Chapter 14 BETH #2
“Yeah,” I murmured, scooting across the floor until my back rested on the cream-coloured leather couch. “Another ten minutes of my life…gone.”
Reaching for the bowl of fried chicken my good friend had placed beside me, I grabbed a piece.
“So…same result, I guess,” he said with a confirmative tone then whirled around, walking back to the kitchen.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, shaking off the memory of what had just transpired between me and my father. I didn’t want to think too hard about it. I had no room in my head for that. So I shoved a drumstick into my mouth, taking a slow bite.
From a distance, I overheard Kenzo grumble, “I can’t fathom why you persist in this. It’s literally the same result every damn time.”
“Well, he’s my father,” I mumbled with chicken latched between my teeth.
“No one is fighting over that fact with you.” I could almost see him rolling his eyes. “Keeping in touch with him won’t change the story or the narrative. He’s a killer. Will always be a killer.”
The truth, they said, hurt. Indeed, Kenzo’s comment was a cold slap to the face. I hated to hear it, but it was the truth.
Or it could be a lie. Maybe he was a runaway spy.
And because he didn’t want to come back, they threatened to either hurt his family or he agreed to confess to a heinous crime so all the secrets of the country he had learned would remain sealed off with him behind a prison wall.
So dad being a very selfless, family-loving man, sacrificed his life to save his family.
I mean, what if?
“What do you think about soju?” Kenzo asked from the kitchen, breaking into my thoughts.
“You have soju?” My tone brightened at the idea. I would love something to burn through this disgusting thing swirling in my chest.
“Yeah.” His footsteps echoed into the living room as he returned with five bottles of soju and two shot glasses. “Got them yesterday.”
He sank to the floor next to me, his back to the couch. He pushed two bottles and a shot glass towards me, then reached for the bowl and grabbed another drumstick.
“So…” He stretched his hand for the remote control next to my laptop on the table. “Asian or Western?”
“Asian,” I replied, pouring soju into the shot glass.
“What to watch, what to watch, what to watch…” he said in a sing-song, hushed voice, as one hand flipped through drama channels while the other held his drumstick firmly to his mouth.
“This sounds like Cinderella.” He glanced at me, needing confirmation.
“Rich man, poor woman?” I read out the name on the screen, my face squeezed from the burning sensation of the spirit going down my throat. “Sounds cliche. Let’s watch it.”
“Okay,” he cheered, selecting the series. He pressed a remote he nabbed from the couch and the lights in the room suddenly dimmed.
The theme song of the series kicked in, the characters introduced through comic-style animation as they floated around the screen.
For the first few seconds, there was nothing but silence except for the faint, hollow sound of me gulping down my third shot of soju.
“I’ve been meaning to ask.” He broke the silence, his voice clear of teasing.
My gaze shifted reluctantly from the screen, a piece of drumstick frozen between my lips.
He wasn’t looking at me, but his words hit with precision.
I pulled the chicken from my mouth, a slow, deliberate motion. “Ask what?”
“What’s really up with that dude you’ve been talking to?” His tone was casual, uninterested, but I knew better. He didn’t even bother saying his name. Because he didn’t really know it. Because he never cared enough to ask.
At the thought of Callan though, heat spread across my cheeks again. The mere mention of him dragged him into the room like a ghost, his presence flooding, painting over reality in a shade of him, his eyes, his voice.
I hadn’t heard from him since, well, yesterday, when he abandoned me at the movie theatre.
I had suggested a movie date. And for four days straight, he always found a way to turn me down after promising to show up. Yesterday, he missed it again but luckily, the movie was being aired twice. So he came for the second one.
Everything was going okay until I suddenly noticed how uneasy he became. My head was rested on his shoulder but I could hear the echo of his pounding heart. I thought it was another panic attack, the type he had at the bookstore that day and abandoned me. I grew worried.
I asked if he was okay and he said yes. But then he suddenly excused himself, said he needed to use the restroom. And that was it. Nearly fifteen minutes and he didn’t return. I went searching all over for him. And the spot where his car was parked was empty.
Then a flurry of texts entered my phone. The wordings, the punctuation, and the gaps were all wrong. It felt like a text message from a drunken person.
‘I haze to leave’
‘Urgent’
‘I’m sorry’
‘Mad at me’
‘Please’
‘Soon I can’
Unable to understand what I was staring at, I quickly dialled his number. But it was switched off. It had been like that since then. I still tried it this morning and it didn’t go through.
“Look, I just want know what your deal with him is.” Kenzo’s voice cut into my train of thoughts. “I mean, like you talk to him all the time and go on numerous coffee dates like some old couples.”
He was right. Before the movie date and after I asked him to be my boyfriend, he had come down to Braemont to see me about four or five times. It was always the same. Coffee dates, a stroll in the park, and then stolen kisses. We had never done anything else, nothing reckless.
I could have pushed. I knew how to push for more.
But Callan wasn’t like other boys or men that I had ever been involved with.
He was…delicate, special. There was always something fragile in the way he touched me, like he was afraid one wrong move could break the entire moment.
So I waited for him instead. I didn’t want to put pressure on him, make him panic, scare him off.
Even then, I wondered; would there ever be a moment he would pull me closer when I tried to pull away from the kiss? Would he ever choose more on his own?
“What is he to you, really?” he pressed.
“He’s my boyfriend, Kenzo,” I reminded him, then proceeded to unlock my phone. “And I believe when people who really like each other are in a relationship, they tend to talk to each other all the time.”
“That’s exactly my point,” he mumbled in distaste. “You have known him for just what? A few days and he’s already your boyfriend?”
“What’s your point, exactly?” I asked, staring at the messages I sent to Callan.
‘Are you okay? —09 : PM
‘I’m really worried’ — 03: 00 AM
‘Call me, Callan’ — 06: 00 AM
‘Don’t go ghost mode on me again, damn it! — 07: 00AM
‘That’s it. I’m dumping your fucking arse’ — 09: 00 AM.
The last message was sent an hour ago.
“I just need you to be careful,” Kenzo uttered, his tone a bit on edge. “I don’t want you to–”
“–Get hurt, I know, I know.” I cut him off. “I’m going to be alright. I got this.”
Then I typed, ‘I haven’t dumped you yet. Just call me, please. I promise I’m not mad at you.’ on the message bar, clicking send.
Kenzo watched my action, unimpressed even though I tried to be discreet. “You don’t know him, Beth.”
I met his gaze briefly before looking back at my screen. “I learn a lot about him every day. I know him now more than I did the first time we met…or at least, I think that.”
“Beth–”
“–Just drop it, Takahashi.” My tone sliced the air as I groaned, shoving a hand angrily into the nearly empty bowl of chicken.
I was here, going through a relationship crisis, and he was just on and on about me not knowing Callan. Seriously, that was the least of my problems right now.
Callan seemed to have abandoned me… again.