Chapter 13
Khalee
The hours drag by since we got home.
Every minute feels like an eternity, with the fear of losing Mada squeezing my heart like an iron fist.
It’s always been like this.
Me, picking up the pieces.
Me, being the responsible one.
Me, taking care of her while she self-destructs.
I don’t know exactly when it started. Maybe Mada was always this way, always craving attention, always needing to be wanted, always chasing something, even if it burned her in the process. She was never the type to sit still, never the type to be alone.
But I do know when it got worse.
James.
We went to school together, me, her, and James. He was nothing like the person he is now. Back then, he was quiet, kept to himself. He was overweight, introverted, and rarely spoke to anyone unless absolutely necessary. And he never looked at Mada the way she wanted him to.
But that only made her more obsessed.
She fixated on him, did everything she could to get his attention.
At first, it was small things, finding excuses to talk to him, sitting near him at lunch, pretending to like whatever obscure band he was into.
But when that didn’t work, when James remained completely indifferent to her, she escalated her efforts.
I noticed it before anyone else did, the way she started dressing differently, acting differently, the way she forced herself into spaces where he was, forcing herself to be something she wasn’t just to get a glance, a flicker of recognition from him.
Then they came along.
Patrick and Mark.
James’ miracle makeover.
It was them who turned him into what he is now. They who sculpted him into something else, something cruel.
Patrick, with his charming smirk, his expensive clothes, his too-good-to-be-true golden-boy act. The kind of guy everyone fell for before they realized he was a snake wrapped in designer brands.
Mark, who never even pretended to be good. He was always mean, always watching, constantly pushing boundaries just to see how much he could get away with. And he got away with everything.
And James? He changed under their influence. He lost weight, started dressing like them, acting like them, being them. And suddenly, he wasn’t invisible anymore. Suddenly, he was somebody.
And that somebody had no use for the girl who had chased him for so long.
Not that Mada cared.
Even after he started hanging out with them and began treating her like a joke, she stayed.
She kept trying even when he humiliated her, even when he ignored her in front of his new friends.
Even when they made her the punchline of their private jokes, whispering behind her back, laughing at her while she still smiled for them.
Patrick and Mark, especially Mark, were different, though. They gave her just enough attention to keep her coming back. Just enough false kindness, just enough empty flattery, just enough to make her think she mattered to them.
But it was never enough.
Not to them. Not to Mada.
Because Mada doesn’t know how to handle a no.
And I watched, helpless, as their toxic, twisted dynamic turned her into this.
A girl who doesn’t know where she ends and where they begin. A girl who lets them ruin her, again and again, because she’s convinced this time will be different.
But it never is.
It only gets worse.
When I did what I did, I really thought they would finally give up on her.
That was the deal, after all.
I would do what they wanted, and they would let her go.
In my 18-year-old mind, it was a sacrifice worth making to free my sister from their fixation, their manipulation. Or at least, that’s what I thought.
Because seeing her like this now, in this state, I’m starting to realize that what I did was absolutely pointless.
Maybe it was worse than pointless.
Maybe it was the mistake that ruined everything.
Because, in the end, I destroyed myself a little more trying to save someone who clearly didn’t want to be saved.
I judge myself.
I condemn myself.
Because while my sister doesn’t know how to hear a no, I’m the exact opposite,
I’m the one who can’t say no.
I should have stopped caring earlier.
I should have let the universe and her life choices take their own course. I should have walked away and let her face the consequences of her actions. But in the end, I couldn’t.
Just like I couldn’t fight the instinct to look for her tonight. To pull her out of whatever disaster she got herself into again.
Now, sitting beside her bed, I watch her peaceful face, finally at rest, and feel a deep relief, but also an exhaustion that weighs heavily on my bones. What a day…
I exhale sharply, running a hand down my face. The guilt is suffocating, but the anger, God, the anger is worse.
Those bastards are going to pay.
I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I try to control the fury surging inside me while leaving her to rest and deciding to take a shower.
I step into it, letting the scalding water pound against my skin, trying to wash away the stress of the night. But my thoughts won’t stop.
They never stop.
Kaze is back, and he’s dead.
My sister is lost to her typical mayhem.
I’m broken beyond repair.
The weight of my past is a poison I don’t have the strength to fight anymore.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself not to go there. Not now.
Not when I’m, more and more, on the verge of shattering.
I don’t know how long it takes for me to get my shit together, but I finally decide to step out of the bathroom, wrapping a towel around my body and another around my damp hair.
The house feels empty, like it’s holding its breath, and loneliness clutches my heart because that’s what’s supposed to be, right?
That’s how it has been for so long…
But I don’t want to be alone.
Not tonight.
Not again.
When I enter my room, I freeze.
Kaze was always breathtaking.
Even now, standing here shrouded in the dim light, draped in a dark hoodie that makes him look even more like the ghost he is, he steals the air from my lungs.
It’s not fair.
It never was.
He used to have this presence, this raw magnetism that never demanded attention but always received it. Seemed like a quiet storm wrapped in a boy with tired eyes, a sharp jawline, and a mouth that always seemed caught between a smirk and a secret.
He was beautiful in a way that made me ache, in a way that made me wonder what it would be like to hold his gaze forever and never look away.
And once upon a time, I didn’t look away.
And how consuming it was… not looking away.
Five years ago, the first time I saw him, really saw him, it was as if the world had stilled.
I remember the way the wind tangled in his blond hair, how the dying sunset light hit his face just right, turning those green eyes into something I didn’t have words for.
He wasn’t just smiling or talking; he was standing there, detached from the noise of the world around him, like he didn’t belong to it but instead belonged to me, because, for some reason, he only looked at me.
And when he did, for the first time, something in me shifted, like I’d spent my whole life waiting for that moment without realizing it.
My chest had tightened, my pulse had skipped, and I had felt it, the silent, terrifying knowledge that this boy was going to be even more important.
That he would wreck me.
And he did.
Now, there are some differences, but his powerful beauty still makes me ache to touch him.
The fabric of his hoodie is slightly worn, and it’s hanging loose against his back, adding to the effortless, almost careless air he carries.
His sandy-blond hair is a tousled mess, the kind that looks like he just ran a hand through it, or like he’s been lost in thought for hours.
His face is sharper, all angles and tension, with a jawline that appears to be capable of cutting through glass. There’s something rugged about him, like he was carved out of something wild and left to weather on his own. And he seems older.
His lips are set in that same familiar way, like he’s about to say something but changes his mind. His brows are furrowed, deep in thought, and his green eyes, even darker than I remember, are locked on something outside, distant and unreadable.
I swallow hard. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,” I say, my voice thick with exhaustion and gratitude.
He shakes his head slightly, ending up looking at me, lips curving into a faint, sad smile. “Don’t worry about it,” he says softly. “How are you feeling?”
The question breaks me.
I move to my bed, sitting at the edge, my shoulders slumping. “I don’t even know,” I admit.
I let myself fall back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts spiraling inside my mind.
“I should’ve stayed,” I whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
“If I hadn’t left… if I’d been here… maybe Mada wouldn’t have ended up like this.”
And despite everything that happened between me and him, despite the years of silence, the wounds that never closed, I find myself breaking in front of him. Kaze, the one who was once my best friend. My safe place.
He moves closer, his expression unreadable, but his presence grounding, pulling me back from the edge of my own thoughts. “Khalee,” he says, his voice firm but softer than I expect. “This isn’t your fault.”
I shake my head, my throat tightening, my hands curling into fists against the mattress.
“But it is. I saw how James and his friends were. I knew what they were capable of, and I tried to keep her away. I… I did something. Something I thought would protect her. But it didn’t work, ” My voice cracks.
“I couldn’t handle what happened, and I left.
I ran away from this hell of a place, vowing never to come back… ”