Chapter 39 #2
I shrugged. “Until I know she isn’t going to choke on her own sick.
” I took another pull, the smoke burning a little on the way down.
When I finally looked over, Kai’s green eyes were still on me - steady, searching.
I knew exactly what he was thinking. I could feel it. He thought I was in way over my head.
And I was. But I’d managed on my own before tonight, and I’d manage on my own after.
“I have it handled. You can go,” I said again, but he didn’t move. “Kai?”
Instead of answering, his eyes drifted around the room. “So this is your house, huh?” he said quietly.
His gaze took in everything - the cream corduroy sofas that had yellowed from years of smoke, the stained carpet, the wallpaper peeling at the corners. All the things I’d stopped noticing a long time ago.
And suddenly I felt exposed in a way I hadn’t when he saw my mum on the pavement. This was different. This was him seeing the rest of it - the part I never talked about, the part I never invited anyone into.
“Yeah,” I said, staring at the floor because it was easier than looking at him.
“Where’s your brother?” Kai leaned back beside me, elbows resting on his knees.
“He’s away for a few days.” I flicked the ash into the tray on the coffee table, watching it fall.
“I know you’re probably judging her,” I added, my eyes drifting to Mum on the sofa, as she stirred slightly.
For a moment, I thought she was going to be sick again, but she soon settled back into slumber.
“But she’s been through a lot. Like way more than you could ever imagine.
And she’s not always as bad as this. She’s just had a rough weekend; that’s all. ”
“I’m not judging,” Kai said, his voice low, steady. There was no edge to it - just trying to understand. He leaned back a little, elbows on his knees, eyes still on Mum.
“I just don’t want you to think she’s like this all the time.” I shook my head, my knee bouncing.
“I believe you,” Kai said, offering a small, warming smile. His fingers traced the burn holes in the armrest, like he was trying to understand the place through touch. “Has she always been a drinker?”
I nodded, eyes fixed on the sofa where Mum lay, thinking about how I’d have to scrub the sick out of it when she finally came to.
“Have you ever thought about getting her help?” he asked with a shrug, like he was trying to keep the question gentle.
“What, like rehab?” I huffed out a laugh - short, humourless. “She would never go. I can’t even get her to go to the doctors when she’s sick.”
“Hmm.” He nodded slowly, thinking. “What about your brother? Could he get her to go?”
“Who do you think pays for the booze?” I said, another humourless laugh slipping out as I shook my head.
The room went quiet after that.
Not peaceful quiet - heavy quiet.
The kind that settles in your chest.
I put my cigarette out in the ashtray. “It’s getting late; you should probably go,” I said, collecting the empty bottles from the floor. But Kai didn’t go. He crouched down beside me, stacking a couple of cups and following me into the kitchen like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m fine, Kai,” I said. “Honestly, you don’t have to do that.” I gestured at the glasses in his hands.
“It’s fine. I want to help.” He smiled, small but stubborn.
It was clear this boy wasn’t going anywhere. At this point, it was easier to let him help than fight him on it.
I took the bottles out to the recycling bin, the cold air hitting my face like a slap. When I came back in, I grabbed the cups from the counter and started washing them. Kai sat on the stool by the counter, his eyes drifting around the room, taking everything in.
“What happened to the door?” he asked, pointing at it.
I didn’t even have to turn to know what he meant. The door Connor had ripped off its hinges more than once, the one now dented and cracked with his fists.
“Your brother do that?” Kai asked, his voice low as he pointed at the damage, his brows pulling together.
“How do you know it wasn’t me?” I said, putting the clean glasses on the side to dry, my shoulders tightening.
“You’re telling me you did that?” he said, his tone making it clear he didn’t buy it. “With those fists.” He gestured to my hands, still swallowed in the sleeves of his hoodie.
“Fine, yes, Connor did it.” I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. “What does that matter?” I said, suddenly feeling the need to defend everything.
“It doesn’t,” Kai said with a shrug, his eyes drifting casually around the room again as he leaned back on the stool. “Does he get angry a lot?”
The question made me freeze mid-movement, my hand hovering over the tap. I knew exactly what he was doing - trying to piece together something I kept buried. He thought he knew things about me, when he didn’t. He’d barely scratched the surface, and I wanted to keep it that way.
I turned and let out a long breath. “What are you doing?” I asked, wiping my hands on a tea towel.
“What?” he said, lifting his hands slightly like he was innocent, his brows knitting together.
“Why are you asking so many questions?” I stepped closer, frustration tightening my jaw as I wiped my palms on my jeans.
“Because I’m worried about you!” he said, pushing to his feet, his voice rising with emotion as he took a step toward me. “Can’t you see I’m worried about you?”
“Well, don’t be.” I folded my arms across my chest, turning my face away from him.
“How can I not be? Your mum’s passed out in the other room.” He gestured toward the living room, his voice cracking. “And I saw those marks on your arm.”
“I told you that was nothing.” I tugged the sleeve down instinctively, my shoulders tensing.
“Yeah, well, I don’t believe you.” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair.
“And that’s my problem because?” I shot back, spreading my hands in a sharp, defensive gesture.
“I’m trying to help you.” He stepped closer again, his expression tight with worry.
“I don’t need your help.” I backed away, bumping into the counter. “You don’t even fucking know me. You think just because you saw my mum passed out and a dented door, you’ve got me all figured out. Well, you don’t.” I hissed, tears prickling in my eyes.
“Well, help me understand.” He choked out, holding his hands out, palms open, like he was trying to meet me halfway.
“Oh, my god.” I dragged my hands down my face.
“You don’t get it, do you? You can’t help me.
” I pointed at him, my voice shaking. “You look at me with your sympathy eyes, asking questions like I’m a fucking exhibit at a zoo.
This is my life, Kai. Mine . I don’t need you or anyone else sticking their nose in it.
I was fine before and I’ll be fine now. I’m not something you can fix. ”
“I didn’t say you were,” he said quietly, his shoulders dropping a little as he looked down at the floor.
“Leave.” My voice came out firm, sharper than I meant, as I turned away from him and gripped the edge of the counter.
“Alex…” Kai sighed, taking a hesitant step toward me, his hand half-raised like he wanted to reach out but didn’t dare.
“Thanks for your help, but I’d like you to leave,” I said it through the blur forming in my eyes, blinking hard as I kept my back to him, my breath catching in my throat.
The moment the door clicked shut, the whole house seemed to exhale with him.
It wasn’t until I heard his footsteps receding down the path - slow at first, then quicker, like he didn’t trust himself to look back - that I finally turned around.
The kitchen blurred. My chest tightened. And the breath I’d been holding slipped out in a shaky, broken exhale.
I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, but it was useless. The tears came anyway - hot, fast, the kind that burned because you’ve been holding them back for too long.
I knew this was right. I knew I had to push him away. People like me don’t get to keep people like him.
It was dangerous. He was dangerous.
Because somehow he’d managed to do what no one had done in sixteen years. In a week.
He’d started to see through the cracks. The breaks in my foundation. The parts of me I kept buried so deep even I pretended they weren’t there.
He was going to ask if Connor had hurt me. I could see it forming behind his eyes, the way he watched me, the way he connected dots I never wanted anyone to notice. And if not tonight, then soon. It was only a matter of time.
And I couldn’t have that. I couldn’t let him peel back the layers I’d spent years building. I couldn’t let him see the truth I’d learned to live with.
I needed to stay away from him.
But God, why did it have to feel so hard?
Why did it feel like something had been ripped out of me?
I barely knew him. A week. Seven days. That was nothing. That was no time at all.
And yet my stomach dropped at the thought of never talking to him again. Never hearing his voice. Never having him look at me like I mattered. Like he saw me. Like he cared.
I wiped my face with the sleeve of my hoodie - his hoodie - and that only made it worse. The fabric smelled like him.
Clean. Warm. Safe.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight.
I shouldn’t care this much. I shouldn’t feel anything at all.
But I did. And the thought of him walking away - really walking away - made something inside me cave in on itself.
For a moment, I just stood there in the quiet kitchen, breathing through the ache, trying to convince myself I hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of my life.