Chapter 38 #2
Her sob shatters in her chest. “I can’t—please, Will, I can’t do this.”
His lips twitch faintly, blood glistening at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, you can. So do it. Live, Kym. Live for both of us.”
“I can’t! Not without you!” Kym’s voice breaks like glass, torn from her throat with so much pain it doesn’t even sound like her anymore. “Not in that house.”
At that, something flickers in Will’s face.
A shift. Like something internal has twisted the wrong way. Like a string somewhere has snapped.
His eyes widen in something like devastation as his lips part. “But I thought it—”
“It never ended, Will.” Kym cuts him off quietly.
His face stays that way—his eyes wide, his mouth half-open, the look of horror forever stamped into him like ink into paper, or one last photograph left behind in the dark.
And that’s when I know.
The boy I once knew, the one who terrified me, the one I hated, the one who despite everything, I had come to see as a friend—is gone.
Will is gone.
And it is unbearable, watching someone turn into a body.
Watching a brother turn into a memory.
Watching a friend smile for the very last time.
Kym doesn’t move at first. She holds him like if she just keeps pressing, keeps willing, he might start breathing again. Then the sound leaves her, a low, cracked noise that makes my own chest tear open.
She clutches her brother like she’s never hated anyone more.
And never loved anyone harder.
In an instant, I’m on my knees beside her, blood soaking through my dress where it touches the ground. “Kym—” I reach for her, uselessly.
She looks up at me, and it’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen. Her face streaked in tears and blood, her eyes wild and lost, her mouth trembling. For a second I think she might scream. Instead, she says nothing at all. Just shakes.
And then her chin wobbles, breaks, and she pulls me into her, clutching me with blood-slick hands. I wrap my arms around her, and we collapse together, her sobs tearing through us both.
Kym clutches me tighter, and her voice, when it finally comes, is barely there. “He wasn’t supposed to do that.”
I don’t know what to say.
Because he did.
Because he’s gone.
And because sometimes love doesn’t look like flowers or poetry… sometimes it looks like three bullets and a hand reaching out in the dark anyway.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, Kym clutching him, me clutching her, before the sound reaches me.
Footsteps.
“No, I swear, it sounded like—” Liam’s voice cuts off, and he stops dead in his tracks. His face drains of colour as his eyes fall on us, on the ruin.
Christian comes up behind him, his gaze sweeping the ground, cataloguing everything: the blood smeared across the stones; the still body of Anderson sprawled nearby; Paris, frozen stiff.
And then finally, they land on Will.
I watch it hit him. Watch as his whole body stiffens, like the air has been knocked out of him.
He drops to his knees before I even realize what’s happening, hands already reaching, checking for a pulse, one I know he won’t find.
Liam doesn’t move as he watches. He just stands there, pale, shaking, staring at his best friend’s body in complete horror.
Then another presence cuts through the air. And I don’t even need to look to know who it is because the energy shifts, pressing down on all of us.
Kai.
His shirt’s still rumpled, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. There’s dried blood on his knuckles from earlier, and something colder in his eyes than I’ve ever seen. But that something flickers when he sees us.
When he sees Kym, and her dress soaked in crimson.
Me, still clutching her.
And then Will.
His gaze lands on the body. Lands on the blood. And stays there.
I’ve never really known what it looks like when a person comes undone. Not really. Not in a way you can name or describe.
But now, I do.
Because I’m watching it happen, right here. To him.
He takes one step forward, and his mouth opens like he’s about to say something, a question, maybe, or a denial, but no words come out.
And then, he staggers forward, falling to his knees beside Will. “No,” he whispers. Then louder. “No.”
His voice breaks, then shatters completely. A sound escapes him, a low, wounded sound. Like something feral.
Not human.
Not quite.
I’ve never heard anything quite like it—the desperate, anguished noise that comes from Kai. It’s not loud, more like a cry of the soul.
He curls in, forehead pressed to Will’s chest, his shoulders shaking, and I don’t know if he’s sobbing or screaming or both. I don’t know if there’s a difference anymore.
Because there’s no control left in him. Nothing but rage, grief, and fire.
His hands fist into Will’s shirt, smearing more blood across already ruined fabric. He shakes him once, twice. And then he leans his forehead to Will’s and stays like that.
Two boys. Heads touching.
One breathing. One not.
And in that moment, it is impossible to tell which one of them the world has truly lost.
Then Kai pulls back, just enough to see Will’s face, and he reaches down, finds Will’s hand, the one streaked in blood, fingers slack, already cooling.
He takes it in both of his. And then, with a tenderness that rips something open in me, Kai lifts Will’s hand to his mouth. He presses his lips against the back of it, eyes shut, holding on desperately.
When he lowers it again, he doesn’t let go. He just holds it, cradled in his, as if he intends to sit there forever.
I wonder, for a moment, if he will.
And in my head, I say it, because I can’t make myself say it out loud.
Goodbye, Will Carson.
The sun rose today, and it shouldn’t have.
***
When he lifts his head, everything shifts. His eyes sweep the garden, across the bloodstained ground and to me. His eyes land on my face, wide and wet and stricken, and I watch something flicker there, something faint. But it vanishes quickly, as his eyes slide past me.
To her.
Paris.
She’s standing just beyond the lights, her posture stiff, her hands curled into fists at her sides. She’s not crying. Not anymore. But she looks like she wants to be.
His eyes turn on her, barely perceptible, but I feel that slow, terrible ignition behind his stare. Like gasoline crawling toward a match.
Like something inside him starts to burn.
“Kai…” Paris’s voice breaks the deafening quiet, trembling and desperate.
But she should not have said his name. Because he knows.
He knows.
He doesn’t know everything, but he knows enough. He knows what she’s done.
His body contorts violently, and his face twists—eyes wide, something flickering and frantic pulling across his features. There’s disbelief, yes. But more than that, there’s something else.
Betrayal.
He stares at her like he’s looking at a stranger. Like the last tether holding him together just frayed. His jaw locks, and I see the twitch in his cheek, the sudden stillness in his shoulders, like his entire body is trying to hold something back that’s already breaking free.
“You?”
That’s all he says. Just one word. One syllable.
But it’s enough. Enough to confirm what he suspects by the look on Paris’s face.
“Kai,” she tries again. “I can explain—”
But he’s already shaking his head.
Once.
Slowly.
One second, Kai is on the ground, his hand still clenched around the fabric of Will’s ruined shirt.
The next, he’s gone. And when I turn, breath caught in my throat, he’s already in front of her.
Paris doesn’t even have time to move.
He towers over her, motionless at first, just looking. Staring down at his old friend, who he has helped, who he has cared for, now looking at her with bitter disgust.
“I-I didn’t kill him,” she stammers, voice small and broken.
But Kai’s face—god, his face—doesn’t soften.
It curdles.
His mouth twists into something that might have once been disbelief but is now something else entirely. A storm. Fury, loss, betrayal.
Just things I can identify straight away, amongst other things.
“You might as well have,” he says, and it doesn’t even sound like him anymore. It’s too quiet. Too flat. A voice stripped of warmth and turned into something lethal.
Paris shakes her head, choking on her breath, and takes a step back. “I didn’t mean—”
But he’s already reaching for her.
His hand wraps around her arm, tight, and he slams her back against the wall of the house so hard the boards rattle.
“You sly, conniving little bitch,” Kai hisses, his forehead nearly pressed to hers, eyes wild.
Paris gasps, but she doesn’t fight. She just sobs, her entire body shaking now. “I didn’t m-mean for this to happen! He wasn’t supposed to b-be h-here!”
“Do you know what he was to me?” Kai’s voice is shaking now, cracking open. “Do you have any idea what you’ve taken?”
“I was just trying to help!” Paris cries, her back still pinned against the wood siding. Her voice cracks apart. “Everything I ever did, I did for you. For us. For our families—”
“Help?” The word is a snarl as it leaves him, and he reels back a few inches. “Terrorising an innocent girl. Being the reason three people are dead. That’s your idea of helping?”
Paris’s eyes widen, genuine shock flickering across her face. At the confirmation that he’s realized. But it only lasts a second, then it drains out of her, like she remembers who she’s talking to.
“I didn’t mean for Wren to die,” she says, quieter now, voice trembling. “I didn’t mean for Will to—”
“Don’t.” His hand flashes up again, pressing just slightly against her throat.
Just enough to still the words in her mouth.
“Don’t you dare say their names.”
Her breath hitches, and her skin goes pale beneath his hand.
“You wouldn’t hurt me,” she whispers. “You love me. We’re like family, Kai.”
He stares at her. For a moment, she might even believe she’s right.
“I don’t love you, Paris,” he says finally, and this time, his voice doesn’t shake.
He says it with so much certainty, with so little hesitation, that Paris flinches and hurt flashes through her eyes.
“We were never family,” Kai adds, softer now, but no less lethal. “You were just someone I grew up with.”
Paris opens her mouth like she wants to argue, to plead, to say anything that might change his mind. But nothing comes out. She only stares at him, tears tracking slowly down her face, mingling with the smudged remnants of her stage makeup.
And for a moment, just a moment, Kai doesn’t move.
His eyes blaze, his hand trembles. And it looks like he’s going to do it. Like he’s going to let himself snap.
He lifts his hand, jaw clenched, breath ragged.
Paris doesn’t scream. She just closes her eyes.
But the blow never comes.
Kai’s hand drops, falling limp at his side.
He stares at her for another beat, and then, without a word, he turns and walks away.
Straight toward the man bleeding out on the grass.
Anderson is still alive, though barely. His breathing is shallow, one arm twitching at his side, blood blooming like ink across the dirt. He doesn’t look up until Kai is nearly on him.
He crouches slowly, his knees pressing into the grass, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.
“Look at me,” he says.
Anderson doesn’t.
Not until Kai grabs a fistful of his collar and hauls him upright, just enough to make the pain snap his head back.
“I said,” Kai snaps, “look at me.”
Anderson’s bloodshot eyes crack open, just barely, dazed, unfocused. And Kai stares into them for a few moments, and then, slowly… he smiles.
There’s nothing sane left in it.
And then his fist slams into Anderson’s face.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
It doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop.
His punches come in a rhythm that has no rhythm, just rage. His knuckles split open again, fresh blood mingling with Anderson’s, but he doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t seem to feel it.
He’s not talking. Not screaming. Just hitting. Again. And again. And again.
I stumble to my feet, my body still shaking from before, and take a step toward him.
“Kai,” I say, my voice ragged. “Kai, stop it! You’re going to kill him!”
But he doesn’t even seem to hear me. He doesn’t seem to be here.
I take another step. “Kai!” Louder this time. “He’s not worth it!”
Still nothing.
And then, suddenly, Christian and Liam are there. Rushing forward, grabbing him by the arms, dragging him back.
“Get off me!” Kai snarls, his voice cracking like glass, thrashing under their grip. He fights them hard, unhinged, desperate, but they hold on. Christian’s arms locked around his chest, Liam’s voice steady but strained.
“Kai, stop! Stop. He’s done. He’s done, man.”
But Kai’s still lunging, dragging them both a few inches forward like an animal caught in a trap. Like he has no choice.
He has to do this.
His eyes are wet. Not tears, not exactly, but there’s something spilling out of him at this very moment.
And then, all at once, his body collapses.
The fight drains from him in a single, shuddering breath, and he sinks to his knees in the grass, hunched and shaking. His hands—those beautiful, brilliant hands—hang limp in front of him, covered in blood.
Not just Anderson’s anymore.
His own, too.
And across from him, Anderson doesn’t move. He’s barely conscious.
Barely anything.
Just a stain on the lawn and a monster with a shattered face.
Christian and Liam are still holding onto Kai, even though he’s no longer fighting. They don’t let go. They just kneel beside him, one on each side, knowing if they loosen their grip, even a little, he might vanish entirely.
I watch them from where I stand, frozen.
And I can’t help but think Kai looks very much like a fallen angel at this moment.
Stripped of light. Ruined. Broken.
Because this is what I imagine it looks like—to watch a person lose their wings. When grief swallows a person whole. When anger hollows them out.
Kai doesn’t even cry. He just breathes. One slow, fractured inhalation at a time.
And it’s the most devastating thing I’ve ever seen.
But the boys beside him, his brothers in all but blood, hold him despite the burning. Despite the violence bleeding onto them.
Despite it all, they never once let him go.