugs, adding, “But I knew of him even before that. The boys team trained at the same time as us.”
She tilts her head slightly, “He was kind of hard to miss.”
I let out a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”
There’s a beat of quiet before something else clicks. If she played academy, and she knew Mason, then that means—
“Does that mean you also played with—”
“Yes,” Kym cuts in before I can even finish the sentence.
It’s firm, and cold. “Liam, Will, Kai, and Christian were also there. We weren’t friends,” she clarifies flatly, crossing her arms over chest. Her entire body language shifts, tenses.
Like even the mention of the word friends makes her cringe.
I watch her then. Really watch her. The way her shoulders stiffen, the way she tilts her chin slightly higher, like she’s waiting for me to challenge her on it. Like she’s ready to fight me on the idea before I even say anything.
“The world won’t end if you let yourself have a friend,” I say, not unkindly.
Although, befriending that particular crowd? Not exactly ideal. I mean—seriously. Would probably bring a lot of unwanted attention. But then again… they aren’t nearly as bad as I thought they were. Maybe I just never bothered looking close enough. Maybe Kym never did either.
I hope she knows where I’m coming from.
But if she does, she doesn’t show it.
She doesn’t react at all. Not even a flicker of emotion passes over her face. No eyeroll. No scoff. Just… nothing.
Then she says, “Who says I care about the world?” she kicks another loose rock ahead of her. It tumbles down the sidewalk, bouncing unevenly before skidding to a stop in the gutter.
Her words don’t surprise me. Not in the slightest. In fact, I think I get it.
Loneliness is a strange thing. It doesn’t always feel like an ache. Sometimes, it’s just there, so familiar that you don’t even feel it cutting into you. And you carry it with you everywhere, like an extra limb. It stays with you everywhere you go, practically breathes with you.
And at some point, it stops feeling like isolation. It starts feeling like safety.
Because what’s the alternative? Letting someone see you? Letting someone reach inside your chest, sift through the parts of you you’d rather keep hidden, and hope—hope—they don’t find you lacking? That they don’t decide, after seeing everything, that they’d rather look away?
No.
Sometimes, the thought of being truly seen is more terrifying than being alone. Because what is loneliness? Loneliness isn’t being alone; it’s about feeling unseen.
I know that. And I think Kym does too.
In many ways, I understand her. I understand the loneliness. I understand the fear of letting people in. Of wondering if you even deserve to be let in yourself.
I swallow, then say, “Not caring doesn’t make you any less lonely.”
That seems to strike something, but it’s small. Barely there. Just the tiniest twitch in her jaw.
I tilt my head, watching her. “Be my friend,” I say before I can talk myself out of it.
Kym’s head snaps toward me, eyes narrowing slightly, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m joking. Like she’s expecting me to laugh, to take it back.
But I don’t.
Instead, I just watch her, waiting.
She blinks, then shakes her head slightly, as if she’s annoyed with me—or maybe with herself. “Why?” she asks, and her voice isn’t sharp or defensive. It’s quiet. Almost careful.
Then, before I can answer, she adds, “Why do you care so much?”
And there it is.
The kind of question that doesn’t come from someone who doesn’t care—it comes from someone who wants to care but is terrified to.
Then, finally, I glance at her, offering the smallest smile. “Because I know what it’s like when no one does.”
Her lips part slightly, then press back together, like she’s thinking of something to say but doesn’t trust herself to say it.
I don’t push her to.
Then, barely above a breath, she says, “Okay.”
And just like that, she moves. One second, she’s next to me, and the next, she’s five steps ahead.
No pause. No further explanation. She just picks up speed, boots hitting the pavement harder, shoulders squared.
For a second, I just stand there, blinking.
“Hey!” I shout, breaking into a jog.
Kym doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow down.
I run faster. “Wait—is that—”
She keeps moving, her beret slightly crooked, her hands deep in her coat pockets, her posture perfect as always.
I laugh, breathless, picking up my pace. “Hey! Is that a yes?”
Still, no answer.
When I finally catch up, I swear I see the corner of her mouth lift—just a little, just enough. And I don’t know if she’s smiling because she thinks I’m ridiculous, or maybe because she’s actually enjoying this.
She doesn’t answer when I ask her the same question again, but she doesn’t say no.
I’ll take that as a win.