March, When He Meets Me

Esther and Kyle find escape in each other, both being drunk with the idea that they are perfectly in love, that the terror of this world can be escaped through vague love.

March, When He Meets Me  

     Sometimes in the middle of the night when I wake up from nightmares of grasping hands and pressing weight, I'd lie on the bed and listen to the sound of traffics outside the barred window, riff riff, riff riff. And on the ceiling, the traffic lights dance. They glitter for the night and die when the sun comes up. Usually at this hour, Rulissa's voice will come back as though she is sitting in my bedroom. Her ghost resides within my head inside the veins. Some ghosts can't be expelled.  

     "Can't you come over for a little while?" Rulissa asked on the phone two years ago. We were 15. 

     "We're not on speaking term," I said. I was carefully trying out nail colours. I remember the nails polish in front of me was in black.

     "But you're my best friend," Rulissa said in a slow tone, "come on. We never really fight." 

     "Whatever," I said. "Look, I'm busy. Homework. You're the one who yelled at me and asked me to piss off." 

     "I'm sorry! I was angry. You kept talking about it like it was my fault. Come on, mum is not at home. I know you hate her," Rulissa said faintly. She always sounded gentle and kind.

     "If I'm there, I'll make you go to the police. And you'll say stuff like 'it's not as easy as you think it is'. You'll yell at me, I'll yell back. We'll fight. What's the point?" I said. 

     "Do we need a point to hang out?" Rulissa asked

     "Now we do," I said 

     "Alright. I know you don't believe me, but it's happened. F**k you, Esther," Rulissa said. 

     Her mother, Colleen, called my mum twenty minutes later. A lot happened in twenty minutes. The afternoon light was warm and orange. Mum knocked my bedroom door and told me that Rulissa hanged herself. I was the last person who talked to her. The black polish spilled and spread over my bedsheet. Everything slows down and blacks out from that day forward.

     When her ghost has had its fun repeating stuff in my head, it fades and stops. I roll out of the cold bed and turn on all the lights in the small flat. I wash my face with freezing water and brush my teeth. My flat is a dull, closed pot. 

     It's 4:09 a.m. I take out my textbooks and put them on the tea table. It's the end of March and today is a school holiday. Everything is cold and wet. Our test week starts tomorrow. I switch on the laptop and edit mum's travel blog. She has texted me, saying the layout is old and needs changes. She is in New Orleans gathering information for her new travelling book.

     Mum used to be a travel journalist. She goes travelling about 300 days a year. She sends me articles in docx. files and I post them on her webpage. The blog is being paid and two months ago, a publisher has invited her to write a book about America. I finish redesigning the layout of her blog. I study until the sky is blue and the door bell rings. Colleen comes in with her dashing, almost frantic, smile. 

     "Esther dear! Good morning!" Colleen exclaims in a high pitched voice. "How long have you been up, darling?"

     "Fifteen minutes," I say. 

     "Lovely." Colleen replies. She always replies. 

     Colleen is figuratively different from my mum. Colleen is bony and blonde and my mother is short with dark hair. Colleen is always smiling and my mother doesn't have a lot of expressions. 

     Colleen makes breakfast and starts cleaning the house, throwing empty cookie bags into the bin. She comes to my flat every day since her own daughter died. I am too exhausted to tell her to stop. It never works. Colleen said "your mother would like me to take care of you while she is busy." Mum non verbally agrees that Colleen is my legal guardian. Mum is sorry for her. Like I am. Colleen is a primary school teacher. She has not been aware that I am not a primary school kid. 

     But I guess the moment Rulissa stopped breathing, a massive chunk of Colleen was taken away. How is it possible to still be a parent when your kid is not a living being? When she killed herself, she robbed every bit that was alive in me. She was a brilliant murderer.

     "I thought I saw your dad in today's newspaper," Colleen says. I nod and keep eating.

     "How was school yesterday?" Colleen asks. 

     "Great," I say. 

     "What did you learn?" Colleen says. 

     "The usual," I say. 

     "What usual?" Colleen says. 

     "English," I reply. 

     "Wonderful," Colleen beams. "Education is important. Your school has a good reputation." 

     "Of course," I say. 

     Greenyard College for Girls is a wonderful place despite an unfortunate fact that bullying never ends. Verbal bullying is a hobby though deep down they're just empty and need superiority to feel adequate. Spreading rumours and being judgemental are unavoidable trends in school, like chess, stamp collecting, tennis and ballet. When there are no words, there are the tearing of skin and pulling of hair, and there will be breaking of chairs and crawling of victims. It breaks people's heart to see these, but then no one's heart is broken enough to fight back or to actually say anything.

     "Be good," Colleen says, pats my cheek and leaves for work. I finish reading my copy of Peter Pan in the morning and I study until 17:26 p.m. I take my bag and leave the flat, sticking a note on the door that says "Colleen. I'm working tonight." I lock the door. I insist that Colleen doesn't need my key.

     I take a blue bus to the River Hotel where I've been waitressing since last December. The sunny weather helps to spring the flower bulbs and there are purple and yellow and red everywhere in the bushes.

     "Hey Steve," I say. Steve is Uncle Mike's closest friend. He's my manager and he hired me because he knows that I want to get away from Colleen. Steve is tall with short curly brown hair. 

     "Hello Esther. Snacks?" Steve replies and hands me a chocolate bar. I thank him.

     Last summer - the summer that I've made horrible mistakes, Steve's ex girlfriend and her red haired daughter Bianca spent two months with me. Bianca was very bright until the summer ended when she had to go back to America to finish her fashion design course. I've known Steve since I was a toddler. Uncle Mike, Steve, Colleen and my mum went to the same school. 

     I eat the chocolate bar. I put on the black and white uniform and pull my hair back into a pony tail. Some couple is holding a wedding reception here in the restaurant. The River Hotel is crowded and suffocating. The fairy lights and candles and flowers are enchanting. The shrill screaming that rises and falls behind the kitchen door hammers my brain. I put the empty plates into the sink and look out of the window. There are little motor bikes that pass going very fast in the street.

     "Esther you should go out," I hear Steve's gentle voice. He hands me the unfinished plates and I put them away. 

     "There's a young boy from television. He's singing for the groom. It seems like every girl likes him. I thought you'd like to see him," Steve says. 

     "His name is Kaigan," Ian, another waiter and my friend, says, "the country is crazy about him. My nanny sings his songs. My 5 years old niece says she needs to marry him. He makes s****y music." 

     "Watch your mouth big boy," says Kitty, who is about my age, shaking her head, "I'm a Little Kai."

     "What's that?" I ask. 

     "That's what we call ourselves. I'm his biggest fan," Kitty starts explaining, "He's the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen! His music is fantastic - the first runner out in Series 4 of Best Singer - can you believe that he was 15 when he won?" 

     "Fane Bane put him in that place. He just wanted to sign that Kaigan and exploits your money. Everyone knows that Fane Bane controls all the music chart now," Ian says, "he's famous doesn't mean he's good."

     "No, that's wrong. Fane Bane is like Kaigan's dad. He cares about him and discovered his talent -"

     "He built Kaigan. Oh come, you don't really believe that, do you? Fane Bane sets his eyes on money, I tell you," Ian says, "all the blokes know it. Girls don't because they listen to music with their eyes."

     "No, you're wrong," Kitty says, "he won the competition against people who are twice his age!"

     "It's a reality television show," Ian says, "they show you what you want to see."

     "Well I voted! Twice!" Kitty says with a red face. "He's eighteen now and he comes from a small village calls Bolds. He's got a sister Pana and a brother Bedir. The family may adopt me. He's signed to the Fane Bane Records. My pillow has his face on it."

     "See? This is the sad truth. He makes teeny pop music targeting girls because only girls will pay that much money to get a pillow with a guy's face on it. And if you want, I don't mind sewing my photos on a pillow and give it to you on Christmas. You only like him because he's good looking."

     "No you're wrong - He cares about his fans -"

     I leave the kitchen. I wish the women in the room would stop screaming. People wearing expensive clothes hurry past, shooting me foxy looks because I stand in their ways. I refill some people's glasses, moving among the screeching crowd.

     I glance at the person singing on the stage, and overhear someone says something about the groom sleeping with some other women during the stag party. Wedding seems to be somewhat a business deal. People get things they want in marriage. Divorce is an expensive breakup with a lot of paperwork.

     Only the wealthiest people have their wedding reception in River. Some women talk about the fantasy they desire in an affair and some men talk about the pleasure they have had in those affair. 

     Kaigan, the famous upraising star from the national singing contest Best Singer, has just finished performing the promised song for the couple. Rulissa and I used to watch the show together and we'd root for people we liked. Now I never even switch on the television.

     The news that Kaigan came to Greenyard would blast before the reception even ends. Social media dominates morals these days. I pity him, that superstar. Someone screams again. I catch Kaigan looking at me when he goes down the stairs. He looks away then.

     I put away some more dirty, unfinished plates. The chef is arguing with the bride's aunt. She is complaining the amount of sugar the desert contains. Steve is trying to calm both of them with a goofy smile. Ian and Kitty seem to be in an intense conversation. I go out of the hotel through the kitchen backdoor. 

     The night breeze next to the road is stuffy and heated, mixing with the vehicle smoke from the traffic. Cars are beeping loudly. People are barking mad. I walk past empty cafes and go into a convenience store. I take out a bottle of beer from the fridge.

     "Make that two," comes a voice behind me. I almost drop the beer. 

     It is Kaigan. He has a funny - Scottish like accent. His face is blocked by a pair of huge sunglasses, and a red beanie covers his jet black hair. He grins at me. 

     "Are you okay?" 

     "You," I clear my throat, "you gave me a fright."

     "I'm sorry," Kaigan says, "please don't scream, or I'll be seized back."

     "Get over yourself." I take out another bottle of beer from the fridge and thrust it in his hand, "those screaming gives me headache."

     "I hate it when they do it in my face. When I arrive a new place, I hear people scream before I even see the crowd," Kaigan says quietly as a couple of girls go into the store. Kaigan lowers his head and says, "good that we have something in common." 

     I nod, heading over to the counter. Kaigan grabs my arm. 

     "What - Let go! Let go now!" 

     "Okay, don't be so dramatic," Kaigan lets go of my arm hastily. "Can you wait until they leave? They're from the hotel. I saw them calling their friends just now. They can't find me, or I'll be trapped here. It happens all the time, but - come on, I just got off the plane what like five hours ago - and I don't have any security guards with me - well I've asked them to not follow me. They need some holiday too -"

     "I need to get back to work," I say. 

     "Alright. You look like you hate me or something," Kaigan said, "is it that difficult to be a friend?" 

     "You're a stranger," I say. 

     "A public stranger. Everyone is a stranger before you get to know them," Kaigan says. "Look, stay here for five minutes and I'll pay for your beer. And I'll buy you Skittles." 

     What the hell. I reply, "I don't have time for this." 

     Kaigan sighs, "Alright. Listen, pay for my beer. I'll meet you outside." He walks out of the shop. He startles me. He is wearing a formal suit with a red jacket. He looks ridiculous. I pay for his beer and head out into the wind. I give him the beer. 

     "When are you planning to drink yours?" He asks. 

     "After the reception when all the creepy people are gone," I reply. 

     "I'll wait too then," he says . 

     "No. What - you don't make sense. Why are you even out here?" 

     "Why are you? You're still wearing your uniform and you're sneaking out?" 

     "I wanted to get some air," I reply, "It's none of your business." 

     "You are mean and grumpy," Kaigan comments lightly, scowling,"usually people who sneak out alone at night are desperate for an intimate friend, and is suffering from emotional detachment. My brother told me that, he studied psychology in school. I, now, openly tell you that I need a friend too. We're made for each other, see?" 

     "No I don't see anything," I shake my head, "right and I am in the exact mood flirting with you." 

     I walk back into the kitchen through the backdoor. Kaigan follows me into the empty staff rest room. I wait for him to turn the corner and leave. He lazily leans his shoulder on the door frame as I put my beer into the mini fridge. 

     "What? Go away." I say. "Take a hint." 

     Kaigan take off his massive sunglasses, and hat and jacket. "We can be a good fantasy you know? Let's say you're the waitress girl with a detachment problem and I am the miserable boy who wants a friend. You act normal with me, I really enjoy that."

     I look at him. Something blacks out and rots in my head. Kaigan's face is spinning in front of me. Calm down, I tell myself. I walk to the window, fingers trace over the icy iron bars. I breathe slowly, waiting for this lurch of fear to leave. 

     "I don't know you for starter. You're a rich kid and you like those chase and games with girls. And I am not playing difficult or cute or whatever - I don't date. I don't do these, whatever you have in mind. I am actually having tests tomorrow. School."

     "Again, you're so dramatic. School, how foreign that sounds. You keep saying the don'ts, what about the dos?" Kaigan says, "it's not like I'm going to drug you or something. I just want to talk to someone. Let's make time for a beer? And I'll answer questions. Any questions you have. Everyone loves asking me stuff. And we can be friends. I don't want to go back in the main room. You don't have many friends, do you? Your detachment problem - yes. Mind you, I have debated against my own will and let you buy my beer. That's usually my 'don't' in case someone comes up with a story about me. You'll know if you read the news - I was in Spain. Steven, my publicist, worked so hard to keep things low. I have a reputation to keep and I am making an exception for you."

     "I don't know you at all," I repeat. 

     "But you will," Kaigan says. 

     "What do you want to know? Like I hate wedding receptions?" 

     Kaigan blinks at me, and he says, "good that we have another thing in common."

     "No I'm sure you love them," I say. I open the window. The breeze makes me feel less pressed. 

     "I enjoyed that song. I owe the groom a song anyway," Kaigan says uncertainly, "he's known me since I was a kid. He used to live in Bolds for a few years. He plans to settle here. Funny because he hasn't contacted me for ages and a few days ago he just calls and sees if I could do a song for him." 

     "And you said yes?" 

     "Well, he talked about how my brother and I threw our football through his window when I was younger. He made me feel guilty," Kaigan says. 

     "He doesn't sound like a decent person to me," I say. There is no view outside the window. Just a dull, grey wall with the back of many air conditioners. There is a man flipping over the rubbish container with a f*g.

     "Es!"

     "That's my manager calling me. You don't me sacked, do you?" I say. 

     "I'll wait for you. Here," Kaigan says, pointing at the capitalised words on the door, "it says 'workers' restroom'. Let's say I am a worker too, a singing one."

     I watch Kaigan settle himself comfortably on the couch, crossing his legs and leans back. I walk to the door. 

     "Hey," I hear his boyish voice behind me, "do come back, okay? Don't, like, don't leave me alone here."

     I nod. I close the door. I work until my first shift is over. I keep thinking about summer last year and the flashing light in the club and how Barry stood on the stage singing with his guitar. And how I became his rattling prey.

     "It's your fault, you led him on," Barry's drummer said to me next morning when I woke up. "You were drinking, what do you expect?" Virtuous, I expected Barry to be virtuous.

     I want to go home now and hide in the blanket in the dark and wait for morning to come. I don't want to feel scared, but I do. I can't control my thoughts the way you can't control what you'd dream of at night. 

     During my fifteen minutes break, Steve asks where I have been when I was buying the beer. I tell Steve that I was calling my mum in the toilet. Steve wouldn't ask anymore with that reply. I stand outside the staff restroom, facing the closed, wooden door. He probably has gone. With shivery hands, I open the door slightly enough to peek inside. 

     "...No, like. Don't say that mum," Kaigan is whimpering with a cracked voice, "no, I love you mum. No I am very happy now. Really. Everyone treats me really nice. Listen mum, I am not going to do drugs or have sex with everyone I meet. And don't read the news. If you have any questions or things, you call me right away. You'll always find me with this number. Or you whatsapp me. I'll make it home this Christmas. Pana will like that, won't she? I can take her out for Christmas shopping. Don't worry, I'll talk to Fane. He can't stop me from going home for Christmas. He can't." 

     Kaigan licks his lips and turns his head away. 

     "I'm sorry mum. I shouldn't have been on that stupid tour. Well the security is great, don't worry about me. But, like, people threw condoms and bottles of piss onto the stage. No, Fane said I had to. No I've tried asking him," Kaigan's voice trails off. Tears are running down from the corner of his each eye.

     "Tell dad that ... I don't know, mum. I miss you. Bedir hasn't really phoned me. No, don't put Pana on the phone if she's sleeping - it's alright, don't wake her. She has school tomorrow, right? Why don't you and Pana come to London in April - you can't? How about just Pana and dad? I can show them around. Alright, like, how about July? Summer in London is fun. Like, um, yeah. Look mum, I have to go. I'll call you later. I think someone's here." 

     Kaigan puts away his phone, "Who's there?"

     I go into the room. There is just deadly silence all around. 

     Kaigan clears his throat, "Eavesdropping, that's smart. I liked you and thought you'd be better than that. Now go find some paps. Get some camera ready." Kaigan wipes his nose and looks away. "I am tired today, that's all. Go on mocking me."

     The silence goes on. It is tormenting and daunting and full of shame. Slowly redness drains from Kaigan's face. He clears his throat again. 

     "I'll go," Kaigan stands up. 

     "No," I says quickly, "I didn't mean to. I know it's your privacy and I shouldn't have done that. I was curious. I wanted to know if you were still here, and I've heard your voice - your mum's away from you. Mine too, she's in America. I haven't seen her in ages. Anyway I should have walked away. I am sorry. 

     Kaigan makes a quiet sound. 

     "So are you okay?" I ask. I ignore the jumpy clutch in my stomach. 

     "Still alive," Kaigan says. 

     "Are you sure?" I say, "I mean, um, yeah that's great. Keep being alive." 

     "What kind of response is that?" 

     "My kind? Sorry, I'm awkward," I say, hesitated with wide eyes. "I am not very sociable."

     "Better than socialites," Kaigan says in a mild voice, "they're boring. All they ever talk about is who's sleeping with who or their clothes." 

     "Well, thank you?" I stutter. "Someone should give you a hug - well people do that if they see others being upset. I would gladly give you a hug if I could...I am not good at - yeah, of course I can give you a hug. It's just a hug." I am trying my very best to act normal.

     Kaigan is frowning at the idiot in front of him.

     I step forward and hug Kaigan. His arms enclose around me. His breath on my neck jerks me up. I stare at my balled fists, feeling the heat of his torso against mine. I stumble back quickly, almost trip myself. I try to smile nicely. 

     "Why are you so tense? And usually people give long hugs to people who cried, you obviously don't give a lot of hugs," Kaigan speaks in a low voice. 

     "Stop counting my don'ts," I say. "Friends don't do that. The truth is the idea of friend to me is like the idea of school to you." 

     "Very foreign," Kaigan laughs. He runs his fingers through his messy black hair, "you want to, like, sit down?" 

     We sit on the two ends of the couch. I hand him a box of tissue. Kaigan tells me that it is his first time coming to Greenyard, and he likes this place. I tell him I don't. He says his boss Fane Bane used to talk about stopping here during tour. 

     "The Fane Bane with pink bowtie? From FB Records?" I ask.

     "Yeah him. Big name," Kaigan says, "he isn't really a music fan. But he is definitely a money fan." 

     "Aren't you all?" I say and pause, "I am sorry. I didn't mean that, I mean - okay, he founded the record label, didn't he?

     "And listening to the history of it is like a morning prayer," Kaigan says, and he speaks in a husky voice with London accent, "so, the thing is, I am really interested in the song you wrote. But son, I've been in the market for thirty years. I like your song, I do, but I don't want you to put it in this album. Save if for the next one maybe. I know what sells and what doesn't. That song doesn't, no now anyway. It's not catchy enough. But if you sing with my bowtie, son, it'll sell." 

     I smile, "did he really say that?" 

     "I made up the last bit," Kaigan says, "He is very good at making people sound and look good. You know, my sister said my accent would be the death of my career. But the accent sells. Especially in the overseas market. Fane Bane - after I was signed, even got me an accent coach as my personal assistant. Mad man." 

     "And they've got your face on the pillow," I reply. "That's impressive." 

     Kaigan chuckles, "and colour pens and paper plates." 

     "Maybe there'll be nappies with your face later," I say. "No need to look so grim. It's just your face on stuff." 

     "I don't like being materialised," Kaigan says, "I am like a stamp, you know. A product rather than a musician. Well, I am not a musician, though I'd like to be."

     "But you sing and you won that competition." I say. 

     "Best Singer. I didn't win it. That's quite an arrogant title," Kaigan says, "some people have worked really hard to achieve something musically and some work really hard to send the message through the show that it's easy to get famous. That's the brilliance about that show. All the misleading and staged editing, makes you feel like you can be a proper musician overnight. It's not difficult to be famous nowadays - you can make a sex tape and put it on Youtube, but a musician - I'm like a joke. You watched that show?" 

     "Used to," I say, "But I don't remember the content. I used to watch it with - right. Let's talk about something else." 

     "Why do you hate wedding receptions?" Kaigan asks. 

     "Why do you?" 

     "I asked first," he says, "but you're not going to tell me. Not after you play it hard to get. Me. I. I don't know exactly, but wedding is like, quite pointless now. People get married and break up. It's like they just want the signed marriage certificate as a souvenir."

     "That's deep," I say. "I hate it because I need to do a lot of work. Like dishes and cleaning, don't suppose you get it."

     "I used to stack shelves, and imagine Christmas," Kaigan says. We stay quiet for a while. I hear someone shouting my name. My eyes are fixed on Kaigan. I study the heavy black bags under his eyes and the freckles and acnes on his cheeks. 

     "What is it?" He asks. 

     "Nothing," I look at the tea table in front of us at once, "you look different. Not like those photos in the papers." 

     "Those are not photos, they're artefacts. Construction and creation of hair stylists, photographers and Photoshop. But you're falling for my charm, aren't you?" Kaigan says.
     "I'm not going to say this again, but get over yourself. Please," I say. Kaigan laughs, he has a horse like laughter. 

     "I know what you really want to ask," Kaigan says softly. The chuckles that follow don't match his carefree face. "They divorced during my tour. I thought I had things handled. My second tour and everything with the third album was going great. And they broke up. They're like strangers now, I suppose. I never really ask them anything. How should I do it? Go up to mum and be like 'hey mum, why did you divorce dad?' But then, I barely get home. There's nothing I can do. Just like, "Kaigan runs his finger over the edge of the couch, "you know, just nothing. And nothing is nothing." 

     "Then go home," I say, "get a train ticket and go home after the reception." 

     Kaigan shakes his head and smiles at me with an old man, sighing expression. Kaigan picks up his beer from the table. I hand him a blue bottle opener from the drawer. I feel a new horror since I begin to like talking to him and hearing his brittle, croaky voice. 

     "Let me open yours?" Kaigan offers suddenly. I hand him mine from the fridge. 

     "Can we close the door? I don't want to be found." Kaigan says flatly. 

     "Let's leave it open," I say. He nods. 

     So in this fantasy, I am a compassionate person helping a stranger to solve family misery. Kaigan is playing with the red bottle caps when I sit down on the other end of the couch. How glamorous he has been on the newspaper with all the waving and grinning; and looking at him now makes me sad. Just like watching a beautiful painting being ripped and rend. 

     "My dad divorced my mum too, or the other way around," I say. "My dad is rich. Famous in Greenyard. Everyone knows him. He's a judge of the court, has a great reputation and all. But no one really cares about 'in rich and poor' and 'health and sickness' after all. There's nothing to feel bad about. People love and leave and breakup. This is not like your cliche songs. Deal with it." 

     Kaigan forces an ugly smile, and knowing how awful he feels makes me trust him and like him more. I hear someone, Ian, calling my name. I push my hair behind my ear, say "I've been doing it forever, don't ask me how. I've never talked to him, my dad. I said no since I was very young. Don't even want to know him. Mum said they didn't get along. She said, what were those words? Oh yes, 'we fell apart'." 

     He drinks the beer. I don't stop until I finish the entire bottle. 

     "Now I regret not buying Skittles," Kaigan mutters. 

     "You can do this," I say, "the divorce is not your business, really. Coming down here is not going to help." 

     "I am not running away from anything." 

     "But you're here in the staffroom where you shouldn't be," I say. 

     "I am not running away, really. I, I really owed the groom a song, and mum and dad didn't want to come because they're afraid if they'd bump into each other. And I really like to sing - I am not faking it - you and the world think I am. And you have to say it's great to get away sometimes. And I like travelling around the country." 

     Running away means something else to him. "So you're," I pause, "escaping." 

     "I am not." 

     "You don't have to explain to me, I won't understand," I say dully. 

     "I. Said. I. Am. Not." Kaigan throws the bottle caps into the rubbish bin nearby, he continues, looking abashed, "I told you I am not running away. I don't have to. I am Kaigan." 

     "So I am right."

     "This is pointless," Kaigan says.

     "I told you I won't understand," I say. 

     "I think you do," Kaigan says, "It's an exhausting day." 

     Kaigan looks at me sideway as we both lean our back against the couch, "I still want Skittles. I like the green ones, and the red ones are okay." 

     "All of them taste the same," I say. The yellowish light darkens his face. 

     "No - well maybe yes." 

     "I don't know, actually. I put three or four into my mouth every time I eat," I say. He smiles. 

     "Me neither," Kaigan says, "my brother and sister - they are not really my brother and sister - they're the kids from the woman my dad is seeing - anyway their names are Chase and Claire. My dad wants me to call them my brother and sister. They're not my family. They like to separate the colours. They could handle their mum's previous divorce. Her name is Hailey by the way." 

     I nod. 

     "You can't imagine how much they mean to me. Don't try. I don't normally talk about my stuff with any girl I meet, it's just been a tough time, and you, well, you inhumanly eavesdropped -"

     "I said I didn't mean to."

     "I came here to talk about you," Kaigan says quietly, "so how come you hate everybody? I saw you sulking from the stage." 

     "I was not sulking, and I don't hate everybody. It's the other way around," I say, "It's been a, right, a tough time. There are so many people tonight and I don't really like people. Not having detachment problem. I don't like musician or famous people," I stand up, "and I'm starting to think I am crazy because I am risking my job to talk to you." 

     "I am your exception after all," Kaigan says, curling his thin lips.
     I smile and when I hear Ian shouting my name fiercely one more time, I leave the room. 

     "Hey," Kaigan calls, "it's Kyle. Just thought you should know. Kyle Mentor, my name." 

*

     "Where are you going afterward? Kitty and I are going to a party," Ian says, who strangely has lipstick on his face. He puts his uniform into the cupboard. 

     "Home," I reply, folding my uniform and untangle my hair. 

     "Where were you? I served yours and Kitty's table since you went missing and she kept trying to find that Kaigan."

     "Well thank you, I wasn't feeling too well," I say. 

     Kitty and Ian wave goodbye and I leave the hotel. These years, Greenyard becomes a city that never sleeps. Cars are blaring on the road and some boys are drunk in the opposite street. 

     I remember the day after I left Barry's house, I somehow did pick up courage to find Barry's dad. I told him what his son did to me, and he said, "boys will be boys." And I saw his mum, who said "Don't say anything that will ruin the boy's life. He's trying to get signed with his band." And they didn't believe me. 

     There is always sound in the street, and more chatting, and then just noise. Kaigan isn't anywhere to be seen. The ghost of the idiotic talk is still haunting me. 

     I go to a bus stop near the hotel. My arms and feet are sore. 

     "Hey." 

     I turn around. Kaigan isn't wearing a suit. No tie either. The red jacket now suits him better with simple jeans and shirt. His sunglasses and beanie are still with him. 

     "I thought you left," I say. I smile at him. 

     "So you start missing me," Kaigan smirks, "you don't have to explain, sweet." 

     I puff, "People will know you're here soon, why did you keep it as a secret before?" 

     "You probably didn't see how surprised the guests were, I was the surprise," Kaigan replies lightly. 

     "Right," I say. I rub my eyes tiredly, "you sounded nice." 

     "Thank you. Now my mission is over. See you do care about me, why faking to be all cool and cruel?" 

     "It's called self protection. You're the caring, loving boy, I remember seeing you on all those charity programs." 

     "I do care about some," he pauses, "like my team, my family. And you." 

     "Why would you care about someone you barely know," I frown at my watch. The bus is late. "Where's the bus?" 

     "Do you believe in destiny or something like that?" Kaigan says irrelevantly, he catches my eyes again, "because back then I was bored and annoyed and I saw you and felt like I had to know you. And I know it's going to be worth it."

     The gravity is still here physically, I just don't feel it. I feel like being sucked into a box with four walls and a locked door. Don't think about it, I urge myself. I breathe slowly and distract myself by cursing the bus loudly. 

     "You're joking. Right you are. This is ridiculous. You're mad and insane," I say heavily later, "you serious have nothing better to do?" 

     "I think we're meant to be," Kaigan is struggling for words obviously, "we're meant to be something."

     "That's funny," I fake some laughter. 

     "You're not giving it a try. Let's just be friends," Kaigan says, "it's worth it. You have to take chances." 

     "Take chances, right. Last time I poured my heart out and made a friend, I left her on her own and she killed herself because I took what she said too casually." I say mindlessly. "How long are you staying? A week? Possibly a month? You're from the TV. You're famous for being famous. And you're a musician, you're good with lines and tricks. I am not stupid enough to be your tool for another headline." 

     "Esther," he starts. "I asked the staff for you name. You are very prejudicial. We can be friends." 

     "Whatever." The blue bus emerges at the end of the road.

     "You have layers. Lots of them I can tell," Kaigan says, touching my arm. The street seems to be stuffier than before. I flings off. 

     "Don't touch me," I say. 

     "I'm sorry." 

     I get into the bus, "Onions have many layers, go and fall in love with some. That's what you people are good at, making up fantastic lines - do you even write your own lines? Love at first sight is old." 

     I put in some coins. Kaigan glances at the impatient driver, taking out his wallet. 

     "Um, just a second." 

     "I've got a lot of other stops. Get the money or you get off my bus." The driver thunders. 

     "Are you cool with credit card? Forgot to -" 

     I pay for him with my extra coins. He goes up to the upper deck and sits in the front.

     "How much is that?" Kaigan asks, "and the beer? I'll give it back to you." 

     "It's fine. Touch me again, I'll punch you," I say. I am going to sit in those empty seats away from him. 

     Kaigan's face falls and he looks at me, asks "Why are you so tense all the time? It's not like I am holding a gun or something. Now you look like you're about to puke. I don't mind going to the clinics with you. I can pay. Or you're cold and need something hot to drink? Are you seriously okay?"

     "No," I say, "I mean, um, I think you should just...I think I am fine." 

     I look at the moving views outside because his face is full of concern and it's the least thing I want. 

     "Let me know if you need anything. Gosh I haven't been in these for so long! I'm always in limos and black SUV," he sounds very excited. He glances at me, and there are lights in his eyes. They must come from the streetlamps. They make his eyes glitter, like some distance constellations all hide inside them. He looks like an innocent child seeing fireflies for the first time. He says, "I've arrived London two nights before the audition. Pana and I sneaked crisps into the red bus. She and I were so excited when we got to London, it was our first time there. The producers of the show were cruel. We were not allowed to go anywhere or do anything. Bedir helped me to sneak out once, and all three of us went around London. You know, everything I said there and all those 'conflicts' in the Big House we had were scripted. People were actually very nice to each other. Can we open the windows?"

     "The bus is air conditioned," I reply slowly, sitting down next to him, "it's rather cold here." 

     Kaigan is grinning when he gives me his jacket. I hesitate but I take it. He zips it for me and looks at me with a vigorous expression. He and his moonbeam - eyes make me feel shallow.

     "The States doesn't have many double deck buses - found it from tour. Not even in Australia. There are kangaroos though, really big ones. They hop everywhere. I am sick of being in the tour bus or planes. I get jet lags at night. You don't remember the cities or countries. And the shows are the same. Interviews too. But you need to pretend that they're different and special when they're just the same old things. We sleep in bunks. I hate bunks. It makes you feel like you're a dead robot. We stay in hotels. I hate hotels. The room is too big for one person." 

     "Good thing is you get to be on your own," I say, "you'll be sick of the bus soon. I take it for work once a week. And," I try to smile at him, "thanks for the jacket." 

     "Nah," Kaigan is very busy looking around with his sunglasses off, "this place is so bright. Like Central London. Bolds is the best though. It's a quiet place, with a lot of hills." 

     The silence was enjoyable until Kaigan says "Let's talk about you." 

     "What?" My voice is low since I am physically exploited. 

     "Tell me something. A story. A joke." 

     "I don't have jokes. My story, okay," I chuckle, "I live in a medium flat with my mum. I am probably not going to university because my grades are not good enough. I can be a senior waitress in the hotel though, soon. I can help paying the bill. No I have never seen my dad in person - maybe I did when I was one or two. I don't like famous people or musicians. That's all. End of story. One thing, I am really tired now. I rarely talk so much one night." 

     Kaigan wolf whistles as though I have just recited the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. He makes me smile. 

     "Nice story," he comments, "so you've been waitressing all day?" 

     "Studied in the morning," I reply as we cross the bridge, "and I am going to have History and French tests tomorrow."

     Kaigan doesn't speak again, he pats his shoulder and the gesture is familiar. It has happened before and bad things follow. I yawn and shake my head. 

     "You'll never know how comfy this shoulder is," Kaigan narrows his eyes.

     "Let's just drop this," I say. I am still sitting straight, and Kaigan drops his head on my shoulder. I am paralysed. 

     "If you want to talk to me, just do," Kaigan says lazily, "you don't have to act all puzzling to keep me interested." 

     "I puzzle myself too. And let's just keep distracting each other," I say, his hair is softly brushing my neck. 

     "I like sitting here with you," he says quietly. 

     "Don't make me start liking it too," I say. I hear him laugh. I realise I am more relax then I have been in a long time.

     "Can I have your number? In case I get lost here," he says. 

     I give him my phone. He types in a number. 

     "Now you can call me anytime you want," he grins. His head is back where it has been. "You crazy, you don't even set password."

     He doesn't speak for a while. 

     "Let's just pretend we are in love for the rest of the ride," Kyle suddenly says, "Because I am so incredibly, like, like -"

     "Lonely," I say. "I know. Me too."

     "And feeling that - being that sucks," Kaigan says, "And I am tired too."

     "I really like the idea of us being in love," I say. "Emotionally in love I mean."

     "Me too," he mumbles, "How very in love we already are." 

     I say. "I'll have my tests, and my Easter holiday follows. Maybe you want to go somewhere later? I hate concerts and I don't go to clubs." 

     "I won't put you through those. I can spend every day with you until the 16th of April. We'll be in love for two and a half weeks." 

     "Okay, let's try not to make it too romantic," I say. 

     "Agree. Just emotionally. We're fantasy mates," he says, "let's don't dive too deep." 

     "Yeah, in case we drown," I mumble. The lights flashing in the street, for the first time ever, are lovely. 

     "Is there a zoo here?" 

     "I think so and Kaigan, do-" 

     "I told you it's Kyle," he says. 

     "Where did Kaigan come from?" 

     "It's just a better name. Pana, my crazy sister, the real one, came up with another one, calling me the Black Hair Creep. My younger brother Bedir came up with Kaigan, it was his first hamster's name." 

     "I think Kyle is an incredible name," I say. Kyle stays quiet for some time. 

     "That's why I am protecting it and made up a new one," Kyle says, "I want it to be like, like there's still a bit of me belongs to me, you know what I mean? I love it when people call out for Kaigan, because I know that they aren't really calling me. They don't know me. And they still want me. I'd feel, like...I don't know."

     "You'd feel safe, right?" 

     "Yeah sweet. You see right through me," Kyle says, "and that makes me fall deeper in love with you. Yeah, in love." 

     He doesn't speak again and that makes me feel like he trusts me too. I want him stop making me feel this way. And I feel so naked when he grins at me. 

*

"How were the test" comes a bright voice from the phone. Kyle called me right after I left school. It is almost noon. I unlock the door of my house and draws the curtains in the living room. 

     "Good." 

     "How good?" Kyle says. Memories of last night come back awfully. I didn't let him walk me home though I let where I live slip. Kyle made the boring talk of political parties and national affairs became something interesting. This game of love makes talking so comfortable that I have to occasionally stop myself from pouring everything out. I remember watching him get into the taxi and how he waved back. 

     Last night, I struggled if I should google him. I doubted if he would call back. And even if he would, it seems better to know him as a person than knowing the media perception of him. I watched him sing though, on Youtube. 

     "Very good," I tell him, putting the key on the kitchen table, "I forgot some part about population changes but I made up some." 

     Everything is mini seized in my flat. Only mum and I live here. The kitchen is right next to the living room, a small flat screen TV is put in front of the purple couch, and cupboards of books and paintings are hung along the walls. Mum isn't coming back until late April. And I miss her.

     "That's mee - gurl," he says in a singing voice. I laugh. 

     "I need to study now, more subjects tomorrow." 

     "Again? But I am having a situation." 

     "What?" I say, sinking into the couch and hug a cushion. 

     "I am starving, there's no food in the house and I can't go out to eat," he says, "I was nearly spotted by some girls just now, chasing me for streets! I need to eat without people asking stuff from me. I am hungry and I can eat a hippo. I am lying low in a toilet now." 

     "Order pizza then," I suggest. 

     "Pizzas are unhealthy, nope. My fitness trainer bans me from eating pizza. You shouldn't eat too much either, honestly." 

     "You're crazy. Pizza is the second best thing invented after electricity."

     "Who said that?" Kyle asks. 

     "I did," I say, "you want to come over?" I mouth "s**t" and slap my own face. 

     "Yeah, totally," he sounds more excited than necessary.

     "No, you can go somewhere with that groom who let you stay at their house - oh right, they're on honeymoon. You go and order something less oily then. Order Chinese. It's not expensive - wait you don't have budget," I say, "I have to study. Now. No." 

     "I'll be on my way," Kyle says, "Just saw a taxi. See you later." He hangs up. 

     Some heavy rock in my heart loses its strings and falls down. I won't get him to leave because I know I won't want that once he'd arrived. Kyle is behaving like a gentleman, but foul wolves are all good at disguising - here I invited one to my own flat. 

     I stay in the bathroom and look into the mirror. I put on makeup, and I wipe them off. I practice to how ask Kyle to leave. I pace back and fro in the room. I change into the only dress that I have, and I hate the person in the mirror. So I put my pyjamas back on. Kyle is a world - known person. The media and everyone is monitoring him. I put my pepper spray in my pocket, bought it right after I unsuccessfully confronted Barry's dad. I type in the emergency number so I only have to press call if he hurts me. I put one of the kitchen knives under couch. 

     Thinking about the way Kyle grins at me makes me restless. I think of his laughter and I drop the frying pan as trying to cook some pasta sauce. This is just going to be a fantasy. I turn on the radio. I'd cook him something to eat, and he'll go. 

     Something explodes in my stomach as Kyle walks out of the lift. I live on the top floor, the ninth. He takes off his sunglasses. He is holding some banknotes. He opens his arms to hug me, but I awkwardly take his hand and shake it. 

     "I was trying to cook something for you," I say as leading him into the flat, "so yeah, it's small. Nothing fancy here. But it's home."

     "It's wonderful," Kyle looks at the cupboard as I close the door. He picks up a photo of me being five, holding some stranger's puppy. "It's even nicer to see you. I was thinking about you last night." 

     "Were you?" I whisper. He picks up another photo. 

     "Well not exactly. I was thinking about your test to be precise. Like, I am so glad that I don't have to do more exams. People aren't very nice at school. I didn't even do my A Levels. My brother Bedir did though."

     "Right. Right," I look around the kitchen, "I was trying to cook you something." 

     "You've said that." 

     "Right!" I say. I want him here and I want him to leave, it's like fireworks exploding and I am trying to find the moon behind the bright colours. Kyle puts down the photos. He starts looking at the paintings on the walls. 

     "My mum likes to paint," I say. 

     "What's that about?" Kyle points at a picture that is filled with different blue patterns. 

     "She drew that when I was thirteen, after I asked about my father for the first time. Like properly," I say, "The Incredible Lonely. She thinks blue is a lonely, sad colour. That's the name of the picture. It's a nice name, isn't it?" 

     "Not necessarily, the sky is blue and you can't say the sky is sad," Kyle smiles. He pulls open the curtains. He looks at the other photos silently. 

     "I saw some of your interviews. Why do you always behave like a kid on the shows? You were talking about ridiculous things all the time," I ask, "you look very energetic and today you look different. Well you are very different when you're talking to me. It's just me or -"

     "You are such a curious person," Kyle smiles at me, "I am never a full out energetic person." His eyes are greyish. They are magnificent. "But I am always passionate about something, or some people. And the truth is I hate hopping around and shouting like I do whenever there's a camera. I like performing though. It's difficult to be enthusiastic 24 hours. Your voice goes hoarse and you will want to pass out." 

     "Why act like that?" I ask. 

     "That's what people like to see," Kyle says. "I'm a joke." 

     After a while, Kyle goes on speaking though I ask nothing. It is as though he is speaking to himself. 

     "I can't go back now. They're always going to follow me. I need to ensure that other people get paid. Not Fane, he produces the music chart and he has enough. But there are people in my team. Marco, my current best friend, is my drummer. My media trainer says that I need to be loved in order to get shows. Marco needs money, he's got seven siblings and six of them are still in school. He doesn't have a mum. My assistant, Shelly, she has a daughter. My stylists. My securities. My vocal backups. I know they can always find jobs from other artists, but it keeps me sane to feel some responsibility -"

     Kyle is staring at the drawing of a pasture. In the picture, the white flowers are blooming among tall grass like countless stars. 

     "You know - you probably don't, I am not Kaigan. Nobody really knows me. Kaigan is a team. He's everyone. I am in charge of the singing part only, but in a concert, a tour, a performance, I should take the least credit. I don't know everyone, but there are people who I am close to. Well to start off, the tour manager, Evans. We call him the Hot Dog Man, because once he ate fifteen hot dogs. My accountant, David. Singing coach, Lu Lu. She's Thai British, always makes desert for everyone. She loves shopping in grocery shops. She's like my keeper. The other coach is La La, Lu Lu's sister. She loves oat. If you hear Memories from Cat, you'll know it's her. It's nice to have siblings on tour. Stage manager, C.A. His name is Chris Adamson. Loves photography. He sticks wonderful photos around inside the tour bus. Fane Bane hates it. And the technician team. The noisiest people around. We call them the Flash, because they do everything in high speed." 

     Kyle doesn't want to stop talking. 

     "Jared, the security head. He's always talking about his two daughters. They're studying abroad in Belgium. We visited them in person in Mettet, in Belgium. And there are Albert, Luke, Sam, Richard, Will and Robert and Tim. They're all in the security unit. Love beer. They all got drunk in Germany in the after show party - and that was also the first show that someone threw a bottle of pee on me. 

     "Why?" 

     "You're a girl, you tell me," Kyle says, "when, like, people look up to you, you can't say no. When I am really tired and I just want to leave the stage half way, I have to keep telling myself that I can't mess it up. The whole business is not the way I thought it would be. Writing music is great - if I am allowed to write. It'll never be just music and gigs. Fane Bane says I am too passive, he makes me go to every party. You know that model girl, Lisa? The one with nude photos out?" 

     I shrug. 

     Kyle starts to shout, "I just said hi to her right before those photos went viral. She is a nice person. And I remember how scared everyone in my team was, how they tried to get me away from any connection with Lisa. My publicist took over all my social media account and kept my phone. I was locked in my house. She just made a mistake, alright? Everyone does that, making mistakes and causing problems. The papers went up the next day. Funny how they gave respect to that girl in Canada, what's her name? Amanda Todd? They never respect Lisa! The way people bully her on magazines and Twitter. People ruined her. That's how powerful their words can be. To destroy someone." 

     I am terrified by his rage, but Kyle sounds intimated too. He covers his eyes with one hand. I hear him breathing slowly. His shoulders are jerking. 

     "I could be next." 

     "I am sorry," I say. 

     "Yeah, and," Kyle breathes slowly, "no I am." Kyle drops his hand over his eyes, he steps closer to the picture. "I always lose it when I am allowed to. You don't think she deserves all the condemns too, do you? Her photos got stolen and Fane Bane said she deserves and called her a s**t. People talk about her like she's s**t. I was reading the news in the taxi just now. She swallowed bleach and tried to kill herself. Her dad found her. Well I don't really know her, I'm just ... I am like her. What people can do now is mad. I am next."

     "You don't know that," I say. 

     "Do you want me to sound energetic now? I can do it for you, I am quite good at it," Kyle smiles at me. I shake my head. "What do you think I sound when I talk to you? Let's be an honest fantasy." 

     "Upset." 

     "My life is labelled to be carefree and happy. Guess I deserve a moment to be normal. I can't say anything against my fans. Can't say anything that upsets my boss. I am just -" 

     "My guest," I say, "you're just my guest here. And I always cheer up my guest because I'd like to see them happy." Kyle smiles. 

     We are talking about mum's paintings again. I know him for less than 48 hours and he broke down twice. It sounds reckless, but that makes me want to care about him. I forget about chucking him out after making him lunch. I'd be an honest fantasy.

     "What do you want to eat?" I shout as he is in the toilet. 

     "Anything but onion," he yells back. "I don't like onions." 

     "I love onion," I told as he came out, hatless. He had fixed his hair.

     "Well maybe just a little then." 

     "I am making spaghetti," I say, boiling the water, "you're in luck. We have dessert today. I found some left over cheesecake last night. Hope you'll like it." 

     "I'm honoured," Kyle says, standing next to me in front of the stove, "you definitely need some help with the cooking."

     I glance at him. I look away quickly because his eyes are puff and red and I don't want to address that he has cried. 

     "Can you even cook? Don't you have some special tour chef?" I ask as taking out a bag of spaghetti from the upper cupboard, "chop the onion please." 

     "We don't. I can make good pancakes. You know, back in the show. We lived in a big house together for a few months. The producers kept feeding us lines - well the stories and conflicts were generated ahead of time. They edit things that you say to shape your on screen persona. My friend Andrea, she was eliminated because she wanted to sing a song she wrote instead of singing one of the songs from the Top 100 Chart. She was shaped as a spoiled kid because they edited her speech. She is one of the most down to earth person that I've known. They control all your activities and create challenges to provoke conflicts. They bully you to say some specific things and never show any real conversation you have with anyone." 

     The sound of chopping covers his voice. 

     "How did you manage to survive that?" I say, "I'd run away in middle of the night half way through the show."

     "There's a contract, silly" Kyle says, smiling "Well, one thing, no one has offered me left over cakes for ages. I am not complaining."

     I smile back as he is carefully shredding the onions into exactly equal pieces. Kyle tells me about a snitched up food poisoning incident. I like hearing smugness in his voice. 

*

     "I am walking away. Stop it!" I yell with all my might. my tee shirt is wet and hair is damp, matting to my forehead, like Kyle's. He is sitting on the kitchen table, roaring with laughter and wouldn't stop messing my hair. 

     "I am the Poseidon," Kyle says. I laugh. We were washing the dishes and Kyle splashed water at me. I splashed back. It was very cliché, but it was magical because I don't remember I have laughed as much as I did just now. Now the floor is slippery. 

     "I won," I announce. 

     "I took it easy on you, sweet," he says, "do you have anything for me to change? Don't fancy catching a cold." 

     I hurry into the room and come out with Uncle Mike's old clothes, he used to stay with me during weekend. I give Kyle a clean towel as well. He takes off his shirt in front of me. His body is pale. I go into my room to change my clothes. I then notice the wide grin that tattoos across my face when I glance at the mirror. Seeing this makes me stop smiling. The girl in the mirror looks dull again, as she always should.

     Kyle is mopping the floor when I come out. He is wearing an X men tee shirt. I put my books in front of the tea table, lean on the cushion and flip open the Geography book. It's difficult to not look at him. He settles next to me some time later. He flips my books. 

     "Your handwriting is awful," he says. I shove the book out of his hand. 

     "I love my handwriting," I say. Kyle smiles and leans back against the couch bottom. I lose myself in the textbooks with the concept like urbanisation and global warming until something heavy lands on my laps. I suppress my panic and look down at Kyle's eyes-closed face. 

     I stare at the words and the statistics and figures on the books, and I think about him. Kyle sounds more mature than anyone around my age, it's hard to believe that he's only 18 to have seen so much. I have checked the local news paper in the morning. Everyone in the city is curious and surprised about his appearance. 

     "Do you want me to," I pause, "can I - Do you want to turn off the radio?" 

     "It's up to you," he mumbles. So I don't and sit here in this quiet room, thinking silence isn't as dreary as it has always been. And he is here. Kyle Mentor. He called back. Perhaps it's just another escape for him, but who am I to assume anything about him, escape or not. In the end, everything here can be just idea of fun and games to him. He is snoring when I put the geography book aside. I allow myself to have a short break before moving on to another subject. 

     I look down and hesitate. Very slowly, I stroke Kyle's rough hair. My fingers dance on his forehead, his cheeks. Spring breeze coming from the outside, the air is clear and moist; and here in a room that has become way more dangerous, and vivid than ever, Kyle remains motionless. I am blushing and it terrifies me. I tremblingly trace his jaw line, feeling his clean shaved skin. I look at his thin lips and hands. How flawless he looks. I put my hands on the floor then. I sit, clutching the carpet as tightly as I can. I close my eyes to breathe so I won't start to sweat. Emptiness fills and fills and suffocates me. I remember forceful hands and arms. Time slips away as I am stupefied on the floor. The clock ticks louder, I wish it would stop working. 

     "You have nice eyelashes." 

     My breath is stuck. 

     "Are you sure you're not wearing the fake ones?" His hand touches my jaw. 

     "I don't know how to put on the fake ones, I always end up poking my eyes," I reply, "and it hurts."

     "Really?" He says, "some girls do. Like massive long ones on their eyelids. Sometimes, I can't tell if they have put them on or not." 

     I nod, trying to relax my grip on the carpet. 

     "I'd like to sing," Kyle says in a cherry voice.

     "Sing then, I'll clap," I say. 

     Kyle replies with a grin before clearing his throat, sings a few verse from the songs of his albums. He tells me that his favourite one is called One Night, about a dying brother. He says it is a song that he got to take part to write, but it is also the least popular song of the whole album. This is inspired by the night his brother had fever. Kyle was eight. I let go of the carpet when he talks.

     "It feels like the time before the Best Singer," he says. 

     "Hum?" 

     "Spending time with you," he says, "I told you we're meant for something." 

     "You're mad." 

     "I don't want to leave." 

     "Don't then - I mean you have to leave," I stutter, "eventually, but as long as you're not causing - you could probably - no, just - never mind what I said." 

     "What were you going to say?" Kyle asks, "come on." 

     "I was going to say that," I pause, "your head is chubby."

     "It's not," Kyle laughs, "so I am staying here until the 16th." 

     "I am not saying you can -" 

     "You mean I could," Kyle says. 

     "I mean maybe," I say, "my mum is in America - she's on a project about cultural conservation, but really, you're sure?"

     "You said she is in New Orleans, isn't it?" Kyle strokes my face again. He sits up and whispers in my ear like we are talking about some national secret, I pull back to maintain a distance between us, "and I'll behave," he says, "won't break anything. And I will eat anything you cook, even onions." 

     I chuckle and say, "but listen, at night when Colleen -she's a family friend - comes, you have to go away or hide. You can stay in my room or mum's room, or the trash room. I don't want her to find a guy here." 

     "I'll do that," he says, and within five minutes, he goes back to sleep on my laps and I frown at the textbooks again. 

*

I wake up, the clock says it is five something in the morning. I don't have school until a few more hours later. I have nightmares about Barry. In the dream, his face was clear and his hands were big and controlling. And then there were darkness that was so much more than just the absence of light and colour. And I dreamt of the conversation that I had with Rulissa after what happened. 

     "Why do you keep talking about the way I dressed that night?" Rulissa said. "It wasn't my fault." 

     "You were dressing like a," I paused, "a s**t?" 

     "How can you say that? We wore the same dress only that yours was in blue," Rulissa said, "I don't even remember who did it. I woke up and it hurt so much. Do you think there was more than one person? Do you think they put on condoms?" 

     "I don't know," I said, "it's not that serious." 

     "I think they raped me," Rulissa whispered, "I wasn't too drunk. But I am scared now, really. " 

     The truth is I didn't believe her because I thought it was nothing, and she hanged herself to proof that it was something. I wanted to find out who did that, but I had no name and I was scared of going back to that club because I'd remember that I didn't believe my best friend when she said she was raped. 

     Suppose a woman doesn't get raped because she is drinking. And suppose a woman doesn't get raped because of the dress she wears. Suppose a woman gets raped because somebody decides to rape her. In our fucked up, justice-coated society, rape is the victim's fault. And that memory that she has no reason to be ashamed of will prison her, has her ever living in the fear of rape. And that memory becomes a demon that gives you a lot to escape from, but also a demon that locks all the exit doors. I know Rulissa feels now, only that I have no one to turn to. 

     I stare at the ceiling for a moment, look at the traffic lights. They are like twinkling stars. I glance at Kyle who is sleeping on my bed. I sit up on the floor where I slept last night. Mum has never shared the bed with me even when I was very young. Independence is what she is always after. 

     I study Kyle's face gingerly so when he leaves, I can remember every detail on his face. 

     "I can't sleep if I'm alone," Kyle urged in a high pitched voice after I shoved him out of my room. He didn't stop tapping my bedroom door and after two hours of tapping, I let him in. I put the extra mattress on the floor. Kyle started talking after I switched off the lamp . 

     "I'm, I don't mind telling you, I am very lonely though I thought money could solve it all. I didn't choose to be this way. It's not the sex lonely. You get sex everywhere and love is just fucked up," Kyle said, "I don't know why, but, like, I trust you. You didn't stand me up in the restroom, and you didn't bring a lot of people into the room with you. You came out and admitted that you listened my phone conversation. You could have left and told someone, there'd be a story in the news about me weeping like a girl. But you didn't, and that's all I think about last night." His voice is quieter in the dark. 

     "Yeah," I replied. 

     "And, like, I am very... it's always just me, you know. I know I'll never have someone who likes me for me. It's not, like, like, yeah. I want there to be someone. A girl. To, I don't know yet. I don't want my life to be just about sex or money or the reputation or public or the fans. But I can't know anyone. Do you know how that feels? I think you don't. No one does." 

     "I do," I lied, "tell me."

     "I want to get to know someone. Really know them for who they are. But it's difficult. I want people...I don't know. I need someone who's honest with me, 'cause everything around me is made up. And you make me honest."

     "Yeah?" 

     "I don't, like, I don't want to be, like, you know," Kyle seemed to have difficulties putting the words together. "I don't want to be alone." 

     "Want to cuddle?" I said that because I didn't want to be alone as well. 

     "Goodnight my love," he said. I waited till he fell asleep. And I slept on the mattress on the floor. 

     I watch the black sky fade into cold grey somewhere over the edge of the window pane. The distanced red shafts of light leaps above the rooftops and chimneys. 

     Last night after dinner, Kyle kept talking about Family Guy, and Catdog, and Spongebob, gave me detailed character analysis. And he found my old Playstation. He played Car Race. He ate all the snacks in the cupboard. He waited in my bedroom when Colleen came to cook dinner for me. And Kyle sang in the house. Always the same song, Wild World by Cat Stevens. I heard him calling his mother in the bathroom.

     Listening to Kyle is very sad. The boy who smiles when he desperately wants to cry. The boy who has everything but wants nothing. He reminds me the first time I read the Peter Pan story. Sad as that moment when I realise that Peter Pan is always on his own in a child form. Never get to feel what we do. Never get to fully understand the world but only sees it from a narrow eye. Never able to love dearly and greatly. Never going to be loved by another lover as partner for life. 

     There must be moments when Peter wants to grow up - but perhaps he is scared because he doesn't want to be something, someone he isn't sure of. And there will be a lot that he'd miss. Peter Pan is holding on to something we all let go of too swiftly. Perhaps Peter is escaping too, living in a fantasy that doesn't die nor end. Wish I can be in that fantasy.

     I leave my bedroom and turn on the light in the living room. I take out my books and cram as much content into my brain as possible. 

*

     "Why are you sleeping out here?" comes a bright voice. I open my eyes.

     "I couldn't sleep back there," I mumble. 

     "Your alarm clock is so noisy. I threw it out of the window." 

     "You WHAT?" I jump from the couch. Kyle laughs, holding out my clock from his back. 

     "Give it back," I say. "I can't live without it." 

     Kyle shows no sign of hearing me. 

     "What time is it?" I ask. 

     "A quarter to seven," he says.

     "S**t," I mutter. I changed into my school uniform in my room. 

     "Are you mad at me?" I hear his light voice outside, "I didn't break it. I took out the battery only. Don't know how to shut it."

     "I'll be mad if I'm late. Now Colleen should be in the High Street and I just have to meet her there and tell her I need to go to school earlier so she won't stop by here," I reply, thrusting my tee and sleeping pants into the drawer. Kyle's hand is hanging in mid air when I open the door. 

     "I'll walk you there," he says. 

     "And people and Colleen will find you," I say, putting my stationary into the bag, "make the bed for me?"

     "Will do," he says, disappears into my room. I am ready to leave when he comes out of my room, wearing my tee and pouting. I laugh as he bites his finger dramatically. 

     "Try not to burn the house," I say, "don't cook. There's fast food order forms pasted on the fridge, and there're clothes in the second drawer in my room if you want to take a bath or something -" 

     Kyle hugs me. He smells so different from Barry. The world is stopped and still, chaos are in my heart. I press my nose on his neck, feeling his pulse. I pull back, it takes me a moment to speak. 

     "Do you," I swallowed, "is there anything you want me to take from your house? You're staying at the groom's right? I can do that after the tests if you give me the key. They'll be over before eleven, the tests I mean. And I can buy some more snacks and food." 

     "I'll get my stuff. They're heavy," he says. 

     "Great," I turn around. The door knob looks like it is moving. "Really try to behave okay? And don't touch any of mum's painting, or the papers in her room. It'll be better of you just stay away from that room." 

     "Esther I'm not a kid," he says. 

     "I know," I open the door and step outside. 

     "Go on a date with me."

     I, shocked, look at Kyle who is in my uncle's pyjamas, "are you sure you're not sleep walking now?" 

     He laughs and says, "just say yes. I promise I won't splash water on you." 

     I can say yes, go hugging him tightly. I want to say yes and dance around the corridor and sing with joy at the top of my lungs. I shake my head, say "Pause the game. I have tests."

     When I reach the lift, I let out the breath that I was holding. 

*

     I open the door. Some grey luggage resides in the kitchen. Kyle, in the clothes he wore in the morning, is sitting in front of the laptop, seems to be chatting with somebody. 

     "Did you cheat?" is the first thing he asks.

     "No, why?" I put my bag on the couch. 

     "Because you look like you did," Kyle says in a dead serious voice. 

     "No I didn't!" 

     Kyle smirks and I smile lamely at him. 

     "No Marco, that's Esther I'm talking to," Kyle says to his drummer. I hear them laughing when I am changing my clothes in my room. 

     "Es," I hear him, "I've saved you some fast food." 

     I sit down next to him on the floor, he hands me a box of fried noodles. Someone is lying on the bed with short red hair. He waves at me. 

     "Hi," he says. 

     "Hello," I smile at him politely before eating the noodle. 

     "She's going on a date with me," Kyle says. 

     I choked, "What?" 

     "Yes she is," he continues, "her mum's away and I've not burnt down the house when she's gone, didn't let any alien invade it either." 

     "You're living at hers?" Marco asks. 

     "He's just staying here for some time," I add, "he's leaving soon. Holiday romance." 

     "I've been thinking about it, sweet," Kyle puts his arm around my shoulders, "I think we can go picnic, and we can go to mine. There's a Wii right in front of my bed there and we can play -" 

     I stand up and kick the lunch box on the floor. 

     I hear myself speaking "I am not going there. I am not. I've told you I'm not. No. It's going to be dark there. No." I think I've said something, and the next thing I remember is slamming my bedroom door. I sit like a ball under my desk. I stare at my toes and pretend that I am sleeping. Only that I am not. I feel hands on my thighs and breasts. I clutch my clothes to remind myself that I am not naked. 

     I hear Kyle calling my name. Esther. Esther. Who is Esther? He pounds my door. I try to breathe, only that the dark water is too deep, muffling my ears and stirring my brain, forces me back to where I don't want to be. Funny how powerful some words can be. There is nothing I can do until this ghost leaves. 

     How can one still survive with so many heavy ghosts haunting each of her step? And when Kyle leaves, I'll have to carry another ghost and watch this love struck fantasy becomes a monster that taunts me. Why not minus the causalities now and ask Kyle to leave before anything becomes more than a ghost? 

*

The world spins behind the window. Sun goes down and the street lights are on. I am powerless against this conscious blackout. Did Rulissa feel this too after what happened in the club? I never knew because I never asked. Sometimes I wish that death had happened to just her alone and all other people can escape through sobbing and pretending. We can't. I won't. She killed herself and pushed me into this maze of confusion and guilt and anger and self-loathing and I can't get out. She's dead and I'm living. She has answers and I have sorrow. She is free and I am trapped.

     I am ravenous so I stand up. I am getting rid of Kyle for my own sake. I open the bedroom door. Kyle sits with his back leaning on the door with a book and red pen. He has drawn foxes on m Maths textbook. There's no expression on his face. 

     "What's your problem? You locked me out for so long and finally come out to stare at me?" His tone is cold. 

     "You need to go," I point at the door. 

     "One minute you were sweet another you are shoving me out? Are you serious?" Kyle frowns. He throws the textbook to the couch, grabs his red jacket. "Great. You're brilliant." 

     And he leaves the flat. I can't bring myself to lock the door. It should've been a funny scene since Kyle left without any shoes on. Does his feet hurt? Is the floor cold? Last night was full of shame. How lonely we both are. I, the girl who deserves nothing and has nothing. He, the rich boy who million people follow and idolise. Billion people out there in the world yet we are lonely. Loneliness is like air. Loneliness is poverty. Loneliness astounds me so much because it is majestic yet last night when Kyle lay on the bed next to me, it's like it has never existed in human history.

     I walk to the kitchen, feeling the zip of his luggage beneath my fingers. I open the fridge. I hear the door open again. Kyle is here, I feel him standing behind me. His warm breathing is over me, and I feel so tiny momentarily. He touches my shoulder, but he drops his hand then. I am about to help him find his shoes and socks. I turn and look into those eyes that are inches away from mine. They remind me of one of mum's oldest paintings, a grey wintry shore where foaming water, blue and white, rushes and curls near an orphan's feet. I feel like the orphan and Kyle is the sea. 

     "I think your socks are under the tea table," my voice comes out barely as a whisper. 

     "This whole thing - it isn't game over yet. I need a second round. And you do too." His is merely raspy. He tilts his head forward. I pull back. 

     "Don't," I say, "It's game over." I walk away. 

     "Why?" He asks.

     "We don't need a reason to start or end anything between us. Because we are," I say, "fake."

     "No, being here is real - and, look, what exactly have I done? I've been nothing but honest here." 

     "Way too honest," I say, "I hate honesty." 

     Kyle stands closer, his fingers trace my cheek. "Put up with honesty for two weeks and then you can go back to that boring, deceptive life again. Do that please, because I don't always get to run away. And now I do and I am here." 

     I stare at his jaw line. He leans in again and I stand still. He brushes his lips against mine. His fingers in my hair. Everything in this age of madness turns breakable and shimmery. The world is small but massive. This grows tender, sweet and sacred. I kiss back. I cup his face in my hands. His lips are rich. Can he hear how fast my heart is beating? How can someone be so addicting and calming at the same time?

     I pull back though I can go on kissing him until the sun rises next morning, say "just an honest fantasy." 

     "Just that, yes," Kyle grins. I nod. Maybe we're just two compassionate yet isolated people who take pity on each other. I turn around open the fridge for some cold air since my head is spinning. Suddenly it seems ridiculous doing it. I pretend to be rearranging the jars in the fridge. 

     "Are you okay?" 

     "Yeah. We, um, we don't have jam," I say and clear my throat. 

     "You're holding the strawberry jam," he says. 

     "I mean we don't have," I glance at him and his hair is a mess and he looks confused, "um, yeah, I am holding - right - I mean we need to buy, um, eggplants," I say and clear my throat again, "and I am hungry."

     "I'll cook something," Kyle says. I close the fridge and walk to the couch, rubbing the corner of my eyes so he won't see the tears. 

     "Can you heat some pasta? There're bacon in the fridge - they're not expired, well I bought them the day before yesterday and - well no, bacons don't go well with pasta. Right do you want to make a pasta sauce? There's chicken in the fridge and onions - no you hate onions. But onions have Vitamin C and Vitnamin B6.Or, um, i think there's ice cream. Do you want to have ice cream for dinner? Ice cream is great, and we can, we just ..." 

     "Sure, anything you want," Kyle is chuckling. 

     "Kyle? Don't turn around," I say to his back, "but thank you."

     "Nah," he says, "my mum always asked me to heat the pasta." 

     "I don't mean the pasta," I say, "never mind. This is a holiday romance." 

     Kyle gives me a massive smile and he starts cooking. I call Colleen. 

     "Hello honey," Colleen says on the other line, "I am going to make curry tonight -" 

     "I don't want you to come tonight. Is that okay? I am having a friend here at mine," I say.

     "Are Steve and your uncle here? Steve loves curry and they won't mind -" 

     "No, they're not my only friends," I say. "Thank you Colleen, but I think I'll pass curry tonight." 

     "Is that a boy? Your mother wouldn't want a boy in her house while she's away -"

     "You remember that girl I work with, Kitty?" I lie, "She's here tonight and we're watching Best Singer. I really want to spend some time with her. To catch up with the world."

     "But honey -"

     "Please." 

     "Okay, you girls have fun but don't stay up too late. Don't go to places that you should go and don't do things that will upset your mother and I. Don't let any boys in and call me when there's an emergency. Call Uncle Mike if -" 

     "I get it."

     I hang up soon. We start singing the song he sang yesterday. I wish the song has no end. Kyle kisses me again when we are washing the pot. 

*

     I open my eyes wearily. And I remember it is a Friday night and I have tests on Tuesday and Wednesday. The television is off. Kyle kisses my forehead. We are lying on the couch. 

     "It's over," he says. 

     I let out a big sigh, "I hate horror films. Uncle Mike shouldn't have left The Ring here last time."

     "You didn't even watch it," Kyle says, "you closed your eyes the entire time." 

     "I've tried not to," I say, "I don't like these. And their spooky music. The scariest one I've watched is Shutter. Watched it with," I pause, "a friend before. She refused to take any photos for two weeks." 

     "Seriously? What kind of friend is that?" 

     "We should have watched The Incredibles," I say, "or Shrek." 

     "There's one that Pana really likes," Kyle says, "The Tale of Despereaux. I like A Bug's Life." His fingers dance on my forearm, I drop my head on his shoulder. Kyle doesn't speak for a while. 

     "Ask me what I am thinking," he says. 

     "What are you thinking?" 

     "Pana," Kyle says in a toneless voice, "and mum. And my brother. Mum and dad used to fight in the kitchen about the bill, I think I was about 12 or 13. Pana isn't scared of seeing that. She and Bedir used to bet how long it would take them to say sorry. I don't like seeing fights, so when that happened, I go upstairs, locked my bedroom door and play songs that I wrote." 

     "What did you write about?" 

     "Generally anything I see. I am interested in people and how different they are when they're connected. I wrote a lot about my family. There was a girl I liked, I wrote about her. I wrote about mum and dad fighting. After Bedir called me when I was France about two months ago, told me that mum and dad split, I went back for three days. Dad moved out, they've done it quietly because they didn't want the whole country to know this. Pana was crying and I took her to a pizza house. That day, I looked her, and I was like, like, s**t, there's nothing I can do. She's just a kid and I can't move her to London with me because paps will be following her around and I don't want that. We used to be so close and I can't take care of her because I'm always on tour and I'm so far away. I can't make it up to her. And Bedir is moving to Manchester in September, for his university. She hasn't got anybody. I'm terrified when I think about going back and seeing how she is alone in the house. I am not running away, I am just, sick." 

     I hold his hand when he speaks again. 

     "But actually, it's way, way harder for mum and dad. I've asked them to move to London, and I wanted to buy them a new house But they said no. I am living in tour bus and planes and hotels, in this fantastic life. Never having to worry about how much I spend. Doing what I like to do. Each day, like, getting crazier and crazier than the last. Meeting people. Dating movie stars. And on the other hand, like, they. I can't take them with me," his voice is cracking. "They're still, you know, kind of, in that boring life. But this time they split. We used to have this Disney week, and we, like, would spend every night watching some chosen Disney films for the week.

     "And in October, we had horror film week. Pana always left half way when we were watching The Ring. When I was in the Best Singer, I couldn't do it with them for the first time in many years, and I thought, just like, I got rid of it. Thought I'd do it again next year. But I was, like in somewhere else next year October, and then the next. And that's it, I am never going back. Funny because, like, I hated Disney week." 

     After a while, Kyle starts talking again. 

     "I basically hated everything I had, I thought, like they were too boring for me. I wanted changes. I didn't want to get up every day and go to the same school and go to the same job, stacking shelves and sorting cans, and then go back to the same house. There used to be these five older guys, always bullying me. Hitting my head and laughing, treating me like s**t. I don't - look at this." 

     Kyle takes off his trousers. I am ready to pick up the kitchen knife under the couch for self defence. Kyle points at the skin near his boxers. I take a closer look. There are white and red lines. 

     "You cut yourself?" 

     "I had this weird thought. Like, if I could tough it out, then I could get through anything. It felt good. Thought it was a great self medication. I wasn't very good at," Kyle says, "handling feelings. Not that I am better now. But I stopped. I didn't want to be that crazy self cutting kid. So I wanted a shot. I didn't want to be that lad who is always the one being pushed against the wall. Music makes sense when sense doesn't want to be found. I don't like the way Fane Bane, Kaigan are producing music, but like...I thought it would be exciting. My life I mean. I wanted people to know me. I regret it. The idea of fame unsettles me, to know that someone stick your face in their bedroom. The career is built depending on the opinion of other people. It's not exactly what I auditioned for. Like, look at the news and how they write about me, I am still treated like s**t. Just a different kind of s**t." 

     I kiss his cheek before he continues because he is breaking down. 

     "Like, my dad tells everyone that he's very proud of me, used to bring me with him everywhere he goes, and mum, once she started talking about me with literally anyone, she wouldn't stop until I got embarrassed and made up excuses to leave. So it must be really difficult for them to," Kyle doesn't speak again for a few minutes, "to be so far away from where I am. To kind of, to get used to things and think about me when I am gone. I never really stay in the house and when I am leaving each time, it's s****y. They're my parents. Doesn't make sense, them breaking up." 

     I sit up. His eyes are watery. He looks at the kitchen. 

     "It makes sense to me though," I say, "at least it's not that complicated for me. The hardest part is Father's Day. I see my own dad on newspaper. He looks stern and very tired sometimes. And I would think, maybe one day when I get to know him, he will turn out to be a better person that I've imagined. And the weird thing is, I don't want this day to come. What if he turns out to not be who I want him to be. You are not good at handling feelings, I am terrible at handling disappointments. There are too many disappointments in my life, and I don't want to add more to myself. Call me selfish, I'd rather disappoint my dad for not meeting him than disappointing me. It's better to pretend to hate him. 

     "I've got mum, though I don't get to see her all the time," I continue after turning on the blue lamp next to us, "but I know she's there. And Steve and Uncle Mike. Even Colleen. Even though we won't be in the same page, I pretend that they can all see through me and get to me. You're just dealing with your parents' divorce, I - I have been through a lot worse. And when terrible things happen, you deal with it."

     Kyle looks at me with his clear eyes. The room is dim with only the blue lamp nearby. We hold each other's hands. Is it love? Because it hurts to know that Kyle is upset. It wrecks me to see his brooding face. Like someone has broken my glass heart and the glass pieces get stuck in my chest and lungs and kidneys. 

     "Why don't you put your trousers back on?" I say. Kyle does that. "Why don't you go back to your mum now? Spend some time with her and your sister and brother." 

     "It's bad sometimes. Even with dad. When mum talks, she gets that sad smiling face. She isn't crying, and I'd rather she yells. She isn't a happy woman like she used to be. She reads the news too much and always looks at stuff on the internet. Stuff like that ruins her day. I don't know what to say to her. It's better to be here. I'd take all the hurt if I can, and I'd stay there. Like stop the tour and go back to stay with her. If you know, I hadn't -" 

     "But you did. It all happened and you can't go back. Stop thinking about the things you used to have, they are not going to come back. Gone. Dead. Stop ever thinking about them if you can help it. And if you can't help it, you pretend that you're not thinking about them."

     "Do that and you'll be blank. Keep doing that and soon you'll stop feeling anything," Kyle says. 

     "Stop feeling is good." 

     "Why would you say that?" 

     "You'd feel all the hurt or not feeling at all?" I ask. 

     "It's a question that I'm trying to figure out every day," Kyle says. "Feelings are important because they show that you're alive."

     "But too much of that is a burden," I say. "Did you mum meet someone new?" 

     "Yeah, Josh, his name. She's talked about him," Kyle says."And like, I feel like a person when I'm here. I am like a doll out there. A labelled paper doll. People can change every physical appearance about you, like making up everything. I'm making so much money now. Fane thinks, like, he can control everything about me. Fane is a genius in the industry, but he doesn't see music as art. He doesn't care that music is suppose to make you feel something instead of numbers and charts. I am opportunities, markets and baits for him. I owe him, I know. I don't recognise myself sometimes. It's just been three years since I auditioned and I've become this. What about three more years later? I thought after the Best Singer, the pressure would go away. But it keeps building up and up." 

     "Kaigan will probably be someone big and even more famous. He'll probably have a sex tape out or something," I say, "but Kyle will still be Kyle. Kaigan is a brand, of course it changes. But people don't change completely even though we can't be the people we used to be. There's always a personal trait that belongs to you."

     "What if I change too and one day I explode? You won't know that. You can't stop changes. What if I've changed and I don't remember what being like this feels?" 

     "I'll help you." 

     "You don't know me. Who knows if you're after something? Everyone's after something from me." 

     "Right," I don't want to speak again. I go to the kitchen and pour some water.

     "I didn't mean that."

     "Have you ever thought about this? Maybe I let you in my house because I am after your money."

     "I am sorry." 

     "Or because I want to be famous? You said it's an honest fantasy. Maybe I have put tiny cameras in the house and -" 

     "I am sorry," Kyle says, "I am just, like, upset. Yeah? Come back. Please. Honestly I am starting to scare of how far we've taken our fantasy."

     Kyle looks at me with broken eyes. I sit down next to him again.

     "Let's talk about you now." 

     "You broke all my rules. The first one, I don't like boys who do music. Second, I don't hang out with rich people." 

     "Why?" Kyle asks with a smile. 

     "There's always something they want. I work in River and I hear things. Don't ask. They can," I pause, "get away from anything with their rich parents. Even when they've done nasty things, people stand by them."

     "The musician thing?"

     "You broke all my rules, that's all I am going to say." 

     "You must have a lot of other rules," he says. 

     "Probably." 

     "I am going to break some more tomorrow, brace yourself," he says. He looks smug. He leans forward to kiss me. I ask him to go to bath. He goes into the bathroom and I hear him singing Wild World again. I keep thinking about why I've told Kyle about my dad. It doesn't matter though, because in the end I am glad, so glad that somebody is really here with me. 

*

     "Darling, are you sure you want to stay in today?" 

     "Yeah." 

     "Where is Kitty?" 

     "Sleeping in my room." 

     "Can I see her?" Colleen says in the morning, keeps looking at the door. "Not that I don't trust you, but we can maybe wake her up for breakfast." 

     "She's locked the door. She said she'll make pancakes when she gets up," I say, "why don't you hang out Uncle Mike today? He's got a day off from hospital. He and Steve are coming over mine tomorrow." 

     "For their weekly music thing, yes," Colleen groans, "I hate that. They've been doing that for years. Why won't they stop? Music never helps Steve to make money and he knows that. Why can't they just grow up?" 

     "I like his music," I say. "Thanks for the breakfast, Colleen." 

     "What will you girls do today?" 

     "Watching films," I say, "animal documentaries. Kitty loves documentaries."

     Colleen nods. She cleans up everything in the kitchen and leaves the house for the Parents Teachers Community Meeting. Mum calls, I tell her I miss her. And Kyle opens my bedroom door with messy hair. 

     "Let's watch documentaries about," Kyle says, "starfish? I like starfish." 

     I laugh. "Morning Kitty," I say. 

     "Morning you big fat liar," Kyle chuckles. We heat the pan and made pancakes. It smells wonderful. Kyle stands before the stove and flips the pancakes. He manages to have successfully flipped four pieces. I try the last one. It falls on the floor. He just laughs. 

     "You're worse than Bedir!" Kyle says, "we did this all the time at home. Mum always shouted at us. Pana like to add gummy bear and a lot of honey on the top." 

     "We happen to have gummy bear," I say. We sit in front of the television, watching the Discovery Channel. There is this program about trees. And we finish eating the whole bag of gummy bear. 

     "What do you like to do when you're not working?" I ask him. 

     "Rest. Sleep," Kyle says. 

     "You are such a boring person," I say. 

     "What about you?"

     "I like to go around. There's a place calls Lion Fort. There are many trees. Mum was busy but Uncle Mike, mum's brother, always brought me there when he has a holiday. He's a nurse in the local hospital. I like being out there." 

     "We should go there now, but it's raining," Kyle signs. "I thought we could go somewhere today. Let's go to Lion Fort some day. Are there real lions?" 

     "No they've got flying Stormtroopers." 

     "Really?" 

     "I am joking," I laugh. Kyle does too. "Let's just spend the day here. I have Maths on Tuesday." 

     "But you said you have a school holiday on Monday. Today we can talk," Kyle says, "I like talking to you."

     "I'm not that interesting." 

     "You're normal. Being normal is sort of extraordinary." he says. "The world I live in is a guarded, careful place. You make it so raw. It's like you're pouring something into my soul." 

     "Wow, that's so deep," I say. I bring the plate to the kitchen before we go into some more deeper conversation about soul. I don't really have that anymore.

*

"...and so, Fane Bane signed me. I don't really know what happened next. The routine is like: Fane Bane calls, I go in the studio. They've written songs, and I'll sing them. I don't really get to ask a lot of questions. The media trainers feed me some stories of each song. Then before the record comes out, the media trainers and my publicist have demo interviews with me. To practice in case I say the wrong thing. And then the promotions and interviews will start. I do shows. You don't really remember the names or dates or people, just faces and venues. People always ask the same questions." 

     "That sounds formulated," I say as putting down the calculator and pencil, folding the exercise paper in half. 

     "It is." 

     "At least you don't have a lot to worry," I say, "don't have university choices, or things to major, or school." 

     "But you get to choose," Kyle says, putting my hair back from my neck, "I don't. Not always. I can't say no to shows or parties."

     "But rich people like parties," I say. 

     "Stop generalising people. I hasn't always been rich." he says. "You've been working all day, and my legs are numb. You're not the lightest person on the planet." 

     I move away from his laps quickly, "okay, stop complaining." 

     "Ask me something." 

     "What's your favourite weather?" 

     "Sunny days. Ask me something else." 

     "Why?" 

     "Because when you ask them, it's like you really want to know," Kyle says, "and I want to remember the honest answers." 

     "You're strange," I say, "boys hate honesty." 

     "Let's say I am not your any eighteen years old guy," Kyle says and kisses me, "after the first tour in America and Canada, I feel like I am thirty." 

     "I've seen the news - sometimes Colleen watches them and makes comment about them," I say, "there are so many people following you around. It looks mad. I would suffocate if that many people are around screaming at me. I have a problem with crowded places. How's that like?" 

     "It's like, mixed for me. Sure Jared doesn't feel good about that. He's a genuine guy. Does his job very well. There are times that people are, like, rude and there's nothing we can do about it. They have absolutely no concern of their own safety or my safety. Some ladies were, like, chasing the car in America. In the open road. And I know why parents hate me. One time someone threw walkie talkies onto the stage and they missed and hit Albert and Sam. Their forehead bled and they didn't tell me until the after party ended. I felt so bad."

     "That's mad," I say. "Did they ever hit you?"

     Kyle laughs, "Don't worry I am like a ninja up there. I caught a d***o once. With bare hands. There are knickers, eggs and tampons. Orange juice and, oh, packets of Lays. I ate that afterward. I feel like a guy on the stage of a strip club sometimes. There was an Oxford dictionary as well. Some socks. The first time someone threw a pink underwear on stage, I was doing acoustic. I love doing acoustic. I was so shocked and I kicked it away. Evans said I should have picked it up and brought it backstage, or I'd be rude. But I was, like, like fifteen, almost sixteen. Who throws stuff out during a gig? Anyway there was the other time, right after the Best Singer, one of the interviewers asked about my sex life. Seriously, I was fifteen!"

     "Next time get on stage with helmet and armour," I say. Kyle smiles, "why would they do that anyway?" 

     "Bedir said they just want attention. They're very, well, supportive, but sometimes I just want a break. I have to buy everything online because I can't go shopping in London in these days. I am always shocked by the number of people that I see. When I'm checking in a hotel, or arriving a new place - I'm like, like, don't they have better things to do? When they ask for a photo, I don't want to say no. Dad always says, like, be nice to everyone. But in the streets, once you've taken photo with one person, everyone starts yelling and chasing you, swarming and pressing you. You can't ask them to stop. When I was chilling with my friends who have family or younger kids, people tended to hurt them without meaning to. I don't go out with them anymore. It's not fair if they lose their privacy because of me. Sometimes smiling aches."

     I stroke his face with the back of my hand. He stares at me for a while. He looks so fragile. 

     "Don't smile if it hurts," I say, "That's not what smiling is for." 

     "When I am in a taxi or car, and there are people outside, or the times that I spend hours trapped in a vehicle, or shops, I keep thinking someone's going to get hurt. Scary feelings, because I have to keep my eyes on the floor and rely only the sense of hearing."

     "You're talking like you're a mutated super wolf," I say. Kyle laughs.

     "What I'm trying to say is that, if someone gets hurt because of seeing me, that's too much." 

     "Maybe it's just you who's always hurt." 

     "Doesn't matter." 

     "Does matter. You're a person and you're objectifying yourself. Emotion is a primary thing that makes us human - well biology. You're not a machine." 

     "Thought you were the one who doesn't like feeling," Kyle says with a smile. 

     "I still don't. But that's what we do. We can all try to keep some emotions out, but you know that they'd come back. Sometimes a little bit. Sometimes more than you can handle. I hate this, Kyle, and I am very emotional now. Because you're here. I don't like this." 

     "Really?" 

     "Just go on with the story," I say, looking away. 

     "When they say things like 'I love you' or 'I really want this photo' or they just keep calling your name, it's difficult to keep your head down and walk, pretend that you don't hear them. If Jared is here, they I don't have to try because he'll clear out a way for me. They're waiting outside the shops because they want to see me. Why me? There's nothing to see. I'm just a person with two eyes and a nose and a mouth. But I don't like disappointing people." 

     "But most of the time, you like quiet places, don't you?" I say. 

     Kyle kisses the back of my hand, says, "You see right through me. When I am in London or New York, I need Jared with me 24/7. If there are just seven or six girls, then I'd love to take photos with them. But when it's about thirty or fifty, what am I expected to do? I have to leave for the sake of their safety. Because someone always falls down and I don't want people to step on that person or kick her by accident. Big responsibility. Once they fall on the floor, anything can happen. And if the car is moving, I, like, don't, like, they need to let the car go. Because they may get hurt. They scare me."

     "Ignore them." 

     "No," Kyle says. He pulls me close to him, "if anyone gets hurt because of me, I can't...like it'll be my fault. How would you feel if someone gets hurt because of you. You'll probably say they deserve it, but -" 

     "No," I say quietly. "Just don't go there. I am not a mean person, and...forget it. I don't know the real situation, but what about how you feel in that crowd? That's what I care about. If it's me, I wouldn't be able to think." 

     "Well, um. Yeah, that's what you care about - Me," He chuckles and runs his fingers over his black hair, "it's nice that you said that. No one really says something like that...well mum and Pana said that. You're the third girl who...right. I am always physically fine. Jared wraps his arms around me when that happens, and Luke and Richard will ask people to calm down - they're cousins. People shove their phones in front of you for the photos. No advance warning or asking." Kyle pauses a while, "being with you here, I am like twelve."

     For a moment we sit still and smile at each other. We're two people drunk with the idea of being perfectly in love, having the idea that my own happiness depend the other person's existence. It doesn't sound at all healthy. 

     "Tell me a story," he says enthusiastically. 

     "What story do you want?" 

     "Who's Barry?" 

     My body becomes tense. I get up and open the window wider to avoid Kyle's gaze. I try to sound casual. How to sound casual about something that is never casual? I sit on the floor again, playing with my pencil, say "How do you know about him?" 

     "You said his name a few times last night," Kyle says, "and you said 'no' and you kept sweating. Your ex boyfriend?"

     "No," I say sharply. When I look at him again, I manage to look calm. "Let's talk about something else." 

     "I want to know." 

     "This is just holiday romance," I remind him, "we don't have to get deep."

     "But I've told you things that I'll never tell anyone." 

     "Voluntarily. Yes. I appreciate your honesty," I say. 

     "Why don't you tell me? It's not like I'm going to tell anyone. Not that we have to be together for fifty years or ... you just don't want to get too deep because you like me a lot." 

     "I've only known you for a couple of days," I try to look emotionless, "fantasy aside, I'm not in love with you."

     The silence follows is disturbing. Kyle takes the pencil from my hand. He turns it round and round with his fingers, not looking at me. 

     "I think you're in the stage of falling. And we'll be in a mess. And you'll start to really love. That's my brother's theory about being in love. He has a lot of theories. This is more than, you know, animal attraction between us. Though that does not mean I am up for anything about eternal and, you know, stuff like that." 

     "What is us then?" 

     "This is more than chemistry either," Kyle says, "who knows? It could be just pure, actual lov-"

     "We don't have to know," I end his sentence, "Everyone likes to love. And everyone leaves when love becomes boring. People who stay behind are like torn victims."

     "What an old soul you've got," Kyle says, "and other than that old soul, there's a really selfish girl in you. You don't even try and deny everything with your instincts without letting me defend for us. It's just like the way you treat your dad. Tell me, is this how you always do? When someone is able to get to you emotionally, you revolt them."

     I am left speechless for a while, and then I say, "It's just not going to work. We can laugh like we don't care now and mess around. It won't last. Love is an emotionally abuse." 

     "There isn't just serious or emotionless. It's not like an oven, you don't just turn it on or off. It's not like we need to get married in the end. It's not forever or s**t. You don't even bother to admit that you like me when you totally do, and - wait, this is it. You're not rebelling yourself. You're rebelling love." 

     "Is there a difference?"

     Kyle shrugs, and he says, "It is different or not, you're a f*****g coward."

     Spring rain is tapping the window glass. The world outside is distanced, veiled by the drops. I feel sheltered as Kyle holds my hand. 

     "I don't choose to be a coward. Nobody does." I say heavily, "there are so many things that we don't choose. Being in love by chance is a foolish idea. Like fairytale. That much devotion and passion are unrealistic and dangerous. They cause destruction. Look at Romeo and Juliet."

     "I don't have a problem with Romeo and Juliet," Kyle says. 

     "You do know that Romeo is like 17 and Juliet is about 13 or 14, right?" I say, "what do they even know about love or being in love? Does Juliet even start growing armpit hair by that time? It's not romantic, 3 days and they cause 6 deaths including their own."

     "Someone kills Romeo's best friend, right? He's probably the kind of guy who will do anything to revenge for his friend." 

     "But that's murder. He kills her cousin." 

     "Maybe he is protecting himself," Kyle says.

     "He wounds someone to protect himself," I shrug, "He hurts someone and that makes him lose everything else. You haven't read it, have you?"

     Kyle smiles, shaking his head. I kiss him. 

     "It's just some modern fantasy. People love those things. Forbidden love and secrecy. Love can conquer all. Physical attraction and soul mates. Immediate passion - they know each other for what like three days and they are in love and kill themselves - what's so funny?" 

     "Well for the record," Kyle smirks, "I will never ask you to run away with me. I am not killing anybody for sure. And I am not going to kill -"

     "I am not talking about us." 

     "- myself because I still have tour next year. But you make me more fond of the idea of us. Forbidden love and secrecy checked -"

     "This is not forbidden love." 

     "- and love can conquer all, checked. We have conquered the pancake and gummy bear -"

     "Pancakes don't count." 

     "And physical attraction. You're obviously attracted to me. You were checking me out in the bathroom when I was shaving. Saw that in the mirror."

     "I was looking at the, um, dust on the mirror." 

     "Immediate passion. Alright. Hi Juliet - wait have you started growing armpit hair?" Kyle laughs. I do too. I am playing with the zip of his jacket. He strokes my face. 

     "I think, like, I'm, like, you know three days, and I am, like, in love with you. Both fantasy and for real."

     "Why don't you sound intimated?"

     "Should I? Just like that, three days it took. Mum once said being in love and love are -"

     "- two absolutely different things. Do you do this to everyone? Because some people do," I hold his gaze, "and terrible things happen." 

     "Believe it or not," Kyle's eyes are on my hands again, "I'm in love-" 

     "I don't like the songs on your records," I say. 

     "Me too," Kyle says, "I worked with people who have written stuff for other bigger people. They always think, like, they know the market better. They want a funky, simple beat, sexy lyrics, catchy, repetitive chorus and a little bit auto tune - then boom, here's the song. During live, sing with a whisper like, dry voice, people love that though I don't know why. Wink. Smile. Fane Bane loves how young their market is. So I sing s**t. They edit s**t. I think about it like this, a musician should start playing free shows in pubs first. And then he should start writing stuff and let people know him. Then when he's got enough experience - not stage experience - life experience, he'll write good tracks, then the labels find him - at least that's what I have expected at the beginning."

     "Are you too idealistic?" I say. 

     "Shouldn't music itself be art that's between being idealistic and realistic? They express emotions, and human feeling itself is complication that lies between idealism and realism. Anyway I can't sing like I did. The charts are nothing because someone controls it. The quality of music is nothing because everyone just says it like 'don't ask. Just sing and do your part'. It's difficult to speak out. I wish I could like, make a stand. 

     "And, like, in the end, they'd turn you into something else, that's why I won't let them call me Kyle Mentor. The media, like, they can, like, like shape our world because they can twist everything. Go on the sites, look at what those 13, 14 years old girls say about sexes and songs. Let's face it, they'll ask me to jump off a bridge and shove my head into a tiger arse if I have a bigger nose and cracking eyes. The internet exposes too much. I can't live like this." 

     Kyle stops talking for a long time. I study his face. 

     "The more people write about you the better though; the more crazy and idiotic you portray yourself the better. I don't know, like - I don't know what to say most of the time. Everyone just wants a story, good or bad. If you don't have one, the media trainers make up one for you. I hate media training. They'd make you a role model, teaching you what to say and how to change subjects. I am not saying a role model is bad but I am not an ambassador of peace or some kind of preacher. Some people in the industry is really cool because you can tell how they don't have to do useless things like advertising and people just know that they are musicians. Let's talk about happier things. There's a new movie coming up, it's about -"

     "No go on," I say, "if you don't talk about it with me, you're probably never going to tell anyone how you really feel. and I like unhappy stories. Unhappy stories are real stories." 

     Kyle chuckles. 

     "You're beyond weird," he says. 

     "Says the guy who sang Wild World backward and tried to wash the frying pan with his toes." 

     "Alright," Kyle says, "I remember going to this interview, and for the entire one hour interview, he only asked about my parents' divorce. They just create what they want people to see. You can't blame the strangers out there eat what they are fed. They don't know you in real life and what people write about you is their only access to you. People form an opinion about me and, well, I don't like that. 

     "You know this standard that everyone looks up to? The entertainment industry takes part in creating this standard. Some women, musicians and actresses are the standard of beauty girls look up to. And the way we live is some people's standard of success, of having a good, wonderful life. And that's not true. No one can see the whole pictures. They see the parts that they want to see and imagine the rest, I ..." Kyle trails off. 

     "Let's just take a break before you go on," I say. We cuddle for a while, Kyle always strokes my face. He doesn't smile. Kyle looks like he is having a war in his head or something.

     "I don't like caring about the gossips, Es. But it's mad because one person's commentary or something insignificant can make you hate your whole life. I don't like staying on this standard." 

     "What people say about you is a lie and you know it," I say, "because they've only seen guy on the stage. Not the guy who helps taking out the garbage," Kyle grins, I continue, "or the guy who mops the floor. They'll never see how this person who goes on red carpet still spend 15 minutes just to pick out all the onions in his lunch. I think you're more than wonderful." 

     "It's not that easy. My struggles and problems are people's source of entertainment. My misery is what they find amusing," Kyle starts speaking loudly, "I can't control them! I'm like, I won't be able to change what people believe - you're just who you are expected to be. So many impractical expectations out there and - I can't. I can't ever be normal. Each month, I give one fifth of my total income to the London Homeless Association, under dad's name. It's the only way to feel like a person. Sing one song and people give that much money. Doesn't make sense, I don't even write those songs. They sort of, emphasis your work, but you know you have never actually done anything. When they are to criticise you, they naturally hold everything against you. I remember this one charity ball, I was like, the expenditure of the entire ball could, like save a region of people from starving. Maybe it's me who's weird, or Bolds is really small village...crazy people." Kyle sits with both of his hand covering his face for about ten minutes.

     I hug Kyle and feel his arms around me a moment later. The world Kyle lives in is so terrifying, and that's the same world that I live in too. I pull back, beaming at him. 

     "What a good listener," he mumbles, "don't you need to get back to your studies?"

     "Yes but, um, I have the DVD of Dumbo here. Do you want to watch it with me now? I think we still have some Skittles left in the drawer," I say, "Maths can wait."

     "Sure," Kyle smiles. And I instantly know how difficult that goodbye is going to be. Part of me wants Kyle to keep talking about his tragic life, because knowing how much pain he is suffering each day makes me feel less damaged. But no. And I know that I won't have to get out and sleep on the couch after Kyle falls asleep, because he opens his own scars to me and asks nothing from me in return. 

*

When I wake up and find Kyle sleeping on the floor, I feel like he's the only one who teaches me how to care again. I listen to his quiet snoring and study his face until he wakes up. He smiles and rolls over and falls asleep again. I go to the living room and call mum. She tells me about some local restaurants that she really likes and the friends that she's made. I go back to my bedroom. 

     "Kyle," I whisper. He drowsily opens his eyes. "I need to go to the shops to get something."

     "Want me to come with you?" Kyle mumbles with his eyes still closed. 

     "No," I say. "I'll be back soon." 

     Kyle nods and buries his face on the pillow again. I kiss his shoulder and leave the house. 

     "Colleen?" I call her phone after I get to the ground floor.

     "Hello dear," she says brightly. 

     "You're not coming over today, right? You don't like spending time with Steve and Uncle Mike," I say. 

     "I do, I just don't find their music amusing," Colleen says. 

     "You don't have to come over tonight," I say, "it'll be boring. Anyway, I'm calling to let you know that I'm not home, so don't go there." 

     "Where are you?" 

     "The shops," I reply. "Don't you have church meetings?" 

     "I'm on my way there now," Colleen says, "in fact I have exciting news..."

     Colleen keeps talking about the new plants in the church. I wait for her to stop and hang up. I take a bus to Greenyard Memorial and find Rulissa's grave. I sit on the grass and look at the words on the headstone. I haven't been here since what happened with Barry. I tell Rulissa about Kyle's stay and his funny story about a pointless car chase with the paparazzi. I tell her how strange it is to start feeling so much again. I tell her about the hands and weight in my nightmares. And then I get up and leave. I buy some food and return to my flat. Kyle is up and is reading the newspaper upside down. "It's fun to see the pictures like this," he explains with his arms around me. I giggle as he leans his head on my neck. 

     "Let's go somewhere and come back here before four. I can do some studies before Uncle Mike and Steve arrive. Don't worry about them. They're the coolest people ever." 

     "Okay," Kyle says, "how about we stay here and put on some silly films? I don't want people to find me or something." 

     "You're not bored by this?" 

     "I like watching films with you," Kyle says. "What are Steve and your uncle going to do here?" 

     "Steve likes to play music and Uncle Mike cooks. They have a tiny kitchen so Uncle Mike doesn't get to cook a lot. And he'll tell funny stories about his patients in the hospital. It's our tradition. We can stay in my room if you want." 

     "Hmm." 

     "Don't give me that face. You'll like them," I chuckle, "anyway, Steve released a folk record twenty years ago. Do you want to hear it?" 

     "Sure," Kyle says. I play the CD. Kyle looks at the cover art. Steve's voice is smooth in the flat. 

     "I don't need your opinion whether this can sell in the market or not," I say. The cover of the EP is simply the younger Steve sitting on a boat with a guitar. 

     "No, he's got a brilliant voice," Kyle says. 

     "I used to listen to it when I couldn't sleep." 

     "Why used to?" 

     I shrug, "no music can always stop bad dreams."

     "But it makes things better," Kyle says, "sometimes I feel like a dictator when I go on stage. You see all your flaws when you're rehearsing, but when you see the crowd, you just have to think about the song that you're singing and the people. Nothing else. Anyway, you sound like you really want to go somewhere instead of staying in the house."

     "I rarely go around and I just thought it would be fun," I say. 

     "We'll go hiking then. That place - what's that? Lion Fort? Sounds amazing."

     "Okay, we'll go tomorrow" I nod and smile. We kiss and knock down the plates on kitchen table. Kyle bursts out laughing and he presses his lips on my neck. I don't push him away, and that surprises me. 

     "I've found your Pictionary under the kitchen drawer. Who will put a board game under the box of baking powder?" he says. 

     "Me." We laugh though it isn't funny. "What time is it?" 

     Kyle looks at his wrist but there is no watch on it, "it's nine thirty." 

     "How do you know?"

     "There's a clock behind you," he says. I laugh again. 

*

     Steve and Uncle Mike are at mine, and Kyle likes them a lot. I have called them in advance, informing them that Kyle is in my house. They don't ask a lot of questions and promise to not tell Colleen or mum. Steve, the tall man with little curly hair, is happy to know that there is someone else who can play guitar, so happy that he insists bringing two guitars to my flat. Uncle Mike, a short man with thick eyebrows and a long nose, has bought a lot of food for us. 

     What like 30 minutes after Steve and Uncle Mike has arrived, Kyle talks to them like he has known them forever. Steve takes out the guitars and Kyle tunes them. I stay in the kitchen to help Uncle Mike, who whispers to me. 

     "You insane?" Uncle Mike says, "there's a fit lad behind you and you're washing spinach with me. And Colleen isn't even here!"

     "Oh shut it," I say. Uncle Mike keeps laughing, "pass the beetroots," I say. 

     "Come on," Uncle Mike says, "sure he's got enough stories to tell tonight. Though I really want to tell you about this hilarious old lady in the cleaning department." 

     "I'd love to hear that," I say, "and remember that Kyle doesn't like onion." 

     "I will extra lots in his plate then," Uncle Mike says. I shake my head. "Just leave the kitchen, alright? Sit on the couch. Talk to Steve. I don't need you here." 

     "You're best, worse uncle ever," I say and put down the beetroots. 

     "I've seen you on the television, son. You look ravishing on stage," Steve says. 

     "Thank you," Kyle smiles, "I like your record. I'm sorry that it's not selling anymore." 

     "Well I am not. I had my fun. Things happen for a reason. But I am not going to preach, or Esther would be mad at me for making you sleepy, " Steve says. 

     "I won't," I say. Steve smiles. 

     "None of you bores me, really. It's like - I love it. Low profile life. Quality time. It feels like home. I miss this, you know, to be like, yeah."

     "Just come to mine anytime you want during your stay. Did you teach yourself to play guitar?" 

     "Most of the chords, yes. But I have learnt some other chords in a minor guitar course before. In a community centre," Kyle says, "I had a small hand when I was younger, so I only knew how to play some of the other chords after my audition. " 

     Steve says to me "where did you find this gu?"

     So they start playing songs. They write something together, sing in harmony. When Steve compliments Kyle, Kyle beams and nods violently. I don't know a lot about music. Kyle and Steve say that they have tried a lot of new things. I look at how Kyle moves his fingers on the guitar strings, and the way he closes his eyes when he sings, I know I am in love with him though I don't know when or how this has happened. I offer them coffee and they put down the guitars. 

     "It's a shame that they don't produce music with you anymore," Kyle says. 

     "Sometimes I sing stuff in a pub down town. There is a this club of ladies and men who I grew up with. The kindest people. They have kids and all, and every week, we gather and play music. Sometimes the kids play drama or sing or dance. We chat about books and politics and how to bake and news. I can take you there before you leave. If you want," Steve says. 

     "I'd love to go with you," Kyle says. His eyes shine for some reason, "when did you start singing?" 

     "Stevie started singing with a girl he liked from primary school turned him down. Her name is Olivia," Uncle Mike says. 

     "Isn't that Bianca's mum?" I ask. 

     Steve smiles. "I fell in love with music."

     "I can't - like - just play like I used to," Kyle says, he is looking at his fingers. "But suppose it's just - forget it. I'm just not good. Fane is the good one." 

     "You're fabulous when you're playing," Steve says, "music touches the soul and as long as you play with a soul, you're a very good musician, whatever anyone says. You don't have to make yourself connect to music. Music will do all the connecting and inviting, just listen with the ear and you'll know what to do. It's not about producing great melody or writing mind blowing lines, it's about losing yourself in this art. It's about falling in love with it." 

     Steve picks up the guitar and says "why don't we play a song you wrote?" 

     Kyle grins, "Sure I don't like some of those lines - I didn't write them - my team did -" 

     "Let's change the lyrics then," Steve says. 

     I watch them changing the melodies and songs, writing something more and erasing something. Sometimes Kyle smiles at me. Melodies dance in my heart. His fingers move skilfully. The lights in his eyes exceed. He is falling in love. I am too. 

     "Alright I take back what I've said," I hear Uncle Mike say, "I've decided that I need some help after all." 

     I laugh and walk to the kitchen. 

*

     "I like Steve," Kyle whispers to me as we're lying on the bed in the dark night. 

     "Everyone likes Steve," I say. We stay quiet for a while, I feel his thumb circling the back of my hand. My face is hot. Funny how silence is so pleasant. 

     "I'm going to that pub with him. I'm glad he's left us a guitar," Kyle says, "I'll write you stuff. I'll write a lot of things tomorrow and you can go back to your boring studies." 

     "And we can hike in the afternoon." 

     "Okay. Who is Colleen? Like, you've never said anything about why she comes to the flat every day," Kyle says. 

     "Let's don't go there." 

     "Drop the mysterious act now," Kyle says. He kisses my cheeks, "tell me." 

     "My friend's mum," I say. "The one who died." 

     "I'm sorry," Kyle says, "I... I don't really know what to say. I mean, no one I know well has died. I -" 

     "I've been there. It's supposed to be a strange idea. Death. Like love," I say. 

     "Keep talking." 

     I shake my head. 

     "Why?" He says softly. 

     "Let's try not to ruin the night," I say. 

     "Tell me tomorrow, sweet," He says. 

     I don't reply. We look at the ceiling which is lit with the soft traffic light as usual. 

     "They look like stars," Kyle says, pointing at the silvery spots above. 

     "When I was a kid, stars and lights fascinated me. I worshipped them, the beauty and the shimmer. I thought they were living things, and these lights," I point ahead, "I thought they were fragments of wishes that couldn't come true. Like how some wishes couldn't make it to the sky but forever trapped on my ceiling." 

     "They're beautiful," he says.

     "I know. Traffic lights. I can stare at them all night. Mum hates them, thinks they're annoying. She never pulls up the curtain in her room. But they're flashy and glittery, quite pretty isn't it?

     "Yes, like everything else," Kyle says. I feel him leaning closer. I watch him fall asleep next to me. There's something about Kyle. It isn't the charm in his eyes or the smugness in his speech. What really draws me in is that while he can get all the attention he wants, he is a lonely, torn person. He's an unhappy person. He's like me. It's terrifying what a smile can cover. I don't close my eyes until he starts snoring. 

*

     It's Monday. School Holiday. The morning is bright and clear. I do my studies in a corner and Kyle plays his music. He is writing songs and sometimes I watch him. When he looks up and grins, I look away. Is there any way to prevent yourself from an unwanted attraction? They have pills for the madmen, for getting high, for preventing the making of life. Shouldn't the scientists have invented pills to prevent love by now? I finish the studies, and Kyle writes down "beautiful" on my forehand when we bake the potatoes, and then he faces me with his back. 

     "That's flattering," I whisper. I hear him chuckle. Kyle wears Uncle Mike's cap and does my makeup. It is done poorly. We get in a taxi and the taxi driver tells us stories about his customers. We arrive the edge of town and Kyle jokes about everything. I laugh and for the first time, I am exiled from sadness and dullness. 

     Lion Fort is a place of endless green land. We walk on the wet meadow and along the grassy borders of the streams. We hold hands, laugh and kiss a lot. We talk about our childhood memories and Kyle tells me about the bullying in his old school. We sit near a stream and he takes off his trousers, shows me the scars again. People are cruel and tend to have an instinct to destroy beautiful things, and that's why there is so much bullying and hating. Love deceives people to believe in its beauty and healing. And people destroy their body for a peace of mind that they thought they would have. Humanity is beautiful though human behaviours are not. And there are billions of people yet very little humanity in our fucked up world. Kyle tells me an Indian charity programme that he wants to join. I tell him that I want a job that can allow me to write. 

     We sit near the stream bank where is clad with thin trees, looking at white foams and little bubbles in the flowing water. The stream is full of bizarre, tiny creatures with fiery eyes. 

     "Can I ask you something?" I say. Kyle runs his fingers over the fences and his head is over my laps. I don't wait for his response, "Why do you want me?" 

     "Why do you?" He says. 

     "I just," I try to lie, "I'm going to be honest. I just want somebody here. I don't really care who you are and what're your back stories - I mean I don't mind listening, but, like, I just want someone to stay with me." I leave out the part about me falling for him.

     Kyle looks at the views behind me for a moment, "Last night - and the nights before as well, are the closest things I have to, like, love. When I wake up, and find that I'm not alone on the bed, I'm just...yeah. I guess I am at my happiest when I'm with you, because I don't have do a lot of thinking. My career is 24/7, but when I am here, I am in the outer space." 

     "And then you'll want sex with me, won't you? That's what people do." 

     "Nah," Kyle says, "I get to f**k so many people and this time I just ... can't we just fall in love? Like, for once, let's just separate love and lust." 

     "Strange coming from a guy," I chuckle. 

     "I just want you and our little fantasy," he says, "that's it. All your questions and comforts. Those jokes that aren't really funny and those awkward things you do. Sarcasm. Laughter. I love all of that. You make me feel important."  

     I run my fingers along his cheek. Kyle sings songs that I like. We're like some fairies in this magical land.

     "You're the weirdest person I've loved, but then I haven't loved many," I say. Kyle laughs and leans forward to kiss me. 

     "You and me. The most unlikely people who'll get together." Kyle says in a low voice, "being in love with you is like being in love with the moon. There's always something hidden."

     "Full moon is rare, right?" 

     "It's beautiful when it comes out. It's worth waiting for," Kyle says. Kyle tells me about friends who he doesn't hang out anymore. 

     "Why are you always alone? Where are your friends?" Kyle says. I shrug and pull him up. We walk on the empty pasture again as we head down for dinner. 

     "Don't you have friends?" Kyle asks again as we walk. 

     "I. Kyle, I don't like to hide things. But, I don't like bringing things up either. It hurts to. Because she has been so selfish and I have been a terrible person. I don't like remembering that." I don't want to say anything else. So I kiss him and make out with him for a while. I stay still as Kyle gently kisses my neck and shoulder, and I look at the sun behind him, I watch it turning round and red, sinking into the west grey hills. And I think of Rulissa and I pull back. We take a taxi and return to the centre of Greenyard. We have Indian cuisine. 

     We are walking home when I hear someone scream. And there are people, a lot of people around us. Soon there are people holding cameras and phones and video recorders and microphones. More screaming. Voices. Questions. Statements. There are flashings that blind my eyes. It's like a zombie apocalypse with hands everywhere reaching out at me. I keep asking myself to not scream along with them. 

     I feel as though all the air is sucked out of the circle of people, as though some sort of creature is lurking among the hands and flashing machines, trying to crush my skull. I feel Kyle's hand, he keeps tucking me out of this sea of monstrous people, but there are more hands, dragging my jacket, and pulling and pressing. I think of dying, not exactly killing myself. Just dying, stopping, pausing, slowing down. 

     There are a lot of young girls swarming us. Someone pulls me, Kyle lets go of my hand.

     "Let her through," I hear Kyle's voice over my shoulder. 

     "No. No. No. You don't understand. I need a picture, Kaigan!"

     "Alright," I hear Kyle's weak voice. But I can't see him. There are a lot of hair in front of me.

     "Take it. Take it. I am next!" 

     "It's him, oh, it's really him! Kaigan!"

     "Here. My camera is here."

     "Give me a hug. Please. I really want a hug!"

     Someone pushes me hard and the cameras flashing is blinding my eyes. I remember the flashes in the club then. I want to throw out and I want to cry. I stop fighting to stand where I am. I let people push me like a rusty can in a violet sea.

     A microphone is thrust in front of me. It hit my lips. 

     "How is your date with Kaigan? How is it like?" 

     "How do you think Livy will react to this date?" 

     "No. Don't, um, she's just my friend," I hear Kyle say, and he struggles to get to me. He stands in front of me. I am trying to breathe. 

     "We need to go," Kyle says in a loud voice. "Thank you. Thank you! Please!" 

     He grabs my wrist and pulls me away. It's like there is no direction ahead of us. Just people. 

     "I will appreciate it if you can just let us through," Kyle says again. 

     "How are you enjoying Greenyard so far? What's your favourite thing to do here?" 

     "It's wonderful. I really would like to leave with my friend," Kyle says. "Please. Let us through." 

     "What do you think of the newspaper articles that target against you in these months and all the negative critics towards your new record? The Table News calls it Trash of the Year. Do you think your music is trash? How do you response to the many people who do?"

     "Let's us through, please," Kyle says in a hoarse voice. I think I am sweating. Kyle pulls me and we break into strides. His hand finds my wrist. I shield the flashing with my other hand. 

     "Did you cheat on Livy with your new girl? Who is that?" 

     "Olivia Taty openly states that people like you are the reason that the industry is in ruin while David Leon Patron says that your music lacks originality. He says that your face is what makes your career. What do you think about that?" 

     Kyle's mouth is near my ear. He whispers, "you don't let go of my hand no matter what happens. We'll be okay. Don't abandon me." And he smiles at the public again. 

     "I want a picture. Please can I have a picture, Kaigan!" 

     "Alright. Don't push my friend. Please just don't push her," Kyle says. He smiles at the phone with a girl and we keep moving. I keep my head down and Barry won't go away from my mind. I remember his hands unbuttoning my shirt and the way his hand slips between my thigh in the club where flashing lights of red and blue are all over his face. And I remembering how my knickers was dragged off and the pain when he got in me. And I remember knowing Rulissa's death. Don't scream, Esther. Don't scream. And I remember looking at the coffin and I thought of joining Rulissa. 

     "Any comment on Livy calling you the best liar that anyone can ever met?" 

     Kyle whispers to me again, "we're almost there. They can't go into the building. Don't worry -" 

     "I don't want to see you again," I say softly. Kyle opens his mouth, but he closes it and smiles at the camera ahead of us. 

     "Welcome to Greenyard, Kaigan!" 

     "Are you going to have sex with her tonight?" 

     I hear that and I pull my hand away. I remember Barry's friend saying "You asked for it. You led him on. You were drunk, what do you expect?" "It's not my fault," I remember replying."That's what happens when you get completely drunk," his friend said. Barry's father's voice is ringing in my head, "you made a choice to drink and you need to take responsibility for that". Don't break down, I tell myself. Don't cry. Barry could have chosen to stop or given me a ride home instead. No he chose to dehumanise me. I made a bad choice of trusting him, what about the choice Barry made? His choice destroyed me. But in our world, they just look at the choice that I've made. Don't cry. Keep walking. 

     We walk faster this way and we reach the building. I push open the hard door and Kyle shouts at the crowd "Thank you. Have a good night". 

     "Thank god the door isn't transparent," Kyle says. He looks at me with a smile. "This isn't the worst if you want to know. I was in New York the other day and -" 

     "I don't want to know." 

     "Like, I," Kyle looks away, "We forgot to press the button." He presses it. A moment later, we get in. 

     "I've told you to not let go of my hand," he says. 

     "But I did," I say. 

     He raises his hand to my wet cheek, "why are you crying?" 

     "No." I wipe my face quickly. He drops his hand. My voice is croaked. "I'm just tired."

     I reach my flat and I take out my keys. I keep thrusting it into the keyhole and it doesn't go it. 

     "Damn it." I look down and find my hands shaking. 

     "Give me the key?" 

     "No," I say. 

     "Esther -" 

     "No." 

     "No what?" Kyle says. "I'll call Jared and I'll call the security agency. They'll get here and we can still go anywhere we want." 

     "No." 

     "No what?" Kyle repeats. He takes the keys from my hand and he turns it around. He thrusts it into the keyhole and turns the small metal piece. I walk in and sit on the floor in front of the tea table. Something is clutching in my stomach. 

     "I'm sorry it's happened. I wasn't expecting it," Kyle says. "I never meant to drag you into this. I'll make you some tea?" 

     "No."

     "Tea will calm you," Kyle says. He walks to the window and draws all the curtain, and he goes into my room and does the same thing. I hear the kettle boiling, and it stops. 

     "Your lips are swollen," Kyle says. "What - someone hits you with the mic? I'll tweet and ask them to give you some privacy." 

     Kyle is sitting opposite me. He brushes his fingers on my lips. The way he looks into my eyes is sickening. 

     "Are you okay?" 

     "Am I expected to be?" I say. Something is flipping in my stomach. I race to the toilet and throw out. My head is spinning and my mouth is sour. 

     "Shh. It's alright. It's alright." 

     Why does he keep saying it's alright while we both know that it's not? Kyle is pulling back my hair and stroking my back. I keep puking until there is just sour water. And I sit on the floor. I don't want to lean on anyone, but I am too exhausted to move. He wipes my mouth with his sleeve and helps me lean on his chest. I am panting and my head hurts. I clutch my clothes to remember that I am fully dressed still.

     "It's happened to me too," Kyle says quiet. "The first time I was in New York. New York is scary. I got to the hotel and I was sick for two days. My mum called -" 

     "I don't really want to know."

     His finger is drawing circle on the fabric above my stomach. I feel his small kisses on my forehead. I don't want him to keep touching me, so I stand up and go to the living room. I drink a lot of tea.

     "Do you want to eat something?" Kyle asks. I don't response. I peek through the gap of the curtain and there are ant like people with flashing. Kyle goes into my room and comes out a moment later, says "I've called the security agency. They'll get here in the morning and things will get better. I promise." 

     "I don't want to be involved with you," I say. Some threatening darkness is swallowing me in somewhere in the back of my head. Stop thinking about the condom he put back into the drawer, I urge myself.

     "Tomorrow will be better. I'll get Jared to walk you to school. He will drive a SUV and you'll be in school in no time. He can pick you up too. Just tell me when the test is ending."

     "I'm being real."

     "I am too."

     "You need to stop saying those things," I say. 

     "What things? You can't let this ruin your day. It happens all the time. Come on. We had a lot of fun today. Do you want to go to hiking again during the Easter holiday?" 

     "I think you need to leave." 

     "What are you talking about?" Kyle says. He shakes his head wearily. "It's a tough night for both of us. Let's just get some sleep. Are you going to set your alarm? Do you want to talk to Jared on phone now? He's still up." 

     "Just go." I want to the kitchen. It feels as though someone carrying a camera would jump out of nowhere and blinding flashing will stop me from breathing. Is Kyle going to trick me to bed tonight? He might.

     "You're being unbelievable," Kyle says. He walks to me and kisses me. I feel the warmth of his hands on my waist. We are tangled in each other and I am lost in his existence. 

     Thinking too much and feeling too little is my thing. But when I'm with this boy in front of me, it's the other way around. Whenever I look at him, I see something more stunning than starlight. I can't manage to escape the thought of him and despite all my cruel, failing effort to pretend that he means less to me than he actually does, I have to stop. I pull back and the end of the kiss brings noise back into my mind.  

     I shake my head and try not to look intimidated. Stop feeling, I urge myself. Stop falling. I need this flat return to its original, insipid state where there were just four walls and me living as lifelessly as possible. Feelings are scary. And I don't want to be scared anymore. 

     "Look, you can't let the paps ruin your mood. It's really nothing," Kyle says, "they want a good story, and all I want is being here. I like being with you, isn't that enough? "

     "What about me and what I want?" 

     "What's wrong this time?" He groans, "I get it that you're tired. Me too. We did a lot of walking today. So why don't we just let it go and get some sleep with deal with it later?"

     I turn around to the sink and splash water on my face, drying it with my sleeve a moment later. 

     "I can't do this," I breathe. "This is wrong." 

     "Why do you always have to draw this line, making everything either right or wrong, everything or nothing? It's ..., Esther. I don't want to fight with you." Kyle sighs, "do you want to watch a film? Your choice?"

     "There were too many people and I keep thinking about how they pulled me. I can't - I couldn't breathe, if you looked at me - I wasn't breathing - I was literally dying back there." 

     "I felt like that too, but you'll get used to it," Kyle shrugs. 

     "Can you leave the house now?" I say. "It's not a pause this time. It's game over. The fantasy ends here. We know that this, us, doesn't mean that much to both of us. And I want to cut things off now." 

     "Now? Why? What have I done? If the paps -" 

     "It's not just about the paps. Listening to your stuff is boring as hell," I lie. 

     "I would love to give you a moment of peace, but look Es, there are people down there. How am I going to leave?" Kyle shouts. "And I thought you liked me as well. You said you wanted to listen to me talking -" 

     "I lied to keep it interesting," I lie again. "It's not that complicated. I don't want to be with you. I liked you but this is a fling. Wake up. You need to know when to stop. I shouldn't be putting up and dealing with those people who are to follow you. What are they going to write about me tomorrow? Don't show me that face - people are like me. We're bad and selfish and leave after we get we want. Just leave now."

     "Screw it," Kyle turns around. "Okay. Okay. I just need to give you some time to calm yourself. You're just pissed and angry. Thirty minutes later we'll probably be sitting on the couch watching a film. Okay. We each take three minutes break." 

     "No. Turn around coward," I say. "This is how things are right from the start. You're nothing but a rich kid with divorced mum and dad and trying to hide from the troubles in this world, and I'm just another shelter and fantasy for you because you don't want to go back to your burdened reality and family despite how much you claim to love them! You're pathetic. You're a coward. And having to listen to your grumble is boring. Go home! Cut your thighs! Run away!"

     Suppose Kyle's expression is exactly the same as mine when I realised Barry was gone. Kyle glowers at me and I have no time to wonder how those fragile eyes can fill with endless compassion one day and absolutely anger and hatred another. He strides past me, grabs his shoes and he slams the door. I lock the door and unlock it. Eventually I lock it and put a chair in front of it. 

     I find my phone quickly and text Kyle, "don't cut yourself. Please do not cut yourself. Please don't."

     I see the traffic lights on the ceiling, but then I turn on the light so I can only see the bright light bulb. I throw Kyle's pillow to the floor and I am so thankful that he has his friend's house key in his wallet and his wallet is still in his pocket. It is very noisy down there and I believe Kyle is making his exit.

     He won't come back because all the compassions, all the mercies he has shown are used up. There is always a limit for those. Mercies, yes. I take but never give, and that's sad. What is sadder is that, I am not able to give, not unwilling to give. I wait for the affections and guilt and sadness to go away, thinking they will leave as Kyle does. Maybe I just don't understand love. Think I never will. And it hurts now because I am alone in my room and I realise I don't just want anyone to stay with me. I want Kyle to stay with me and feel his arms around me.

     It hasn't been the idea of love that Kyle and I fall in love with. It's him. Now I know. No random guy can spend time with me the way he does. I wish he knows that I am sorry for saying those things. But I don't do the love thing - I can't. But this is how far I'd go to protect myself. I cry. I feel so hollow and troubled for the rest of the night, like the ground is going to dissolve into blackness with more claws tearing me and I will sink in and in and not ever out. 

     My eyes hurt and bury myself in the blanket. I should fall in love with the paper doll Kaigan on television. Instead, I've fallen for that broken, exploited honest little boy. I keep thinking about Kyle's smooth voice saying "don't abandon me" and "I don't want to be alone". I keep thinking that I should have told him the same. Loneliness dictated my life until I let him fill that vacancy in my heart. Now everything is wrong and gone. Rulissa isn't here. Kyle left. There is just an ashy girl in an empty room. This is how lonely I can be. 

     For the whole night, I think about the time when mum was in the house and how she was just there playing with her cell phone or watching the television or painting. And I remember when I was younger, she came home from work and just put down the mail and sat on the couch. Not asking my day or anything. And she would paint. When we ate, we didn't speak and I had to talk about ridiculous things to get her attention. But she really liked it when Rulissa and I spent time together in the house. She likes having Steve and her brother in the house. 

     When the sun comes up and the sky turns bright, I pack my bag for school. I call mum and tell her "I don't want to see Colleen. I need you and I need you to come back here and stay with me. I can't do this on my own." And I hang up. I make breakfast and I throw it all into the trash. I think mum called Colleen because she didn't come over, or maybe it's because of the people who are still out there with cameras. Uncle Mike calls to see if I need a ride to school. I say no. He knows that I will talk to him later, I always do. This time, I don't want to bring things up. 

     "Es you'll probably be happy to know this. Steve knew what happened and he called Colleen. He told her to not go to yours. She is still protesting now. So if you want to leave the house, I'd suggest you do it quickly." 

     "Is there any way to leave the flat without using the front door?" I ask. 

     "Climb out from the window, but I don't recommend that. Let me see, how about...ah," he says on the line, "there's a back door inside the garbage room. Bit stinky there. Your mum and I used to play hide and seek nearby, so I know for sure." 

     "Okay." 

     "What subject do you have today?" 

     "I don't remember," I say. "I just don't want to stay in the house." 

     Someone knocks the door. 

     "You call me back. If it's Colleen, I'll go there and take her away," Uncle Mike says. I hang up and open the door. It's a burly man wearing black suit and tie. "Can I help you?" I say. 

     "No, but I am here to help you," he says. He offer his hand, "My name is Jared. I am from Angela Nott Security Agency. You know Kyle?" 

     "Yeah, he mentioned you. You have two daughters in Belgium right?" 

     "He must really trust you to tell you that. He's a good kid," Jared says. "Anyway, he'd like me to walk you to school and pick you up. The car is waiting down there. Let me take your bag." 

     "No. No, but thanks. I'll take it myself," I say. I grab some stationary and call Uncle Mike again in my room, assuring him that I will be fine. 

     "You're not climbing out of the window, are you? Because if yes, I am going to phone the firemen now." 

     "No," I say, "Kyle asked his bodyguard to walk me to school. I don't know if I should -" 

     "Yes, which company?" 

     "Angela Nott Security Agency." 

     "Never heard of it," Uncle Mike says, "does he look like a giant?" 

     "He looks fine. I have to go, or I'll be late," I say and we hang up. 

     We leave the flat and thank goodness there aren't really anybody. Just some polite men taking photos in a distant. They wave at me and it seems rude but I just keep my head down. I get in the most expensive car that I've ever been into. Jared drives and he seems to know where he is going. 

     "Um, Jared?" 

     "Yeah Miss Brown?" 

     "Call me Esther," I say, "Do you know the address?

     "Yes, I've researched it."

     "I, um, have you seen Kyle?" 

     "In person? Not today, but he invited me over for lunch after bringing you home. He rang me last night and asked if I could get here in the morning. I spent the night driving and he texted me your address." 

     "You must be really tired," I say. 

     "Not really," Jared says. "You, however, look very tired." 

     "Because I am," I say. "Last night was terrible. How does he survive all those people?" 

     "It's tough being that kid. That much attention is too much for him. He's just a boy," Jared says. He stops outside my school. People look at the car and I am terrified of getting out of the vehicle. 

     "Do you have any message for him?" 

     "No." 

     When I walk into the hall where I should do the test, I feel hundred pairs of eyes looking at me. I hear people talking. And how much I wish I am sitting in front of Rulissa's grave now, or lying under it. I leave before I complete my papers and get in Jared's car. He drives me home and I say thank you. Mum texts me that she is coming home tonight at midnight. She has seen me on the news. I tell her that I am failing my maths and she says it doesn't matter. Steve, Uncle Mike and Colleen call. 

     "Why is he in your house?" Colleen shrieks on phone, "why? Answer me young lady? Why is there a boy in the house? How long has he been inside? What did you do there?" 

     "Chatting." 

     "Oh don't lie to me," Colleen says, "How many boys have you brought up there without telling me? I am so upset and furious with this dishonest behaviour. What do you think your mother will feel? Disappointed!" 

     "Yeah." 

     "How did you meet this celebrity kid? How dare you bring a boy to your house?" 

     I hang up and call Steve, asking Steve to shut Colleen up.

     But then, maybe it's a wrong decision to let Kyle stay here. I can't eat anything. The day ends and mum is at the door at 4:52 a.m. She doesn't speak but hug me. She barely does that. 

     "Are you hungry?" is the only thing she says to me. I shake my head and go back into my room and study and study. I put all of Kyle's stuff in my room. He doesn't call to ask for them back. He doesn't say anything about me. I look up my name on the internet and find that Kyle, for the first time, shouted at the reporters as he made his way out of my flat. There are horrible things written about his stay in my flat, describing it like a secret, illegal affair. People on twitter call me a "w***e", a "s**t", "f*g" and " attention seeker" and "gross". I feel gross about myself too. I keep looking and see "I hope you die", "go and jump off a building", "you should kill yourself", "you're ugly" and "everybody hates you" for more than 7 times. 

     Don't believe them, I urge myself. It's like fighting a losing battle against some complete strangers behind the screen. It's startling how someone I don't know can hate me so much as though I have slaughtered their families. These are useless opinions, but I can't stop believing them. How much I detest changes. Changes of a heart. Changes of feelings. I feel like I am dead on the inside. Changes screw things, nothing charges changes. People just live with them. It isn't fair. I hate my ugly, cold single bed. I don't even want to touch the pillow or the blanket for the scene of Kyle will come back and haunt me. I imagine telling Kyle what with Barry, but Kyle will be like me. He wouldn't believe it. No one would. That's what happen when you open up yourself, you get hurt. He'll be disgusted though that wasn't my fault. I remember saying yes to Barry. 

     "Esther." 

     I turn around quickly. Mum enters my room and sits down next to me on the bed. She takes away the textbooks in front of me. 

     "Mum, I have tests tomorrow, "I try to take back my books. She shakes her head. 

     "What's happened? Colleen said you let a boy in the house," she says.

     "I. Just. I am sorry. Something went wrong," I mumble, "I did. We. We fell apart. And I said something awful to him. I know you're going to be really angry about me letting him stay here, but Kyle is...he isn't really that guy you see on screen. He's a just a sad story. I was being sympathetic, but then I - it was supposed to be a fling between us, but then things got out of control, and..."I shake my head, "I am sorry." 

     "He's with Fane Bane," mum says, "and that means he's quite dangerous to hang out with."

     "But the truth is Kyle is just a naive and good natured person," I pause, "He's really stupid sometimes. And now that I'm sitting down and thinking about it, I don't," I say, " I don't think it's just about what with the paps. I just freaked out because of the cameras and people remind me of something that I don't like to remember. It was wrong to be mad at Kyle." 

     "What are things that you don't want to remember?" 

     I shake my head. "Nothing serious. But ... you know too much silence makes you feel empty. Too much noise deafens you. Too much feelings kill you. And I can't - I don't - I am not used to liking people, and when Kyle's here, he changes everything I know, and it scares the hell out of me. I can't do this."

     I pull my hair up to a high bun and wipe my snivel with a tissue. 

     "I don't like people getting to me," I say, "he did and I can't manage things now." 

     "I've been thinking about it on the way home. You're a very special child, Es. And you never liked anything romantic When Bianca talked about boys and love during summer, you naturally talked about school and something else. I don't know how to talk about these subjects but, boys are ... I don't know, I am no expert and I thought leaving you alone here, you'd deal with it and you experience it and -"

     "I don't want it. Mum." I say hoarsely, "I don't ask to be in love with him. Simple is that. I want it all to stop. But I can't. Mum, I can't stop thinking about him. What's good about love? It just hurts and creates unrealistic things." 

     I throw the box of tissue to the floor and look at my reflection in the window. Mum strokes my hair in silent. She looked confused. 

     "Why do we take love for granted sometimes?" I ask. 

     "Because we're scared that if we don't, we'd end up having no one and nothing. No one wants to be alone. Humans are greedy hypocrites and all of us are just humans," Mum says. 

     "I thought I'd be okay once he's gone. Why am I not okay?" I say. "I wish I am good at this." 

     "Everyone wishes that. You push him away just because you're scared? That's all?" Mum says. 

     "No, I am not scared of Kyle," I say quickly. My eyes are burning with water, and I force a smile at her. 

     "Really?"

     "Yes," I lie, "I am an idiot. Do you think he really likes me? It could be a trick. He could have done it to anyone." 

     "But Mike said he sent a bodyguard to walk you to school," mum says, "and he defends for you on social sites - well Colleen told me that. " 

     "Tell Colleen I am sorry, I shouldn't have hung up on her," I say. 

     "Don't worry, I always hang up on her. Steve said he is a good lad." 

     "He's trained - media training." 

     "But do you think it's all a lie?" 

     "No," I say. Mum hugs me.

     "Cry, it will make you feel better," mum says. 

     "I don't cry over boys." If I can help it.

     I pull away from her arms. Mum shares the same bed with me tonight. Next morning I wake up and make breakfast, and find Jared at the door. Mum thanks him and I get into his car. I have made Jared a cheese and ham sandwich. He likes it. I merely know what I am doing in the examination hall, because all I can think of is finding Kyle and apologising to him. He probably doesn't want to see me again, but I have to apologise. The test ends. Easter holiday follows. People ask me a lot of questions, I don't answer them. I am not giving Kyle's privacy away. Jared drives me home and when I get there, mum is holding the phone and covering the speaker with her hand. 

     "He wants to talk to you," Mum says and hands me the phone. She goes into her room and closes the door. My hand is shaking. 

     "Hey." 

     "Kyle." I mumble, his name tastes like something delicious, "Kyle." 

     "I'm just going to ask for my luggage," his voice is cold, "and I think I'd go back to London earlier. See? I deal with things." 

     "Tell me you didn't cut yourself," I say, "I didn't mean that." 

     "I didn't."

     "I've asked my mum something." 

     "Yeah?"

     "Why do we take love for granted?" 

     "Because we're stupid enough to even offer it," his voice is rough. 

     "You don't know what you're talking about," I say, sinking into the couch. 

     "Of course," Kyle says, "because I'm quite the useless kid. Look, if anyone asked about you during interviews or shows, I'll play dumb. Won't get you involved." 

     "I was stupid." 

     "Nah I am stupider for even calling you. I just wanted to make sure that you're okay. I'm sorry for the paps, I can't control them and you know that. I've tried to apologise but you just got mad out of no reason. I have enough of your mood swing," Kyle says, "just forget it. You've always wanted a fling between us, then this is it. Please I have to go. By the way, if it's okay, I still want to go, like, go to that pub with Steve. Jared will go with me and I'll wear a cap. I think it'll be the best if you don't go."

     "Okay." 

     He hangs up. I stay in the living room until mum makes dinner. Colleen calls mum to see if she can have dinner here with us. Mum says no and asks her to go Steve and Uncle Mike's. 

     "Are you feeling better?" mum asks. 

     "Will I ever be?" 

     "Of course," mum says, "a breakup isn't the end of the world." 

     "It wasn't even breakup. It was - I am just lame," I say. "I want to tell him something, but he's angry and I'm sorry. This is pathetic and I don't know how to talk to him." 

     "What do you want to tell him?" Mum says. 

     "Many things, start by saying I'm sorry for calling him some untrue things."

     "You should tell him how you really feel." 

     "That's the problem," I say, "I don't even know what I am feeling. He's called me selfish. Well I am. And it's not going to work, he's leaving soon and neither of us are up for anything like long distance relationship. But I want things to end well between us."

     "If you want to tell him something, go straight to his door. Don't let him speak or judge before you finish and force him to listen to you. That's how I deal with Colleen." Mum says. 

     "You're going back to America soon, right? Sorry you have to come back for me. I, um, could you ask Colleen to come here less often?" I say. 

     "I'm afraid not," Mum says. She takes her empty plate to the sink, "Yes, Colleen is unbelievable sometimes, but she is my best friend. Apart from Steve and Mike of course. And she cares about you." 

     "Really me or just thinking I am -" 

     "Rulissa was your best friend," mum says. 

     "And I respect that but," I stop rude things from coming out. "I just want to grow up. I can't always have her reminding me everything." 

     "Tell Kyle I want his autograph if you two make it back together," mum says, and before she goes into her own room, she says, "put up with Colleen for Rulissa's sake."

*

     Steve has made me some tea. I thrust the newspaper into the rubbish bin. Uncle Mike has a night shift in the hospital and I am in Steve's flat, I came to return the guitar. 

     "You don't have to be upset. I am the victim and Mike says I look quite nice in the photos. Besides I have a wonderful time." Steve says gently. 

     Steve has gone to the pub with Kyle the other day, but it was a mess. Right after they arrived that pub and on their way home, paparazzi surrounded them the way they did before. The photos went viral this morning and newspaper are claiming that Steve is using Kyle to get back to the music industry. 

     "He's called me a few hours ago already," Steve says, "he apologised and said he'd be leaving soon. He dropped by this morning to talk to me about you." 

     "Did he call me a b***h like everyone does? Tell him I'm fine with those names," I say. 

     "Don't say that Es," Steve says, "he cares about you." 

     I don't response because I know he does. 

     "Kyle said something about you," Steve says, "which I think you'll be interested to know." 

     "I am not sure if I want to know what he thinks about me," I say, "I mean, of course it's not like I am scared of knowing what he thinks. I - well." I stop. Steve gives me a look saying he knows that what Kyle thinks is my biggest fear. "Okay," I say.

     "I don't know exactly what he meant, but he said you're the kid who is running away from things. He said you always run away from stuff that you're scared of. He said you're brilliant because you've never got media training but you can change subjects perfectly. He's written something for you and he threw it into the bin. I picked it up. It's in my room. I'll go get it." 

     As I wait in the living room, I find myself keep denying what Steve has said. And I realise Kyle is right. I keep running away from things and put layers on them and pretend that I am not scared of anything. I never meant to switch topics but...I did anyway. I hear the doorbell. Steve asks me to answer it. I open the door and it's Kyle. I am about to tell him that I'm sorry. He takes off his sunglasses and walks past me. 

     "Steve!" Kyle shouts in the room. Steve comes out from his room quickly. 

     "I'm sorry. I just saw the newspaper and I needed to come here. I have to tell you in person that I'm really sorry for last night. Those people - Jesus - the way they wrote it like-" 

     "It's okay, Kyle," Steve says calmly. "It's not your fault." 

     "It was a great night and," Kyle is losing it, he starts yelling "I'm sorry I ruined it. I am so sorry they wrote about you like this. I didn't want it to happen, like. I like, I can't ask them to stop because Fane Bane wouldn't let me. I've asked him for many times if I can just tweet something or ask them to stop - but, like, he said no -" 

     "It doesn't matter, even Mike said -" 

     "No. Come on. You hate me, man. I'm sorry -" 

     "I don't have a reason to hate you," Steve says. 

     "I'd give anything to have them stop saying s**t about you. I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I've made a mess, like - I shouldn't even have g-gone. I wish I could sue them but Fane is already unhappy with me and I can't say anything - I am sorry - I couldn't let them -" 

     Steve embraced Kyle, and I hear Kyle choking with words and tears. Steve pats his back. 

     "It's alright son," Steve says. 

     "I'm sorry," Kyle whimpers. 

     Steve smiles at me weakly. Kyle is crying so loud and I feel like I'm about to too. When Kyle is still sobbing, Steve takes out a folded paper from his pocket. I take it and leave the flat from the backdoor. I unfold it the moment I get to my room. There are some gorgeous handwriting. It said, 

     "To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable."

     Vulnerable. I am now, Kyle. You made me realise that it's possible to be both alive and vulnerable. 

*

     Colleen comes to my house at seven thirty. She wants to see me. Mum warns her to not ask me anything questions regarding Kyle. I watch Colleen make breakfast. Had Rulissa ever had the courage to be vulnerable to her mum about what happened that night? Colleen smiles at me as she put bacons on the plates. I turn away. Colleen leaves then because she has meetings in primary school. 

     "Be good," she says before leaving the house. I look at mum, who notices my gaze and goes to her room quickly and closes the door. She doesn't want to talk about Colleen. I knock her door anyway. 

     "Hello Esther," mum says. "I'm a busy at the moment, I need to arrange my time table again. I've been planning the content page of the travel book." 

     "Mum?" 

     "Can we talk about this later? I serious need to get back to work." 

     "Mum," I say. Mum is staring at the papers, not reading. "How did Colleen get over Rulissa's suicide?" 

     Mum looks up at me, "She lives as though Rulissa never really left. Life is tough for her. She never packs Rulissa's stuff and she still cleans her room. She always tells me that she sees Rulissa in you. " 

     "How do you response to that?" 

     "I don't," mum says. "I'd rather not response than make up something that I'm not sure of." 

     "But she knows that I'm not -" 

     "I know. And Steve knows - that's good enough for our family," mum says. 

     "Doesn't that sound a bit selfish? Don't I ever get to be just Esther to her?" 

     "Put up with selfishness for Rulissa's sake then, if you still care about her," mum says. 

     "She's gone. I have to stop living like this," I say. 

     Mum puts down the papers. "You know, Es, the way that Rulissa chose to depart us is the most cruel thing a child can do to her parents. What would you do if you were Colleen? Not knowing why or what really happened and have your little girl just gone. Got in the room and found her breathless body -" 

     "Stop now. I don't need details," I say. 

     "- how do you reckon a mother can do?"

     "I lost her too, just so you know," I say. "I'm going to go now." 

     "Where are you going?" 

     "Kyle's. Steve gave me the address of the place that he stays," I say. "What if I stutter when I see him?" 

     "Talk slowly," mum says, "you'll get the right word. You're Esther." 

     When I am on the way, I think about the story mum told mum when I was younger. My dad liked the name Esther, mum said he was religious. Mum's only religions are herself and her travel, yet she's told me the story about because she said my dad would want me to know. I was 10 or 11 that time. 

     It is basically about a woman, a queen. The king is tricked by some weirdo, orders to kill the Jews. Esther is a Jew and she doesn't want that to happen. Terrified she is, she speaks to the king. She is brave. She says the right things. The king listens. She saves the people and herself. I don't get the moral of the story. But she speaks and he listens. Or is it just the charm and beauty of Esther? 

     Kyle will - have to - hear me out. He's probably going to say the same thing as Barry's friend did, but if so, I'll just turn to leave. I owe him answers. The walls are high around the house Kyle stays in, and all of the dark curtains are drawn. 

     I call Kyle. 

     "When can I come to get my luggage?" is the first thing he says. 

     "Later. I need to see you," I say. 

     "Do you really want to?" 

     "Yes," I say. 

     "But I don't want to talk to you," he softly says. 

     "I'll stay here until you want to. I'll go buy a tent and a sleeping bag, and I'll sleep here on the floor until you want to talk. And you'd better hope there isn't any bugs around." I say. I hear him chuckle. I smile. 

     He gives me the password to the gate and I go inside. I walk pass some bushes and pat my clothes. I want to look nice. The whole building is painted in white and I knock the door. The door isn't locked so I open it and walk in. Inside, the design is modern. White walls. Perfect wedding photos are hanging on them. Kyle isn't in the living room. I hurry upstairs and find him in the room in the end of the corridor. Kyle is lying on the massive bed, doesn't bother to sit up when he sees me. He looks weary with untidy hair.

     "Hey," I say. 

     "Uh huh," Kyle says. 

     "I'm here to say sorry," I say. I take a deep breath before walking into his room.

     "For?" 

     "For pretending we're nothing," I say, "For always being ready to give up on us. For using ridiculous reasons to push you away."

     Kyle gets off his bed and walks to the cupboard that is filled with nothing but a photo frame. 

     "I took it," he shows me. It's the first photo he held when he went to my flat. 

     Kyle looks at the photo and his face is more than sad. He says, "I'm sorry I wasted your time. But it's okay, I want to keep this photo." 

     "I said I am sorry," I say. "I'm sorry that I've said terrible things to you." 

     "I can't believe that I've told you about my family. I must have been crazy, I've known you for a few days and I basically handed you a knife to kill me," Kyle says, he runs his fingers into his messy hair, "I thought you liked me enough too." 

     "I do," I whisper. "There are so many things that you don't know -" 

     "Because you never tell." 

     "Can't you see I am trying now?" 

     I know Kyle is looking at me, and I am looking at the window behind him. The silence fills with stories and histories that I desperately want to tell him. Be vulnerable, I remind myself. 

     "Last time I liked a guy, he," I say, "he got me to bed. He raped me." 

     I watch the photo frame drop from Kyle's hand. There are broken pieces on the floor. He steps over them. "What happened?" 

     "Barry. About eight, nine months ago," the scene is blurry in my head but the feelings, the touches aren't. "I was in his house. Summer. His room, I think he has a bigger bed than yours. He plays in a band. There was an underground concert. He's from a really rich family."

     "Are you sure you want to go on?" Kyle says, he touches my arm. 

     "You need to know. You need to listen to me. Everything was alright before you came," I mumble. 

     "I would never do that to you. Never. I swear. I knew something was wrong with you but I wasn't expecting, like, go on..."

     "The night that it happened - well, that date was a very special day for me. Rulissa, my best friend, and I hung out one last time two years ago that night in that club. And she hung herself and I haven't been there since about eight months ago. There was a concert upstairs. I was on my own, I was thinking about her. And there was Barry, who came and talked to me," I close my with disgust, "Barry asked if believed in love at first sight. He said he saw something very different in me. Everything was exactly like that night back in River, you know the hotel. I was reckless and dumb. Alone and upset because I couldn't stop thinking about Rulissa. I wanted a distraction and he made me feel special. He is in a band and we went to the club then. He...he...Give me a minute." 

     I cover my face with my hands for a moment, and I take a deep breath. I feel Kyle lift my hands off my face and I look at his grey eyes and all I want is to go on with the story like never before. 

     "The club was crowded, a lot of flashings. He kept whispering to me, that something great would happen between us. I didn't want to be alone, Kyle. I didn't mean that to happen but - Rulissa was dead and I didn't want to be on my own." I say. My shoulders are jerking and Kyle rubs my back. "I just didn't want to be just me. I missed her and I couldn't manage - she was my first friend and she trusted me and I couldn't make friends with anyone else after she killed herself. I saw her everywhere!" I back away from Kyle and I keep pulling my hair backward. I don't want to be touched, "No. I didn't have anyone else and mum was always away. No, I couldn't manage..." I know that I am crying and I don't want to stop, "Colleen kept reminding me of Rulissa and there are so many questions that I should have asked her and I don't get to see her anymore. I just didn't want to be alone!" I am panting.

     Kyle is close to me again and he wipes my tears with his sleeve. I push his hand away. I don't want to stop. I need to remember the tears.

     "Okay. Go on, Es. Talk to me," Kyle says quietly. "And just remember that what I said in the first day - I didn't mean sex. I wasn't even thinking about it." 

     "Kyle, I said yes to Barry. I agreed to go to his house. I thought kissing was all he wanted. He said 'trust me, I won't hurt you'. He asked, 'do you want to cuddle? Just cuddle, I promise'. And I said yes. I told him that I wanted to and we were snogging. And then, he took off his clothes and I told him to stop. I told him that I didn't want to have sex with him. He threw my bra on the floor and I kept yelling no. He forced himself on me and he was heavy and I couldn't push him away. He laughed like it was nothing. It smelled so gross and he tore my skirt off." 

     My brain hurts and this room is icy cold. I can't look at Kyle. I know that I am shaking and he must be judging me. And I feel his hand on my shoulder. I feel like I am shrinking.

     "Barry was choking me - his hands were on my neck. I thought I was dying and he threatened me and he wouldn't stop no matter what I did. He was pressing me on the top and it hurts so much. I said yes, but I didn't want to have sex with him. I didn't want him - I was really stupid - I said yes and I trusted him," I am breathing rapidly, "I'm sorry, Kyle - I said yes. I couldn't push him away. He was pressing me. I wanted to go. I've tried. Barry, he," I pause. I can't go on, but I need to speak because Kyle hasn't left yet. He is still listening with a stern face. Be vulnerable, I remind myself again. 

     I go on, "he pulled my hair and he slapped me. He took out a condom but he didn't - he shoved it back into his drawer - I said yes to him. I didn't mean to. I wasn't ready for that - I don't know why I said yes. It was very dark, but I got to the door. It was locked. I have screamed for help. Again and again. I couldn't find my phone. Do you believe me? You have to because I've tried. Kyle..." 

     Kyle nods patiently and kisses the top of my head. "Do you want to go on? Hey, you're safe here. I believe everything that you're telling me now. If you want to continue, then do it. I am not going anywhere. And stop saying you're sorry." 

     "I was naked," I mutter, "when he finished, he acted like nothing happened, acted like it was some kind of funny jokes. He acted like it was okay to ...he took it. Robbed it. He was putting on his jeans and I was sobbing. I went to his mum and dad and they said it was my fault. His friend said I asked for it, did I? He said I led him on -" 

     "That's bullshit. That's rape," Kyle says in a low voice, "we'll go to the police. That's rape. It's a sexual crime and he should be in jail." 

     "I don't know. I, um, Kyle, I got home that day and I bathed and kept bathing and showering and it was like nothing would go away. I am sorry that I'm fucked up." 

     "Jesus," Kyle whispers, "we're going to the police now." 

     "Didn't you hear me? I gave in. I said yes -" 

     "You said yes to cuddling only." 

     "Aren't they the same? I walked in right where he wanted," I say. "I can't sleep again." 

     "Tell me his name, full name. We'll go to the police and you'll have to retell this story. They'll ask specific questions but don't worry because I'll be there for you. And they will write a written report and you'll have to review it because it will be used during the court trial. You probably have to go home and find that complete set of clothes since it can be collected as evidence. And they'll offer you counselling and I'll help with the money. I'm sticking with you -" 

     "I don't want to do all those things." 

     "How about we tell your mum first? Yes, we should tell your mum about this. You trust her, right? And let's get in a taxi now. We'll meet your mum in the police station. We have to report this," Kyle says. I don't look at him. 

     "I don't want to. I don't want anyone to know. Keep it a secret. I don't want everyone to point their fingers at me. They judge, that's what they do. Are you quite sure that I am innocent -" 

     "He manipulated you," Kyle says, "you're innocent. Now all we need to do is to call a rape crisis centre. No one is going to judge you."

     "They'll call me a w***e." 

     "No they won't -" 

     I glare into his eyes, "If you tell anyone, I won't ever forgive you. I won't ever talk to you again."

     "You're joking! We have to tell someone. We'll sue him, I'll pay for the barrister." Kyle says, "why didn't you tell me at the beginning. Oh gosh, I was like a f*****g idiot the whole time. What is his full name? Where does he live?" 

     "No." I wish tears will stop falling. 

     "What is his FULL NAME?" 

     "I said no!" I shout back, "No. No. Not ever."

     "I'll find that," Kyle is breathing as heavy as I am. He walks away and takes out a laptop from the desk drawer roughly, "I'll google the name. I'll report it. You're not keeping quiet about it." 

     "No," I whisper. I take the laptop from his hands. He glares at me and before he reaches out for it, I put it behind my back. 

     "We need to do this," Kyle's face is red, "that scum is going to get away and you're letting him!

     "Don't come any closer." 

     "Look, you need to get this straight. Rape is not a crime of sex. It's a crime of violence. And that scumbag is still out there, what if there's another younger girl? What if there's someone like Pana? You need to at least - f**k I can't get it out of my head." 

     "Me too, and that's why I need you to keep it down. I'm dealing with it. I'm recovering -" 

     "Come on, Es. Do you see the way you sleep? You were like grasping for air. I thought the room was stuffy so I opened the window for you but you wouldn't stop muttering his name - like, one night, it freaked me out ...no, mum said you need to call the police right away if this happens. So now ..."

     "Just pretend it didn't happen, okay?" 

     "What? No," Kyle frowns, "do you know what you're talking about? Is he still threatening you now?" 

     "I don't really know him. Can't even remember the way to his house. I copied his mum and dad's office address from his room, but I don't remember now..." 

     "We can't let him get away," Kyle slowly says, "I'm glad you've told me this -"

     "I AM TOO," I say, "so don't make me regret it and start respecting my decision. I am trusting you with something this personal and all you need to do is respect me. Remembering all of these is humiliating."

     Kyle walks away from me for a moment. He doesn't speak and he keeps kicking the chair until its leg breaks. I sit on the bed, clutching the laptop and watch him try to put the chair pieces back together. 

     "Do you want to go and shop for a new chair later today?" I ask in a low voice. He shrugs. 

     "I don't like this chair anyway," Kyle says. "Can we go to the police? Really." 

     "Please," I say in a defeated voice, "don't make it more difficult than it is. And I don't like arguing with you." 

     Neither of us speak for a while. He sits down next to me and he strokes the back of my hand. We sit here in silence for about fifteen minutes. I hand him the laptop and he puts it away. And I say, "And I am a bit hungry as well." 

     Kyle nods. And he presses his lips on my forehead and cheeks. 

     "How do you know so much about these things? Like what the police will do and stuff?" I say. My heart is pounding so fast because we are so close again. It's as though we've never fought. 

     "Mum volunteers in the community centre now. But before my audition, she worked in a rape crisis centre. Every night she came home, she was like, lifeless. She always needed like, two hours to recover from her day. Bedir was brave one. He'd ask her, 'how was your day mum?' And mum's reply was always the same. 'A girl is raped" or "She is pregnant by rape. She wants abortion. I don't know what I can do', or sometimes it got worse and her reply would like 'some girl tried to take her life because her friends raped her'. There are terrible stuff like 'a young girl's uncle, or her mother's friend raped her'. And from a young age, both Bedir and I know that rape is not joking matter. We heard stories of victims during dinner and sometimes mum broke down. It's scary to see your mum breaks down. So I know the legal situation and mum was just like, counselling in the centre only and she was so much affected. We've been taught about never objectifying anyone or hurt anything this way."

     I nod. I kiss his cheek and wrap my arms around his neck for a moment. I feel his smooth skin against the tip of my nose. I realise I love him, and that affection and attraction are not love until it becomes vulnerable. Now Kyle knows, and he can use my scars against me, threaten me with them. He has the power to destroy me all over again because there are no more walls between us. But he won't. Because in the midst of all these brokenness, both his and mine, within all these causes and course of love and fear, we let our heart collide and I no longer feel the need to be on my own.

     I feel Kyle kissing my forehead and his arm around me, he says, "I'm going to wait for this one day when you decide you want to go to the police station with me, and we'll find that guy and I'll beat the crap off him. I won't force you and I won't stop persuading you. I know it's not easy but ..." 

     "I really have tried to get away," I say. 

     "I know," Kyle says, "do you want to order pizza?" 

     Soon the pizza arrives and for the rest of the day, we eat on the bed and talk about everything. Sometimes nothing. We both say sorry for many times. We pick up the broken pieces of the photo frame and get some waste newspaper to make a paper frame. We paint it. We watch the Peter Pan DVD. I've caught Kyle searching for Barry on the internet. 

     "You won't find him," I say from his behind, "He's off from all the social media. He's smart." Kyle doesn't response. 

     "Let's go somewhere?" I say. I take his hand and we get down stairs. We found some horrible caps and put them on. Kyle puts on his sunglasses. There are people following us for a while. Kyle takes some photos with his fans. We meet Jared half way and with Kyle's arm around me the whole time, we arrive Greenyard Memorial. I am too exhausted to care about people's questions and the flashing. Jared makes sure they keep a distance with us. 

     I sit between Kyle's legs and we look at Rulissa's grave on the lawn. I tell him the story of Esther, but he has already heard of that. Kyle tells me about being in church when he was a kid. 

     "Are you religious then?"

     "Definitely not," Kyle says. 

     "So you are an atheist." 

     "Definitely not. Come on," Kyle smiles, "it doesn't have to be atheist or religious. Can't I be somewhere in between?" 

     "Is that possible?"

     "Actually I am not sure," Kyle chuckles, "I used to grow up in this big church and this was this pastor John. But I call him Johnny. I didn't like him very much." Kyle kisses the back of my hand. 

     "Why?"

     "He favoured me, and my parents like it so much that they might as well ask him to be my dad. I was to sit right next to him during service. I had this dung, horrible coloured suit and tie in the church backroom. Had to put them on every time during a church tea party and all. Johnny loved it; other parents loved it even more. They wanted their kids to be like be, to be the better kid.

     "Sometimes when you meet little kids and they tell you how you're their role model," Kyle pauses, "what do they expect me to say? You know, role model is a scary word - they assign you the job without even asking if you want it, without caring if you're really qualified. Twist things you do into something else. Not everyone wants that - at least I don't. Fane Bane keeps reminding me that I am someone's idol, that I can't mess up. I have to think twice or three times before doing something but like, like I'm just 18. What a price to pay. But back then, yeah, I didn't like the place Johnny put me." 

     "Did you tell him?" 

     "He's the kind of person I loathe. A bit like, like Steve. Too nice and gentle to say no to. You don't even want to reject them," Kyle says, "Johnny told stories, he gave me a lot of books and sometimes if I could quote something from his bible, he'd be so happy. It's quite addicting to see him like that." 

     "He taught you stuff about being vulnerable?" 

     Kyle smiles and I think he the most beautiful person I've ever met. 

     "Steve showed you. Well. C.S. Lewis said that, it's quite famous actually. It's one of the very few things I remember from that church time. I stopped attending service when I was twelve. But I visited Johnny sometimes." 

     I nod, "He's still in Bolds now?" 

     "Nope. I was in the second audition when he wrote me an email, saying that he has decided to go on missionary. It's a place called Zeetrust -"

     "I think it's called Zeerust, it's in South Africa, isn't it?" I say. 

     "Show off." 

     I laugh. He pulls me closer to him.

     "I love how you know things. Like " Kyle says. "Like vitamins and how you told me about Antarctic glaciers and global warming." 

     "You should thank National Geographic for that. I used to spend a decent amount of time reading and watching those stuff." 

     "I really like a smart girl," Kyle says and we kiss for a while. 

     "Okay. Okay," I say as I pull away, "let's go back to Johnny. I don't want to have a heavy make out session in a graveyard." 

     Kyle laughs and I lean on his chest again. 

     "Zeerust then. Johnny sent me photos and he seems really happy there. And I remember something written in that bible, about -" 

     "I am not sure if I'm really interested in the whole religious and bible thing," I say. 

     "I was trying to show off even though it's not the coolest thing," Kyle says. We sit down for a while and when we get back to his house, Kyle writes down what he was about to say and I keep the A4 paper. I stare at the word 'love' and now I have a piece of him with me. 

     "I've never told anyone how I feel about Johnny," Kyle says. "And beliefs are crazy things."

     "What do you believe then?"

     "You." 

     I look up from the paper and find him looking at me with a smile. I smile back and put the paper in my pocket. I sit on his laps on the couch and kiss his neck. 

     "And things happen for a reason," Kyle says. "That's all I believe." 

     And he makes me start to believe what he believes in too.

*

     Kyle gives me the best kind of days, the kind that makes you feel like you're living in a fancy art film, and that everything and everyone around you, including Colleen, seems to be colourful and important. He makes me feel so mighty. 

     He spends some time at mine and writes a song with Steve. The song is called "The Incredible Lonely". They sit in the living room for the entire day and it's a pleasure to look at Kyle doing what he loves. The way his eyes narrow and his relaxed smile. Steve insists not putting his name in the credit if the song is to put out in the market.

     "You know," he says to me when we're making dinner, "music is therapy. And so are you." 

     I beam at him and before I can reply, I hear Uncle Mike's voice and knocking outside the door. Mum and Kyle spend a lot of time talking about places that Kyle has been to during tour. She is very interested in Romania, which she has never been to. I try to read my copy of Peter Pan, but most of the time, I keep glancing at Kyle. I finish bathing and I hear mum and Kyle talking after Uncle Mike and Steve left. 

     "Really? I've heard it's tough to work with Fane Bane, but I can't believe he'd give you work during Christmas? And stop feeling like a money making machine. You're so young and there are so many things you should do now. Go partying. Have fun and drink. I was so wasted when I was your age. Always ended up in a wrong house - well, that was the time before her dad found me." 

     "Yeah," Kyle says. 

     "And if you don't mind me asking," Mum says in polite tone, "what are you going to do with Esther? I know it's between the two of you and as much as I am a failure mum, I -" 

     "It's okay," Kyle says, "actually I don't know as well. She is different. Special, in a way that makes me feel ordinary...She makes me trust her, and that's a rare thing. Given by things and people that I have to deal with every day, I am naturally a guarded person. And I'm sure you can see that she is too. But, I think, like, because of that, it just draws us to each other. Doesn't sound logical but, nothing is logical when she's around. I care about her. She has a way of making me spill things that I don't want to. I'm still not sure if it's a good thing or not, like...I just hope that I won't cause her any more troubles in the future."

     "That girl, I have never seen her smile as much she does these days. Not since Rulissa passed away," mum says, "just don't hurt her even when things are difficult. I know that things will be tough. She's important to me. Having to lost someone so close at 15, she kind of, I don't know, locks herself up. It scares me sometimes. Just thought the more time she spends with Colleen, the sooner she'll get over it." 

     "I don't think she ever will. It's not something...speaking of that," Kyle makes no sound for a while, "Have you ever been aware that she is -" 

     I open the door and step out before Kyle can finish. Mum goes to bath next and I stay in my room with Kyle, who has already showered. 

     "What were you going to tell her? I heard you and I've told you to -" 

     "I wasn't going to tell her," Kyle says, who closes the door and sits on the bed with his back against the wall. "I promise I won't. Stop scowling at me." 

     "If you tell anyone -" 

     "I won't. Not even my mum who I am sure can help the situation," Kyle says. 

     "There isn't a situation. It's just me and ... forget it," I say. Kyle opens his arms and we cuddle for a while. He has his arms around my waist and kisses my cheeks I tell him something about how journalists faced execution during World War I. He asks me things about navy ships and I tell him what I know. He draws circles with his fingers on my sleeping pants as I pull my hair up to a knot. 

     "I'm going to say goodnight to mum," I get off Kyle. Mum is sitting in front of her desk, looking at some travel photos from her laptop. 

     "Mum, I'm going to bed now." 

     "Wait, Es. Can I have a minute?" 

     I enter her room and sit on the bed. She closes the door and sits on her chair, looking at me with a stern face for a while. 

     "So?" I say uneasily after three minutes. 

     "Right. Esther," mum says. "I, er, I've been seventeen. I was wild and crazy and I made a lot of wrong choices. I, er, slept with, er, quite a lot of boys - but that was when I was a teen - I mean, a young person. My mum never talked to me about this, but I, er, keep thinking like, er, it's the 21st century and we should, er, you know talk about it."

     She gives me a shy smile. 

     "Okay," I try to sound casual. 

     "I am going to keep it real simple," mum says, looking around uneasily, "use, you know, er, condom even if he doesn't want to. Take morning after pills, you know, for yourself if you do without condom. Birth control pills, ask Uncle Mike for the details. Period sex can led to pregnancy, er, yeah. Don't try anything too extreme - you know - er, just keep it really - right." 

     "Okay," I nod slowly. I grab the mattress tight to distract myself from thinking about Barry. 

     "You need to say no if you're not ready," mum says. She looks so uncomfortable that she is staring at her own toes. "Don't let him pressure you. Even though he's famous. Don't care about what people say about your private life." 

     "Birth control is important," mum says in a very slow tone, "you don't want one mistake to ruin your future. You can't really control your hormones but, er, you know -" 

     "I get it. I've learn these from school," I lie, "we have classes and talks with the matron."

     "Really? Thank goodness! I just want to get this off my shoulders. That will save me from all these awkwardness," mum says in delighted tone and looks at me. "Why are you sweating?" 

     "It's hot here," I lie again. "Anything else?" 

     "Not really but just remember to be careful with everything. And hygiene is important too." mum says, "trust me, you don't want to wake up end up on a stranger's bed."

     "Of course," I whisper. I stand up, "Goodnight mum." 

     "Make sure Kyle knows all these too," mum says as I open the door. 

     "He does. His parents taught him really well," I say mindlessly and return to my room. I turn off all the lamps in the living room and return to my room, where Kyle is playing the guitar. 

     "What kept you so long?" He asks. 

     "Nothing," I say and sit down on the bed. "I'd like to turn off the light. You can keep playing." 

     In the dark, I wipe my tears away and try not to think about mum's talk. If only Rulissa and I had that earlier. But what difference would it make? We would still go to that club. We would still want to get a taste of being a grown up. 

     Kyle is playing The Incredible Lonely on the bed. It's the one night that Kyle doesn't put his dried clothes on my bed. He always does, his shirts and all. And I'd sometimes put them on. Kyle sings the song and play it over and over again until I fall asleep. I don't think I'd get bored of the melody of it. It's also the one night that Kyle's voice keeps all the nightmares away. 

     Colleen officially meets Kyle, she doesn't like him and his "fancy life style that involves a lot of money and women". Kyle whispers to me that she has read too much magazine to judge him for that. I just chuckle.

     Kyle and I visit Lion Fort again. Uncle Mike drives us there early in the morning before his morning shift and he keeps filling us in a story about a cancer kid who turned out to be a brilliant baseball player. Then Uncle Mike talks about football and they don't stop discussing it until we arrive. 

     We walk around the edge of Lion Fort when the sun goes up. We have decided to not walk to the peak. Instead, we go into the woods and follow the loose trails. It smells woody and fresh and we keep walking. The sky is pale orange and I hold Kyle's hand tight. I look at him and I realise I have an anchor now. 

     "Kyle," I ask, "what shoes do ninjas wear?" 

     "No, they walk bare foot. Bedir and I used to be comic expert. I am sure," Kyle says. 

     "No, sneakers." 

     "What? No, they don't -" and he laughs. "Right, sneakers." 

     "Why did the bee get married?" 

     "Because he has to?" Kyle says, "Pana says there is only one bee queen, right? So I guess they basically all marry the same woman -" 

     "No, because he's found his honey," I say. 

     Kyle shakes his head and says "That's a terrible joke." 

     "You know Rulissa's favourite thing to say?" I say, "want to hear a pizza joke? Nah forget it, it's too cheesy." Kyle laughs. 

     "How was she like?" Kyle says. 

     "Very gentle but sometimes she said ridiculous things," I reply. "She liked scallops because they reminded her of our childhood book about mermaids. She liked to swim though she wasn't very good at it. Once she heard that she'd got into the swimming competition finals and she was so happy that she slipped on the floor and hurt herself. So she couldn't complete the competition. That night we had a lot of pizza."

     "Why did she do -" 

     "I don't know," I smile polite at him. "Let's talk about you now." 

     "Ask me a question," Kyle says. 

     "Do you want to have pizza for dinner?" 

     "We had that yesterday," Kyle says. 

     "And we can have a toping of your choice tonight," I say. Kyle chuckles. We walk for a while. 

     "Who is Livy?" I asked, "I always hear her name when your photographer friends are around." 

     "You don't know? Don't you read the news?" 

     "National news? I do. Chinese mainlanders keep investing our property and inflation is unstoppable. What else should I know?" 

     Kyle chuckles. 

     "Livy is a singer - song writer and an actress and I guess a socialite. There's a reality show about her family. She writes songs, and she has a lot of co workers. Bedir said she has the word 'disaster' branded on her forehead. She started singing when she was about nine or something - actually she told me herself that she started when she was eight. But come on, I only knew Pokémon when I was eight." 

     "Oh me too! I love Squirtle," I say. 

     Kyle laughs, "you're so like Pana. I like Dragonite." 

     I smile, "What about her? She seduced you and failed?"

     "Guess again." 

     "You seduced her? You're not very good at seducing people," I say. 

     "Well no," Kyle says, "she humiliated me. Fane Bane loves her though, he likes that she can put me on the spot." 

     "Stay away from her then," I say, "is she your friend?"

     "Not even close. She, like, publicly humiliated me! Like, you know, there was this radio show - she was in Australia and she finished her new acoustic EP - I like that EP. I've even favourite it in my iPod but, like, no." 

     "Go on." 

     "It was a producer's birthday, so there was a party in his house. I was really tired that day, did a lot of rehearsals and got trapped in a sock shop. Pana wanted some new socks. I didn't even want to go to the party but Fane said I had to go. So I did and I went to the garden for a break. Everyone was drinking. Some of them were doing pots. Livy was sitting on her own and she looked like she had a terrible time. I was being nice and I wanted to see if she was okay. I was planning to leave."

     "And she threw herself at you naked?" I ask. 

     "That's creative," Kyle says, "but she is honestly the strangest thing that I've ever seen. She broke up with her boyfriend who she has dated for two months. That boyfriend is a movie director, Hanks. She was sobbing and I was like 'okay, mum said be nice to people who are crying'. I sat there and she kept talking until her manager came. I thought it was over but no, after that night, she contacted Fane and I bumped into her everywhere! She was 29, I was 17! What was she thinking? She kept asking me if she looked beautiful and she never stopped sending me selfies. Bedir literally asked me to phone the police." 

     "Age doesn't matter that much," I say. 

     "Why don't you date a 82 years old? Sure you'll be the loveliest couple in town. It'll be so romantic," he says. 

     "I'll seriously think about that. Thank you for suggesting." 

     Kyle opens his mouth to speak, then he chuckles and shakes his head. 

     "Okay, age shouldn't matter that much. What about being clingy? I think she has stalked me, really. Yes she's talented and she was sweet. And I met Hanks once during red carpet - wish I could remember the film - but he warned me about her and asked me to run as fast as I can. I didn't listen because I was kind of sorry for Livy. I've told mum and mum said 'don't be mean'. Livy phoned me one day and asked if I wanted to write music at her place. I wasn't considering any big collaboration projects, just thought I'd learn from her. When I got there with my guitar, like, she was having a family party. Literally, her aunts and uncles and all the cousins were there. She was talking to everyone about me like we were f*****g married. Jesus, she made me perform in front of her whole family. Her grandmother kissed me!" 

     I laugh out loud because Kyle looks like he's about to pass out. 

     "Stop laughing, Es. For the whole night I could only think about one word and it started with F." 

     "Fabulous?" 

     "Exactly," Kyle replies. 

     "I was going to tell her that Bedir was sick when I finished the song, but I was afraid she'd leave with me. After the party, she had to clean everything on her own. I couldn't leave her alone with that messy place because that would be mean. So I cleaned everything with her and she talked to me. Not just talk," Kyle pauses and looks at me seriously, "it was the mind game." 

     I laugh, he has a funny expression like he is in extreme pain just thinking about it.

     "Jesus, she said 'guess what I'm thinking' every ten minutes. I wanted to reply 'guess what I'm thinking? I want to go home'. And when I was sweeping the floor for her, she went upstairs and changed about five outfits, and asked me 'do I look fat in this?'. When I thought we should have some intelligent conversation, so I asked her if there were any musicians inspired her music and if she liked to read. She said I needed to wait and figure that out on my own. And then she started talking about her ex boyfriends who she believes are the Satan's sons. That every guy she met has somehow manipulated her. She went on talking and she started crying because she was thinking about the fifth boy she kissed who told his mum that she's nasty. Maybe I sent a wrong message - well I hugged her and comforted her. As a friend! And I have spent a lot of time listening to her songs when I was about 13, so I was just, like, like..." 

     "Being nice and friendly." 

     "That, yes, and can we walk slower?" We slow down and walk in a lazy manner when the birds start to make some sound and the cloud becomes pale. "Es, stop smirking. I mean it, it's not a joke." 

     "Sounds like one to me." 

     Kyle smiles, "alright, I'm going to keep going. The next day, she texted me her old photos with her ex boyfriends. And she texted me 24/7. And she said all the songs are about her ex boyfriends. And she told her this romantic wedding that she wants and she told me she wants to be like Rachael Adams and kiss in a hurricane while according to safety guidelines you should stay indoors and secure your house during a hurricane. Gosh, women! I actually know some of her ex boyfriends, and I assure you they are not s**t heartbreakers or mean creepy guys. She came to my house - Fane asked her to, and she wouldn't stop watching stupid movies. And she watched them like they were her bible. She played The Proposal twice and watched it like it's real!"

     I laugh again, "I am really sorry about this even though I don't look like it."

     "Sure you are. I couldn't escape her! I called Hanks and told him the situation, and he only said I was screwed and he wished me good luck. I asked Pana on phone and Pana said the truth would do. So I called Livy and told her that we were friends only and she needed to stop texting me everyday because I was busy. I was working on a track with a co writer that I was learning a lot from. Livy hanged up on me before I said sorry. I tried to call her again and again. That night she sent me a text said 'you liar, you broke my heart in two and it's over now. We're going our separate ways. It's too late and don't even think that I'll ever want you back.' I felt great after receiving the text. Bedir arrived mine about an hour after the text came. We watched a football game and I called Hanks and told him that I was safe. But Hanks said 'Nobody is safe. This is only the beginning'. I didn't take it seriously though Bedir said I should."

     "This is not a horror film," I say. 

     "I'd rather be in The Ring than all these. When she was in Australia radio station, she said - these were the f*****g words 'Kaigan gave me a beautiful world and he broke that in two. But he does that to everyone because he thinks he can. I am just one of his miserable victims. Be careful. Don't let a face fool you,' and she went on saying 'say strong girls. Boys can be jerks. You need to stay classy'. She said she was writing a song calls A Heart in Two. Jesus," Kyle sighs. 

     "I can't wait to hear the song. It'll probably feature her grandmother," I say. 

     "Sure we'll make a laugh about it when it comes out," Kyle says, "I can make a laugh about everything when I'm with you." 

     I lean forward and kiss him before we turn back. 

     "She has a history of humiliating guys, but I don't think she'll go too far," Kyle says when we get home. Mum asks Colleen to not come over these days to give us some space. Kyle is playing his guitar again when I'm watching a documentary about fishing. What a beautiful morning it has been. 

     "You know Es," I hear Kyle's voice over the guitar's strumming, "I, like, expected myself to be really crossed when I talk about what with Livy. But you kept laughing. You made this tragic thing the funniest thing happened to me. It's one of the many things that makes me lov-, you know, like," he pauses, "like, like, adore you." 

     "She just writes a song about you. Not the worst thing that can happen," I say, "think about it, she could have stabbed you with a knife." 

     "Love it when you keep it real." 

     We watch the Disney Peter Pan film. I spend some more days waking up and see only Kyle's face and his greyish eyes. He never says the "L" word, replacing it with words like "adore", "like" and "you know", but I love it. Because we're not ready to fully embrace it, that love is still just a fantastic mystery for me and too much of a commitment for him, that love is important to us, so important that it takes time to nurture and be discovered. I'm learning how to feel so much again while he's learning how to be alive again. 

     The last day we are to say goodbye. We had a farewell dinner with Kyle the night before and Uncle Mike made brilliant food. Colleen made roast chicken and brought it to my house. When we were on my bed, we didn't speak. Just leaning close to each other and slept. Kyle woke before me this morning and packed his things. 

     Jared is waiting for him at the lobby and Kyle stands at the door with everything packed. 

     "So," I say. Kyle shrugs. 

     "So." 

     "This is goodbye then," I say. I hold out my hand, "friends?" 

     "Best friends," Kyle says and he shakes my hand. 

     We look at each other's face for a moment and we laugh at our formality, laugh so hard that my stomach hurts and tears come out of my eyes. 

     "Jared's waiting," I say.

     "I know, your mum is waiting to down there with him," Kyle says. 

     "Right." 

     "Yes. Goodbye." 

     "Goodbye." 

     "I had a wonderful time." 

     "Me too," I say. 

     "I'm going to send you postcards, wherever I am," Kyle says, "I'll phone you during tour and I'll write to you. And you need to charge your phone all the time in case I call in the middle of the night because I have questions about glaciers." 

     "One day you'll learn to use the internet for answers," I say. 

     "But I'll still call to rescue you from Colleen," Kyle says. "You'd like that right?"

     I smile, "you really need to go." 

     "I'm trying."

     "You need to try harder, or you'll miss your flight to Canada for the music award," I say. 

     "I," Kyle moves his hand in mid air and tries very hard to speak, "I do, like, you know. I, like spending with you. I, you know, you and -" 

     "I know," I say. 

     "You do?" 

     "Yes," I say, "because I, you know, you too." 

     Kyle laughs. "Right, so, bye." 

     He turns around, carrying his luggage and walks. I wonder, hope, that he'll give me one last kiss on the forehead, or the cheek. But I hear the lift door opens and I close my door. So this is being vulnerable. I am scattered and Kyle pulls me back together. He knows my secrets and still takes in my scars. And I let him go. We spent the holiday discovering the chances of being happier people. We managed it. Nobody knows the role Kyle plays in my life and suppose letting go is acceptable. For now it is anyway. And this is real, that he's been here, stayed with me and made me smile. When I am to see him again, I'd be ready for how both of us changed. 

     But at the moment, as I wipe the tears that I shed for him, the only thing that matters is that for a time, Kyle will remember as I always will, that both of us fell for each other as though gravity never existed, and that's enough for now.