July, When He Is My Friend

It's been a year, both Kyle and Esther are sober from their game of love. They wonder if they've taken the game too far. Truth hurts, yet it's too late to lie now.

July, When He Is My Friend

It's been a year. Things are falling apart and getting worse, so I always act like they are getting better. I am a wounded constant. They say some wounds are incurable while some are totally fatal with time adding salts on the surface. And time doesn't heal anything, it helps expanding it inward. The thought of Rulissa is getting fierce for some reason, my flat is like haunted house.

     Summer rain is tapping on the window, it sounds like some old man's murmuring. It reminds me of Kyle, my friend, sitting here with me eating pancakes. Or did that really happen? I cannot stop doubting the reality of my past. I shake my thoughts away and re-read the paragraph that I am trying to read for the third time. 

     Colleen turns on the television, some award show is on, and there Kyle is, in a dark blue suit. He gazes lively into the camera, waving and winking. The presenters says something but I only look at the way Kyle winks and his cocky smile. He smoothens his shirt. I am right to doubt the reality of that past. 

     "Esther dear, do you want me to switch the channel?" Comes Colleen's voice from the other end of the couch. I glances at her concerned face. 

     "Why?" 

     "Your ex boyfriend is there." 

     "He's my friend, can't you see how happy I am for him?" 

     "That doesn't look like a happy face to me," Colleen says in a quiet voice. 

     "How should a happy face look according to you then?" I say, "sorry, I mean, it's been a tough year for him. He deserves every prize."

     Kyle fixes his black tie on the screen. I mailed him that during Christmas. Both of our birthdays are in August. Last year, Kyle mailed me a coffee mug. I broke it, accidentally. Kyle said it was okay. It wasn't.

     He became too busier to talk last year when summer arrived, and then he became even busier with the world tour. I never ask him about tour dates or what city he is in (most of the time he doesn't know). When I call, he's always on the line, and what more can I ask? We talked about random things on phone every night, and then every other night, and then once every week and so on. How sad that sounds. Kyle writes a lot though, I receive his letters and postcards all the time from around the globe. Almost six letters a week. He can write more than he can speak. Piles of papers fill a shoe box in my room under my bed, all about little things that happen in his life, about running out of toilet papers or Pana's exams or selling his guitars for charities.

     The last time he called, Kyle was in Italy and he called me an hour before dawn. 

     "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called. I'm sorry, Es," he was panting. "Go back to sleep, I didn't mean to - Es, I'm trying not to -" 

     "I'm awake anyway," I lied, "is something wrong?" 

     "I want to go home. I've asked Fane if I could go home for one night and he said no. He rejected everything I want and I just want to go home. I want to quit all these. I don't ask for these." 

     "I know," I said, "I want to help you, but I really don't know how. I am sorry."

     And then he started sobbing and his words were slurred. He said he missed his family and that people seemed to drift away from him. He said he couldn't go anywhere and he didn't have a life anymore. He said he didn't want to be alone and he hated the hotel room. I was on phone with him until he got back to his hotel room. I didn't hang up even though I heard him snoring. I wish he'd say he misses me too, I hope he does.

     "Is that his girlfriend?" Colleen says to me with a earnest face, "why does he have a girlfriend?" 

     "Because he wants to?" I say. Kyle is kissing a girl on the flat screen. "Her name is Raya. She's very pretty." I smile at Colleen and flips the page of the Oliver Twist in my hand. Now I know how smiling can ache. 

     "I think I've seen her somewhere," Colleen says, scowling at the TV. 

     "Of course you did, that's Raya McKelly. She paints. She hosts a kid show," I reply. "Mum has seen her in France, she's talked about it last time."

     "A kid show - oh Arttraction! She teaches kids to make things and draw, right? She's having a gallery here soon - that's what your uncle told me when he drove me to school, said his patient wouldn't stop talking about it. Kids in art class love the show. How old is she? Nineteen?" 

     "Eighteen," I reply. It's disheartening to remember that I am eighteen too. "She's an artist. Kyle likes her - loves her. He should, she's lovely." 

     "How do you know?" 

     "Kyle talked about her, in his letters. He's quite fond of her," I say. "They've been together for a while now. And please don't tell people in your church about that. And don't give me that concern look, it was just a fling between us. We're in good terms. I like being his friends, it's less complicated. " It is a lie. 

     I go to the kitchen and pour myself a cup of hot water to get away from the television. 

     "Well you're right. I don't like him anyway," Colleen says, "just some rich boy in fancy trousers. He's probably brainless and lazy."

     "Sure he is," I say in a sick voice, "He can date whoever he wants." 

     "What with the LSD?" I hear Colleen scream. I turn around and she is holding her phone, scrolling down the screen. "It's written here that he was taking drugs! Was he? Gosh, your mum said he was alright." 

     "He is alright," I say loudly, "what you read is bullshit. Those people write what they want to write. Are you seriously going to read that?" I say, throwing Oliver Twist on the table. 

     "It is said here that he has a private jet! How big is he really?" Colleen screeches, "the other day Mike said that boy left him some autographs. He sold them lately and bought himself a new frying pan."

     "Good for him," I say and turn around. I look out of the window in the kitchen. I look miserable, the kind that people can see but won't address. 

     A lot happened this year. Johnny died. There was a gun shooting incident in Zeerust. Kyle said - wrote that - Johnny kept going back into the mall where the shooting happened. He grabbed many kids and brought them out. He was shielding a paralysed when the bullet got him. Through his chest. He died a hero. Kyle didn't talk about it on phone with me. I've tried, he changed the subjects all the time. 

     "I'll go to the funeral with you," I say. 

     "You don't know him." 

     "But I know you and I want to be with you," I say, "as a friend. Give you support." 

     "I don't want people to see us together. Don't want to explain things to Raya." 

     "But I just -" 

     "Drop this, yeah?"

     "Kyle..." 

     "I don't want to talk about it," Kyle says, "don't think we have to talk about everything just because we spent two weeks together." 

     I hanged up on that and he didn't call back. The next evening someone delivered some flowers to my flat. There was a card and inside the words were "I'm sorry. Had a bad day. Call me back please. K". So I did and we talked about Game of Throne for a while. He attended the funeral and he Skyped me for two minutes that evening, said he wanted to spend some time with me. We faced each other but we barely spoke. It was as though both of us were too lazy to say anything. The haunting silence ended when Kyle said Fane Bane called. He said he'd call me soon, but he didn't until one month later. 

     And there was the LSD thing. Someone took photos of him getting high in Paris, he was breaking tables and moving his arms like he was doing some fancy dance. Fane Bane told a different story, that Kyle had a cold that day and he took some Sambucol and drank something strong. Therefore he appeared to look high. Fane Bane needed to please the young audience's parents. 

     The morning the story came out, Kyle called me. He only asked how I was doing, and said he had something funny to tell me. He said Bedir found a girl and Kyle made many jokes about it. I asked about the LSD thing and he said Marco was looking for him and he had to hang up. He did without letting me say anything. 

     "The Incredible Lonely" came out, it is played on radio in every country now. The song brings him many success. Everyone likes it, loves it, worships it. It's on Billboard. There is a music video with high production. His new record is named after it. Kyle sings it on many live shows, cancer fund raising, somebody's wedding, awards and so on. The song is covered by many other musicians. I stop listening to it. It feels polluted. He has a mini plane with the name KAIGAN on it. Kyle never plays me any song now. 

     Livy indeed came up with a song about Kyle. The finalised name of the song is That Liar Fooled Me. She has made a lot of direct, untrue reference about Kyle with the lyrics, singing about him like he is an inhuman b*****d. The song is now a world hit and Kyle is framed a ladies man. Livy talks about the inspiration of the song in every interview. Well, it's her side of Kyle, never mine. Kyle texted me, said he was fine, that "even though i don't agree with the song, music is a format that allows u to express your experience, so i'm fine with it. anyway, it was raining so hard yesterday that water leaked in my kitchen. lol. fane wants me to walk an underwear fashion show, but i don't want to. i want to do some small gig." He has called me in the middle of the night once, asked me one question only. 

     "You don't believe Livy's song, do you? Say no please."

     "Of course no," I replied drowsily, "you're an honest, good person." 

     "I, like, thanks. I need to go," Kyle said, "close your eyes and sleep. Go on." 

     "I miss -" 

     "Goodnight." He hanged up. It turned out the night Kyle called was Livy's first live performance of the song in a music award. Livy sang on stage with photos of Kaigan, with a black cross over his face, being sprayed all over the venue. There was even a dancer wearing a huge Kaigan modelled costume, running around the audience seats. In the big screen, Kyle's face is shown. After she sang the song, she publicly thanked Kaigan for being a "man w***e so I can make another million dollars" and people just cheered and clapped. I called Kyle after reading the news, and all did was keep asking if I wanted a Kim Possible mug. 

     We are friends, but solitary kind of friends, as though there aren't just miles that distance us. Stories about me still come out, there's one about me being pregnant. Sometimes I notice people follow me around, and I can't stop imagining them to be Barry. When little things trigger the nightmares of Barry, I'd have to hide in my room, lie on the bed and look at the ceiling, and I'd pretend Kyle is here, and that we are still in love. I need to wait until the panic leaves. 

     I hear Kyle being interviewed from the television. I face it with my back but I still hear his distinct voice. He says he'd like to thank his family and fans for their support. What about me?

     Water burns my lips. I nearly drop the glass. My thoughts are tangled wild beast that I can't control. I stare at the silvery sink, look at the vague reflection of myself. I just want to feel okay, is it too much to ask?

     "You know," Colleen says sweetly behind me, "It's okay to break up with a fancy boy. He isn't good looking, I mean, look at the nose. His girlfriend is pretty and very talented and rich, Esther dear, but you're great. I know about young love, you'd think it's life and death, but when you're my age, you'll know better." 

     "Sure." 

     Colleen watches the television for a while and I watch myself from the window reflection. Sometime later, Colleen receives Uncle Mike's text. They're going to the pub with Steve and some old school friends tonight. Colleen hugs me tight as she always does. 

     "Go to bed before eleven and when your mother call, tell her we all miss her so much," Colleen says as she grabs her coat. She pats the top of my head and I hate it. "And Esther, what have I said about tidying the flat? Look at here, you put your stuff everywhere and..." She goes on blaring about cleaning the flat for a while before Uncle Mike calls her and asks her to hurry. 

     Then I call mum, who is in France. I assure her that things are great here and I tell about the communication and media courses that I will be taking in the foundation courses in University of Greenyard in September. 

     "Don't worry I have things sorted," I say. "Colleen and everyone sends their love and mum, seriously, I am eighteen. Can you ask Colleen to stop dropping by every single night? What if I have guest?" 

     "What guest would you have?" 

     "What if I manage to make friends during my courses?"

     "Then you'll tell her yourself," mum says. 

     "Mum, please. I can't do this," I say, "she's trying to get involved with every bit of my life." 

     "Which suppose is a good thing since I'm not around," mum says. 

     "I don't need a babysitter," I say, "besides, I can, and will call Uncle Mike or super Steve if I need help with anything." 

     "Do it for -"

     "Rulissa's sake," I interrupt, "you need to let me live a life." 

     "I am not stopping you," mum says. "And sweetheart, I have a question that, er, Esther. You know that I've always liked being in France, and er, I'm thinking about staying here for a longer time." 

     "Sure, I can manage. Come back two more weeks later then," I say. 

     "I don't means two more weeks. I've always wanted to live in France, but I wanted you to receive education in the UK and now you've all grown up. With Colleen being around, I -" 

     "You want to move to France?"

     "Well, er, I like the lifestyle here," Mum says, "but I know it's not fair -" 

     "Yes, it's not fair and," I say, "I can't - you're just going to leave me here with Colleen and you wander off to the world!" 

     "You can come during the holidays, if you want." 

     "But I don't want to leave," I say, "What about my friends - I mean Steve and Uncle Mike?" 

     "I know, but I reckon I just need to stop living for other people -" 

     "You mean me," I say. 

     "I mean everyone," mum says. "I've told you so many times that your dad is still here for you. If only you would agree to meet him. And trust me, he's a way better parent than I'll ever be. He's a good person. Always has been."

     "We'll talk about this later, yeah?" I say. "I need to go. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine on my own." 

     "You said the exact same thing when I left last year," mum says. 

     "I've grown up," I say and we hang up. 

     I received my A Level result, and it wasn't good enough to be offered university places. I graduated but am still working in the River Hotel. Have a high position though. 

     The flat is empty again. The colour of the yellow wallpaper seems to be fading. The first night of summer is quiet whereas the streets are crowded with students who are enjoying the time of their life and I'm imprisoning myself here. I don't want to be the girl who always needs someone to rescue her, but I am now. 

     Someone shouts the name Kaigan from the television. The Incredible Lonely beats That Liar Fooled Me and gets the Best Single. Kyle rises from his seat. Raya, the girl with vintage hair, kisses him and cheers. Kyle hugs many people around him. Livy snorts. Kyle walks onto the stage and says something. Soon he holds the microphone and the melody of The Incredible Lonely is playing. 

     I can't decide I hate Kyle more or the song. It doesn't belong to anyone sitting in the audience seat, nor does it belong to anyone watching this stupid show. There was one night the song belonged to me. He played it just for me. 

     There was this one time when Kyle was so geographically close to me. This year March, he has a concert in Greenyard during the UK tour. He has mailed me the ticket. I brought a nice dress, curled my hair. And I couldn't get out of the door. Next day, I read the news and knew that Kyle didn't perform The Incredible Lonely. He did a vocal cover of Wild World instead. Kyle never asked where I was that night, only texted me that he had a nice time. I never met him and I threw the dress away. And I thought I could handle changes. 

     Pulling open the drawer in my room, I take out a bottle of Absolut. Sometimes I wonder if drinking counts as suicide. I always drink when Colleen and mum are away, and then I'd put all the clothes into the washing machine and pretend I haven't been drinking. Even I don't want to know how fucked up I've become. Holding the bottle always reminds me of sitting in the staff restroom with Kyle. And I'd remember drinking with Rulissa, getting a taste of real life with a giant price. I never recall the past without a shudder of loathing. The alcohol makes me hate myself less, almost help me to crown myself as a saint. If I pass out with the drinks, I won't have nightmares of hearing Barry's voice.  

     I think of Raya. Kyle met her in her art gallery. They both like art, music and painting, while I like...wasting my life. Kyle says he can "connect to her", that he wants to be "serious with her". They will be coming to Greenyard a week later, I'd have to meet them. I won't have a choice. I feel sore. Good, the vodka is working. I didn't get why people drink to get drunk in the past, now I do. In the mere of daze, drinks take you away to a place where sadness and broken heart are just fictional ideas. I like that s**t. And the last thing I remember is, I don't just want to be Kyle's friend, and it hurts. 

*

Somebody rings the damn bell. I wake with a start, clutching my cushion. It's probably the neighbour wanting to borrow butter, or jam. I drag myself up from the couch, brush my teeth to wash away the vodka stink and change into something new. I throw the empty vodka bottle into the bin. The bell has not stopped ringing. I drink two glasses of water and still feel thirsty. It's like somebody has hit my head with a hammer. 

     "I said I am coming!" I bellow. Walking seems to be an impossible mission. I open the door. A person with a beanie is still pressing the door bell. When he stops, he takes off the sunglasses. Suppose I've drunk too much last night, because this person resembles Kyle. 

     "Where's the fun Esther?" He asks. Heavy black bags are visible below those eyes. He has a scruffy look that doesn't suit him, as though life has been abusing him. I rub my eyes. 

     "How about you say 'It's lovely to see you, Kyle.'?" 

     He opens his arms and steps forward, giving me a tight embrace. It takes a moment for me to wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his neck. It is as though we've said goodbye yesterday, but that's the thing about time and people. Time doesn't care, it goes on like a river won't stop or slow down for a rock. Can Kyle hear the beating of my heart? So vivid that I'm afraid it might slit and stop any time now. When I pull back, I want him to kiss me, but I am too sober to ask him to do that. If only I am drunk.

     We pull back anyway and Kyle smiles at me. I don't need to know why he is here or when he'll be leaving or what happened with Johnny and LSD or who Raya is. I want to talk about Disney with him. I want to pick a horror film with him. 

     "You want to come inside? I've brought a lot of DVDs. We can watch Silent Hill too - I've wanted to watch that but I was too scared to watch it on my own. And I've got the sequel. I bought them in case you ever want to come around, and now you're here," I say quickly, "and we can make something to eat. No onion. Are you hungry? I am! Wait, I bought ice cream yesterday morning. Grocery shopping. There is wasabi flavour ice cream. Weird, isn't it? I didn't buy it obviously, but I can go get it if you want. I bought chocolate and skittles. Just in case." 

     "Yeah," Kyle says. 

     There is luggage behind him, and he brings it into my flat. I watch him marvelling mum's new paintings. She has replaced the old ones. There is a sketch pinned on the fridge, mum drew it. I never look at it. Kyle and I were in the kitchen in that sketch. 

     I don't want to scare him with my awkward moves, so I observe him. His hair is longer now, he's wearing torn jeans and a red jacket. He has asked me to keep the jacket last time, I said no. I regret saying that. I want to tell him that Uncle Mike and Steve miss him too. I want to tell him about the foundation courses I am enrolling. Kyle looks at everything in the house but me, and he smiles at the photo frames on the cupboard. 

     "Going to steal any this time?" I say, standing in front of the kitchen table. Kyle seems taller. 

     Kyle laughs, "I didn't make such a bad impression, did I?" 

     I chuckle, "you're staying here?" 

     "I'll stay if it's okay with your mum and you," Kyle says. 

     "No calling in advance?" It's alright. This place always welcomes you, as long as you don't throw your clothes everywhere and you do your own laundry," I turn around. My face is burning red. 

     "I always did my own laundry." 

     "But you dumped all of them on my bed," I remind him. I hear him laugh, so I laugh too. 

     "I'll stay for one week, if I may, and I'll just go back to that house I stayed last time. I bought it from my friend. They're having a divorce. He was cheating on her, and he found out that she was cheating on him as well. Married for night months," Kyle says, "This is a new carpet?" 

     I nod. "Bohemian."

     "Looks nice. Raya and Marco are coming next week. I've told you before that Raya is having an exhibition here. Did you see the advertisement in the train station? I'm so proud of her. You'll like Marco, he's a casual lad. I just thought I could spend some time with you before their arrival. Jared and the security unit will come with Raya and Marco, and this week, I'm planning to not leave the flat at all. Is that alright with you?" 

     "Yeah," I smile at him. 

     Kyle examines mum's painting, and he says in a low voice, "I'm so glad I'm here." 

     "You don't look like it." 

     "Because I'm tired," Kyle says softly, "But I am happy. I am. After spending so much time alone - I mean, yeah, I was with Raya the whole time, but you know, I'm very happy to see you. Your mum is still in France?" 

     "She'll be happy to have you here. I'll just have to talk to Colleen."

     "She'll scream and freak out," Kyle says. 

     "I've expected that coming," I say as Kyle sits on around the table, "there's this thing about her, she comes more often now. She was shocked about how I managed to hide you in my flat without her knowing, and now she's doing everything she can to prevent that from happening again." 

     "Guess you just have to tell her," Kyle says. 

     "I know. One day, she needs to know that I'm not her daughter," I mumble, "mum called me last night." 

     "How's she?" 

     "Very contented. She wants to move to France. For long term," I say, "I think I am the reason that's stopping her all these years." 

     "Then you let go and you move to London somewhere near my place," Kyle says, looking at me, "you can apply a school there and I'd get to see you. I can help you find a flat and introduce you to some good friends. I'll take care of you."

     I chuckle. "Whatever." 

     "I mean that." 

     "You don't have to go that far for a friend," I say. 

     "I -" Kyle pauses, "because I'm a good friend and I want to?" 

     "Want to make something to eat?" I say. He nods. 

     "I've bought some DVDs too. We can watch them later. I bought the whole series of The Land Before Time, Bedir and I liked them a lot when we were kids. Now Bedir and I don't get to speak that much, it's like when he calls, I don't know what to say and I simply don't want him to, like, think I'm s**t, which I am. I can't hang out with him in the streets because I'd need security unit around us when we do and it makes him very uncomfortable. He said people in his university are annoying to an extreme and he doesn't want to blame it on me though he should. I just..." Kyle takes off his beanie, "you will like it, the films I mean. I've got Up and How to Train Your Dragon and, I think, Turbo and Epic. I've looked at the trailers on the plane. And got Hotel Transylvania, it isn't a horror. Let me see," Kyle unzips his luggage, "it'll be like, you know, the old time." 

     We are making red pepper and avocado with farfella. I call mum when Kyle is chopping the red pepper. I catch him glance at me. Mum is shocked at first but I put Kyle on phone and she's generally glad that "someone other than Colleen is spending time with you". 

     "So you'll call her and her to stop coming around?" I say. 

     "Of course, and, er, I'm sorry about what we've said yesterday."

     "It's fine, you really like France, don't you?" 

     "It's quite a relaxing place to write," mum says, "anyway, do you remember some time before I've told you about safe sex -" 

     "Yes, gosh," I whisper heatedly in a corner away from Kyle, "He's got a girlfriend." 

     "Okay," mum whispers back for some reason, "then, I'll leave you to that."

     We hang up and I go to the bathroom. I try to tie up my hair, find a bowtie hairclip even. But I shove it back into the drawer. There is no point doing this.

     "Is everything okay?" Kyle says when I come out. 

     "Yeah, she said something silly," I say. "How's your mum?" 

     "She's doing great," Kyle says, "the guy she met, Josh, makes her laugh so much more now. She looks healthy. With red cheeks and a great smile. And my dad is still with Hailey. They work for the community now. Seem quite happy. I spend a weekend there some time ago. Pana was quite angry that I didn't get home for her birthday, I promised. I've missed that two years in a row. She wouldn't talk to me. Bedir showed the photo of the girl he likes, and she looks nice."

     I wait for him to ask about me as I boil the farfalle.

     "I thought you were in some award show last night," I say, "Colleen watched the television and I saw you there." 

     "I was. I left immediately after the award and caught the 4 a.m train and got here in the morning. I didn't plan to come earlier, but when The Incredible Lonely got the Best Singer, I just," Kyle doesn't look at me as he skins the avocado, "thought of you. Strange, isn't it? And I wanted to see you so ... and I didn't have much to do this week, I needed to see my road manager - for the UK tour in October, but that can wait." 

     He goes on talking about tour in France and bumped into a famous designer. He says he loves fashion now. He says something about swimming in Mexico, says something about missing sunny places. He talks about missing his friends from school and that when he calls them, they're not interested in talking about their lives. He complains that he was put on a prank show, that he almost lost it because they were taunting him about his mum and dad's divorce. He says he couldn't react when the show presenters came out. Kyle says he wants to put on judicial actions against the photographers. 

     "I've already played nice. I've asked them to give me some time and space through social media, and I've mentioned that in all kinds of interview. I've been very polite," He says when we are eating, "Look, I was in a music festival in Yorkshire. There were cameras waiting right outside the toilet. Like you can't wait when you know someone is waiting outside with a camera, that's biology." 

     "What kind of biology is that?" 

     "I don't know, you're supposed to be the one with brain," Kyle says. 

     I laugh, "Where did you -" 

     "An empty van with a paper bag. I pulled all the curtains and - come on, we're eating. We're talking about something else. I'm thinking about asking for help from the high court, though Fane asks me wait. I have this anxiety of being followed by paps, Marco said I should have got used to them by now. But, like, it's like a phobia for me, to know that someone taking photos of me and...yeah." 

     Kyle then becomes grumpy and he talks about the new contestants in Best Singer. 

     "By the way, do you know that the age limit is limited to 13 years old this year? It's insane! You can't have a 13 years old competing against some 20 or 25 years old. I don't think they have any idea how much pressure you're dealing with once you're on the show. It's like the kids are throwing their lives away while they can play sport or party with their friends. I was 15 and I've broken down for so many times during the show that I dared not to tell my mum and dad. 13 years old, their voice isn't mature musically and they'll have to take so much criticisms about the way they carry themselves and their performance. Like, I don't want them to be forced to grow up. Like I did." 

     Kyle stirs the red pepper in his bowl, and he doesn't look up. 

     "And like, I, like, agreed to be the tutor for the show because Fane said he'd give me a holiday if I did. When I met those kids, some of them don't even like music. When I auditioned, yes I was after something else too. But, like, I remember asking this kid what he wanted in the future. He said money. Another said it's her mum's wish. That's really fucked up. I saw some of them broke down completely after the first live show. Fane took part in this, I know why he did." 

     "Why?"

     "I got this sense that," Kyle opens the fridge and takes out a bottle of coke, "that he doesn't want me anymore. From working with me, like, he knows that he needs to get someone younger to control. I am growing up and discovering things that I like to sing, I am, how should I put it - I am trying to go against his decisions now. He doesn't care about the kids or their future. He sees the current market and the market is getting younger and younger - both the audience and the performers, and it's not exactly healthy. Fane is selling brands, and he doesn't care as long as everyone makes a million dollars. And musically, when I tutored those kids, they can't grasp the intense emotions. They only sing the song as an object. They're only 13, they don't have that much life experiences to - to - I don't know. I didn't care to find out."

     I nod and Kyle pushes his coke towards me. I drink it and we finish the food. I wait for him to talk about me, but Kyle is talking about visiting hospital the other day as part of a charity series he enjoyed taking part in. He really wants to join an India charity project though Fane says no. Kyle says he met some cancer patient, that they are "the most beautiful" girls he's ever met. And I remember Kyle has never once called me beautiful. He goes on talking about a big fight he had with Fane, that he wants to take a break from all these. 

     "I didn't sign up for a job that is 24/7, you know," Kyle says. I offer help with cleaning the dishes, though Kyle says no. He talks about working with a producer calls Randy, someone he admires. I study his back, and feel like I am part of his background only. Nothing more. 

     "Kyle?" 

     He turns and looks at me as drying the bowl. 

     "Yeah?" 

     "It's lovely to see you," I say. 

*

     "And Marco kept laughing at her, you should have seen Raya's face. With all the paint on her face and she was glaring at him. I tried not to laugh, but Marco gives the best pranks, and this one was no exception. He even stepped on her purse and she was so angry," Kyle says, "it's her birthday soon. Join us for dinner?" 

     "Maybe." I say and take a sip the lemonade. Kyle has changed into something comfy instead of tight trousers. He grins at me for no reason, and I like that. We sit in silent for a while and I turn on the radio, switch it to the classical music channel. 

     "I've been meaning to visit you that night I was here during tour," he says. Please don't talk about it.

     "I'm sorry I didn't go there," I say, "I wasn't feeling too well that night." I don't look at him because if I do, he'd know I am lying. Maybe he already does. 

     "It's fine," Kyle says slowly, it's strange to hear his voice for real, "after the concert, I have an after part and an early flight so I couldn't come over to see you - okay, I'm lying. It's, well, like, not because of that, like, I wasn't feeling too well that night after the show too. Headache, I thought I was having fever. Fever, yeah. But I'll request to stop here again next time so you can come. That would be, like, great. I would, like, love to see you there - you know what? Why don't I play for you here? I can ask Steve for a guitar, or I can buy one later, and I can - I should have brought mine but Raya asked me to travel lightly - yeah, I can play it for you in person later."

     I smile at him and we fall into silence again. Wish we'd have things to say. Actually we do, I'm just too cowardly to ask and too scared for the answers. Kyle is studying mum's latest painting - she mailed it to me from Marseille. It's a painting of slender birches in autumn. The leaves are golden and red, like flames, and the arched trunks are white and old and weathered. There is a rusty tattered bike lying flat on the stone platform. I study the things that we have lost. Well, things. Everything. Muted burdens are marked all over Kyle's face, can he see that when he looks at the mirror?

     "Is that a new lamp?" Kyle asks.

     "Yeah, mum bought it when it was on sale," I answer. A while later, Kyle tickles my foot with his toes as we're sitting on the carpet in front of the tea table. I laugh, kicking while trying not to spill the lemonade. 

     "Stop it!" 

     Instead of ticking me with his toes, he grabs my feet and fingers are stroking them. I shriek and end up hitting his head with one hand and pours the lemonade over his hair. 

     "That's gross," Kyle says, shaking his head. "I'm all sticky." 

     "Stop shaking your head, you're making the carpet sticky," I push him away from the carpet. He picks up his lemonade and slashes it on my shirt. 

     "Fair and square," Kyle says, bumbling my hair with his hand. 

     "I'm going to bath," I go into my room and fetch some new clothes, "and clean everything. Lemonade attracts bugs and I hate bugs." 

     "You said you loved bugs." 

     "Because we were watching A Bug's Life and you wouldn't stop chanting about bugs," I say.

     "Glad you remember that," Kyle says and I close the bathroom door. And I wonder if it's a test to see if I still remember us. I shower quickly and wash my hair. Time passes. Love dies. Things change. I am stupefied in this robbery. Who robbed me? What robbed us? I stand in front of the mirror and mourn for courage, courage that makes me kiss him and look at him without aching. I look grave. Our love has limits and now we're friends, and later, maybe, strangers. And then nothing. Did we force our love to commit suicide?

     I splash water on my face and breathe in the scent of the towel for a moment. When I've decided to face Kyle again, I find him sleeping on the couch. Long time travelling, I suppose. The afternoon light highlights his features. I sit down. Trembling, I trace along the stubbles that I've never seen on him before. He used to shave every morning when he lived here. Always woke up earlier than I do. When he shaved in the bathroom in his boxers and tee, I'd hug him from behind and he'd say "you look like a mountain lion" than "good morning", and that was how he made everything better for the rest of the day. 

     I try not to imagine his girlfriend doing what I did. I am not a hateful person, and there's only Barry that I really hate. But whenever I think of Raya and her pretty face, I can't stop building up terrible thoughts, and I didn't like myself this way. And I can't stop either, I'm like a passenger bound to a plane crashing into the sea of jealousy. 

     I drop my head to the same level as his. He and I. Still and quiet. I look at his closed lids, thinking if there's an afterlife, Kyle must be some handsome, wise bluebird and I'd be a sparrow that doesn't dare to fly. 

*

I wake up in my room, and it's dark outside the window. Kyle is in the kitchen, in new clothes and wet hair. I smell chicken soup and walk into the bright room. My head still hurts from the hangover. 

     "Hello," I say. Kyle smiles. I pour myself some water and drink the whole glass. 

     "Hi," Kyle says, "I've found some can soup on the cupboard. And Colleen and your uncle called. I answered the phone and told them that things are okay. They are, right?" 

     "Yeah," I say. I glance at the clock, "it's almost eleven now. I've been sleeping for hours." 

     "I've dried your hair before bringing you to your room," Kyle put the soup and bread in front of me, "I was surprised you didn't get up." 

     "I was tired," I say. 

     "Sure you are." 

     Kyle is eyeing at me when I eat. It comes to a point that I can't tolerate it. 

     "What's wrong?" I frown at him. 

     "Nothing," his expression says otherwise. 

     "I thought we've got past the stage of hiding things from each other," I lie and eat. 

     Kyle plays with his spoon for a while and says, "I forgot to ask Marco to bring my power bank, that's all." 

     "Kyle?" 

     He stirs the soup and picks up some chicken inside. And he throws it back, "Just curious - you know, I'm not very good at hiding things when I'm with you, like - why are there vodka in your room? Did you invite some other guys up here and -"

     "You opened my drawer? What - why are you talking like I'm a s**t or something? What happened with Barry doesn't mean I sleep with everyone." 

     "I'm not saying that. I came out -" 

     "So it's always been on your mind and it came out now. What a perfect timing," I say it louder than necessary. 

     I detest the word "s**t". Barry's drummer called me "s****y" when I left the house. Since I was spotted with Kyle, people of the internet always describe me with these insults and it's difficult to stop believing them. There're always times but I am tempted to look myself up. When I see these words, my thoughts go back to Barry's hands and I would hide in my room for the rest of the day. Talking to Kyle on phone or Skype used to make it stop. 

     But then, we barely talk now and those insults seem to be more than just words and names. Funny how words can be blades and bullets, cutting into flesh and make scars bleed. Funnier how people actually would decide to hurt a stranger, thinking the harm will go away just because they do it behind a screen. I see one line like that, and I won't be able to function for the whole day, and that line will keep playing and replaying in my head nonstop like an awful song. And the problem is, I never just see one comment like that. It's always twenty at a time. 

     Before I received my A Levels, my principle has requested to see me in his office one afternoon. He said the school email box has received more than 100 emails from the same accounts for the past two months. He asked me, or anyone I know, could do something about it. I told him no. He forwarded me those emails and I asked him to just click delete if there are any more trash emails. "I hope the emails will stop with my graduation. I am sorry to disturb you or the school," I said. I checked and the emails were dead threats. I broke down and cried back home because all of them suggested me ways to kill myself and how my suicide would make the world a better place. People avoided me at school as though I carried an infectious disease. 

     I look at Kyle now and would give anything to have the courage to tell him what with the emails. I want to hear his comfort. 

     "I didn't mean to say that. You know I didn't mean a lot of other things to happen," Kyle says. He'd feel guilty if he knows about the emails, and I want at least one of us to be happy. I want Kyle to be the happy one. I pick my bowl and stand up, Kyle grabs my hand. I wish he'd look at me instead of the wall or the table or the fork. 

     "I'm sorry, I am," he whispers, "it wasn't your fault, I've been thinking about it. You've just made a wrong choice or trusting that guy, and I am a...I'm a selfish ex boyfriend. I don't like the thought of you being with someone else." 

     "I know. I am a thoughtless ex girlfriend." 

     "I keep thinking about going to the police. I... never mind. Sometimes I think about Pana... like, you know, that could happen to her too...that gives me headache."

     "Yeah," I mumble. I sit down. "I'm sorry." 

     "Why should you be?" 

     Kyle gazes at me with those fair and weary eyes. A slower time passes, and those eyes, as though they're telling me that Kyle still remembers our cosy moments in each other's arms and there's still a "we' and our love is still blossoming like poppies in July, have my barred heart screaming and roaring and crumbling in immense pain. 

     "I should because I keep thinking that," I pause, "I should have come to see you when you were in Greenyard during your concert I should have at least try to meet you before or after...and I didn't." 

     "You weren't feeling well," Kyle says calmly. 

     "No, I," I nod, "Yeah. Stomach ache. And I was feverish. And tired." 

     Kyle smiles, and there, he knows I am lying. His thumb is gently rubbing the back of my hand. We don't speak nor eat, just staring at the small things around the table. I look past Kyle, the sky is utterly dark outside, and the room is still and doleful, so quiet that I can only hear the clock ticking. Stop ticking. Stop hurrying us. 

     "I'll always protect you, I won't let this happen again." Kyle says in a low, murmuring voice. Hearing this reminds me of watching my ceiling with him, reminds me of countless lights and the dead dreams. Suddenly, these are distanced. 

     "I promise," Kyle says, "and if anything like this happens again, you injure him. I've been meaning to tell you this for a while. It comes out now." 

     I can tell him that I am capable of protecting myself. I don't. I like feeling loved - romantically, and not just by anyone. I like feeling loved by the boy sitting across me, even just for one night. I nod and kiss his cheek. I glance at his hand over mine. It is only half day he has arrived, and he has me in ruin. 

     "Those drinks are mine, and no guys apart come here," I reply. "Well, Colleen is everywhere so they need to be ninjas to get in."

     Kyle chuckles and I feel like I am in a room interviewing this Kaigan star, because he's just playing dump with me all along. 

     "Did your mum ever ask you to not play with your food?" Kyle says, drinking up his soup. 

     "This soup is awful," I groan. 

     "Finish it. I've got a pot full of it on the stove." 

     We ate and he doesn't let go of my hand. Sometimes he beams at me. 

     "If you ever see Barry again, kick his balls," Kyle says and that is the finality of our conversation. The soup, extremely salty and oily, is finished by midnight. We finish washing the plates and pots by 1:36 a.m. 

     "Want to go out?" Kyle asks, "I miss here and I like going out at late night. Like an adventure and I won't be seen." 

     "It's so late...yeah, I'd love to go." 

     "I can call a taxi now," Kyle says, "and you can go change into a dress or something." 

     "I don't have dress," I say. 

     "Like...okay," Kyle takes out his phone. 

     In my room, I stare at the sleeveless red floral dress on the bed. I bought it a long time ago because Colleen insisted shopping with me. I put it on, and put it off. Eventually I turn away the mirror and put it back on. It's a bit tight. I go out, Kyle stands near the front door in the yellow pool of light. He is wearing a pair of shorts and a white button down shirt, hands in his pockets. He has nice hair, nice eyes, nice everything. 

     "Let's go," is all his says. I wish I look pretty like the people around him. I wish I look glamorous; like a swan with a silvery crown. But for real, I am just a frog in a dress. Kyle must agree with that, he has seen too many swans to like a frog. 

     Kyle takes out mum's heels from the shoe cupboard, and hands them to me, "Try these?" I put them on. I get in a taxi. The driver is a grumpy man. Kyle's song comes out from the radio. The city becomes farther and farther away. I put my hair on a side, watching streetlamps fly by. 

     "Would you want me to put on a tie?" Kyle asks. 

     "You don't have a tie." 

     "I do tonight, Pana gave me this," Kyle says. He takes out a green striped tie from his pocket and put it on. He looks peculiar. 

     "You look wonderful," I say. He smiles. I smoothen my dress, listening to Kyle's soft breathing. We arrive Lion Fort. In the dead hours, the place is quiet and queer. We walk along the slope of the hills. I barely remember the trail. 

     "Let's go back. We can't see anything," I say.

     "I have this," Kyle takes out an electric torch from his pocket. He swings it with a smug smile and turns it on. I get the sense that he has prepared all these in advance. 

     "What else have you got?" 

     "Energy," Kyle says, "come on." 

     I take off the heels and feet torching the uneven, rough ground. I used to run around here barefoot when Uncle Mike brought me over. There is the sound of owls and other night animals. This is reckless, but the longer we walk on this bizarre land, the more I desire to stay here. Tall buildings and traffics are foreign ideas in the midst of these trees. Kyle sometimes turns to see if I can keep up. He'd give me a hand when there's huge roots or little streams. 

     "We should have looked up the tree names, like some professional hiker," Kyle says. 

     "These are beeches," I reply, and take Kyle's torch to examine the branches, "and I think, these, over here, are oaks. See the seeds? They're acorns, aren't they? Look over there, those are yellow birches. Suppose there are paper birches and black birches nearby."

     "Right. How do you know?" 

     "Documentaries," I reply. Kyle chuckles and I wish he'd speak again. He doesn't and now Kyle walks behind me. I feel him looking at me, and I enjoy it. Leaves rustle in the breezes, and trees stand tall and high. Water flowing in streams and insects making little noises in the dark woods. Above us are the incredible lamps of stars, scatter in the sky beyond our touch. For the first time, we make it to the peak of the hill, and I sit on a flat rock. Kyle lies down next to me. We observe the city that is miles away from us, looking at the home that is crowded and fucked up. 

     "It's warm tonight," Kyle says. 

     "I know."

     "I should have bought champagne." 

     "Or a blanket," I look over my shoulder at him. He's grinning. 

     "That'll be nice. All the walking is worth it." 

     Kyle sits up next to me. His arm brushing mine. He drops his head on my shoulder. I move closer to him. I miss his boyish smell. Kyle is humming some melody that I don't know. 

     "The stars are beautiful," I say, gazing upon. "You can never see them in the city." 

     "But they may not take part in anything, they must just look on forever," Kyle quotes. 

     "That's from -" 

     "Peter Pan. Your favourite book, isn't it? I remember that from the letters," Kyle says, "I always re-read them."

     "Me too." 

     "I read it in Japan, bought it in a second hand book shop." 

     "You must have read it for many times," I say. 

     "Maybe. The lines are enlightening," Kyle replies. 

     "Tell me." 

     Kyle moves away from me. He turns off the torch. His voice is soft like lullaby. I look into his eyes, and I see stories, beauty and nakedness. Just lights coming back to life. 

     "Never say goodbye, because goodbye means going away. And going away means forgetting. Absence makes the heart grow fonder," Kyle pauses, "or forgetful. You know that place between sleep and awake, the place where you can still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always -"

     "Love you," I say. 

     "Be waiting," Kyle says. I gaze at the shapes of the transmission towers, lining them in my head. 

     "Anyway, the last line that I like is -" Kyle says. 

     "I don't really need to know." 

     "is...Just, like. Just always be waiting for me." 

     "That's all?" I ask. Kyle shrugs. 

     "This is scary," he says. 

     "What is?" I ask. He shrugs again. 

     "Can I ask you something?" He utters a while later. 

     "Don't suppose I can stop you." 

     "After I left, like," Kyle pauses, he is looking at his knees, "after I left, were you seeing anyone? I never asked you in the letters, but, like, like, I'd like to hear that in person." 

     "I was busy with school work. A Levels and such," I try to sound sincere. Kyle runs his finger on the fabric of my dress. I am shivering, my breath is shaky. 

     "Right," he nods. "Do you have any questions for me? I'll answer anything." 

     "No." 

     "You're sure?" 

     "Stop ruining tonight," I say. He lies on the flat stone again. The city in front of me is lit by little golden, silvery lights. It should be pretty, but thinking about going back there makes the city ugly. A pretty place with scary people. A pretty place with horrifying things. 

     "Some time ago," Kyle says, "I've cut myself again. I thought it'd help. It doesn't. I stopped then." 

     "Why on earth would you think that?" 

     "I was trying to feel something," Kyle says, "But I don't. Sort of, like, can't." 

     "Can you now?" 

     "I guess," Kyle says. He gets up and kisses my shoulder, and he says, "come on. Let's go down." 

     We walk down the slope and sit down near a stream. The water is mirroring the starlight. There are silvery eyes in the stream. Kyle sits in a distant behind me. I put my feet into the water. 

     "What if there are leeches?" Kyle says. 

     "It feels really cool though," I say. I feel little creatures swimming past my skin. I giggle at the sensation. 

     "How did you feel when you first Raya?" I ask, plucking the grass. 

     "She's fit, and talented, and I asked for her number, and we start going out," Kyle says, "Have you seen Arttraction? She's great. We're great." 

     "Just great?" 

     "Perfect," Kyle adds, "She's better than I've ever imagined. Sometimes she can't handle things but, like, she can paint." 

     "I'm happy for you," I beam at him. He beams at me as well. It doesn't last long and our smiles fade awkwardly. I tuck my hair back. 

     "I still, like, think...can we go to the police?" His voice is rough. 

     "I don't want to talk about it," I say. 

     "Well, like, I...one thing, have you, like, you know, regretted meeting me? I've got you into pretty bad stuff..." 

     "It'd be the last thing I'd do," I'm still deciding whether it's a lie or not.

     "Good," Kyle says. 

     "Now I have a question," I say. 

     "Go on." 

     I stare at the water and say, "did you f**k her? Raya, I mean. Just curious. Of course you can tell me if there have been other people."

     He replies quicker than I want him to. "Why do you ask things that you don't want to know?" 

     Because I am undergoing the aftermath of our great fling and I want to know that you're having a hard time as well. 

     "So that's a yes," I say. Kyle sits near me and rubs my arm. He shrugs. "You love her?" I say flatly. I shut my eyes in the wet air, have my hair blocking my face. 

     "I guess I do," Kyle says. He touches my shoulder, turning me to him. In the dark, he is looking at me gingerly; and from that, I know he means every single word that he's about to tell me, "I took time with Raya. Of course, if you meet somebody beautiful, you'd have a good time with him and be attracted to her. But for love, I feel like, it should take a lot of time to develop it, all the little moments and the feelings," Kyle pauses, his eyes still meeting mine, "you, literally, need to invest a lot of time and hard work so you can fully develop this intense feeling. It can't be just randomly -"

     "Stop preaching," I say. "I mean, you're," I laugh hysterically, "save the big lines for the next record. Fane will be excited to hear them. We should go back."

     I put on my heels and we walk to the edge of town where we find a taxi. The torch goes out of battery. Kyle undoes his tie. I take a shower again back home and we pick a film to watch. 

     "Your choice," Kyle says, "I need to ring Raya now. To say goodnight. I do that every night." 

     Kyle goes into my room, closes the door. The clock says 4:13 a.m. I look through the DVDs. I should go into my room and throw Kyle's phone out of the window. After all, I have known Kyle first. 

     I put on Ratatouille and sit on the couch. The blanket is cold. There's nothing on the television screen. I remember why I didn't go to Kyle's concert in Greenyard, and I remember why I didn't go to London to find Kyle despite how he provided train ticket and stuff during April this year. I am afraid. I always am. I turn up the volume of the television. 

     Kyle comes out from my room and stretches his limbs. We watch the film for a while he pauses, says he wants to s**t and bath. I hear the bathroom door close, and I pick up his phone from the tea table. I don't have inner conflict. The password remains the same as the last time he was here. It's the date that he had to leave Greenyard, 1604. I press Phone, and press Recent. Strolling to the stop, I only find the name Marco appearing for five times and one time with Fane Bane today, then twice with Raya yesterday. The most recent call that he has made is right before I have invited him into my flat. He hasn't called Raya just now - why would he delete the record if he did call her?

     I press Home and lock the phone quickly and put it back. Colleen calls then. 

     "Esther dear! I haven't heard from you in ages. Is the boy doing drug in the flat? 'Cause I am ready to call the police." 

     "What? No, he's alright. What's wrong with you?"

     "Watch your attitude. I will not tolerate that." 

     "Then you shouldn't have called." 

     "What did you say? I hate mumbling," Colleen says. 

     "Why are you even calling so late at night anyway?" 

     "I am in a camp fire. With the youth group. And Mike says you wouldn't sleep so early if Kaigan is here." 

     "Would you keep it down? I don't want your youth group friends to hear that. And tell me that you didn't tell anyone about Kyle's stay." 

     "Well, as a youth group leader, honesty is - oh, back off Mike. No. Give me my phone..."

     "Esther, it's Uncle Mike coming to rescue," comes a familiar voice. I smile. 

     "What're you doing with her?" 

     "Steve and I come to the campfire with her in case she spills things about you and Kyle. You know her, Colleen never shuts up and Steve said now Kyle's here, it's better to have someone keep an eye on her," Uncle Mike says. 

     "Don't you need to work in the hospital?" 

     "Had my morning shift," Uncle Mike says, "how's he?" 

     "He's," I pauses, "having a nice time. I am too. Just make sure Colleen doesn't tell anyone." 

     "I'd drug her and shut her in a closet if that's legal," Uncle Mike says, "that woman."

     "Why can't she just leave me alone?" 

     "Well, we've got really nice food here if you want to know," Uncle Mike says. Right, just like mum, nobody bloody wants to answer this question. 

     "Really?" I dully say. 

     "Yeah. Charred chicken with horrible garnish. The kids burnt most of the food," Uncle Mike says. 

     "I really appreciate you and Steve doing this," I say. 

     "Don't worry," Uncle Mike says, "we're going to make sure you have the time of your life with your boyfriend." 

     "He has a girlfriend," I repeat. "I need to go." 

     "If you ever need a chef, you call me before you call anyone." 

     "I promise," I say. We hang up. Kyle comes out, and we replay the film. The time of my life, right. 

     I think about Rulissa for some reason, and I come to understand that I don't loathe changes. I am just powerless against changes, I am a barnacle sticking on a rock and the tides crush and smash me with cruelty. A barnacle is never able to stop the might tide. I am never going to hear Rulissa groaning about homework again. I am never going to stop Colleen treating me like her daughter. I am never going to keep Kyle from leaving this house or going back to his glamorous life. I am never going to undo the changed and rewind all the stories. 

     I look at the character's cheerful faces in the film, and I am hoping Kyle will glance at me and beam. He never does. F**k changes, they rip everything I've built apart. Why can't Kyle stop investing his kind of love for Raya and remember our kind of love, remember the time that he and I are the only people that mattered in this heaped, rowdy, baffled world?

     "Love this movie," I lie and grin at him. 

     "Me too," he says. I haven't watched it because the whole time, I'm thinking about the Peter Pan phone wallpaper on his phone. It was I who set that the night before he went back, and it has been a year and he still hasn't changed that. 

     I stay in my room while Kyle takes the couch later that night. The sky is getting pale when I close my eyes. When I wake up a few hours later, I study the mud on the red floral dress that hangs near the mirror before getting off the bed. Kyle is in the bathroom. He is shaving in front of the mirror with milky cream over his chin. 

     I stand at the door behind him, drop my arms and stop myself from approaching forward. I should say "good morning". Say it. Come on, stop staring at him. Say it. He sees you. Say the words. 

     "Ouch!" 

     "What's wrong?" I hurry forward as Kyle splashes water on his face. I hand him a small towel from the hook. 

     "I cut my face," Kyle frowns, "haven't happened for a while." 

     Kyle rubs the small cut with the towel, hissing and wincing. 

     "You can be a bit gentler to yourself," I say. He gives me the towel. 

     "You do it then." 

     "No, I have a thing about blood. I don't like seeing or touching it," I say. 

     "What about your period?" 

     "Period is unavoidable," I say, "so only period." 

     "What about in the movies?" 

     "Those are fake," I say, "just clean yourself up." 

     Kyle thrusts the towel into my hand nevertheless. I groan and wipe the rusty blood. It looks disgusting. When I am done, I look up at those heartfelt eyes. I turn to the sink. My head boils, everything in my brain is scalding. I wash the towel, the clean shaved Kyle is looking at my reflection in the mirror. Leave the bathroom, Esther. Either he or I. Just someone leave the bathroom, because I might turn around and kiss him.

     I smile at him friendlily in the mirror. Kyle has a girlfriend and he is talking about her last night.

     "Get out. I need to s**t," I say, staring at the tiles. 

     "I'll," Kyle hesitated, "I'll just, um, cook some, mountain lion - like I mean - cook some jam - nah I mean. I don't even know what I'm talking about." He closes the bathroom door when he leaves. I sit on the toilet lid and pull my hair back. 

     Kyle has to stop looking at me like how he did just now because I have stopped looking at him that way. He has to stop letting me catch him with those stares because I will never let him catch me grieving for the love I'd lost. I freshen up, hating my peachy face in the mirror and go out. Kyle is sitting on the kitchen table, playing with the handle of the frying pan. 

     "Hey," I say. Come up with a joke, Esther. Laugh at his hair, or his inverted tee. Say something ridiculous. "I, um... Kyle are you okay?"

     "Yeah." 

     "Where's breakfast? I'm starving."

*

     Living with Kyle is one of the worst things that I've decided to do. This one week seems age long. Like a meaningless, senseless journey to the edge of the world. Like a hateful dream that you can't wake up, going on and on and on, approaching an unwanted, sorrowful ending. 

     Kyle basically never leaves the flat so the press doesn't know about his presence here, only aware that he is on a holiday. Since he is in the flat most of the time, I can't drink. I need to pass out, because instead of just some memories, it's Kyle's actual face that I have to deal with everyday. The thirst burns me. 

     "I've bought a new house in London," Kyle says when he is doing the laundry, "you should come to my parties. It's a big place. Everyone loves it." 

     "I'm not everyone," I say. 

     He ignores me. "I hold a party almost every week, you'll learn to like it...or not," Kyle says. "The house is too much. And it's just me living there. My parents don't want to move. Bedir comes over for a few days during breaks. Sometimes, Raya stays at mine. There's a garden. But still, it's," Kyle turns around, "when a house is too big and there's only one person living there...it sucks." 

     Kyle talks about a lot of top brands, famous people and fashion shows with me. He wants me to meet some designers through Skype. 

     "All girls like these stuff," Kyle says after I asked why. 

     "I don't," I reply. 

     So I walk away and read Oliver Twist. I listen. Kyle sounds like someone else when he talks to the designer. He has a nasty fake laugh. They're talking about some fashion shows in November. Kyle looks like a business merchant with a stern face. 

     "I'll talk to you later, got another call," Kyle says. This is a lie because Kyle is looking up something and when he calls the designer again, Kyle names some people and sounds like he knows everyone. 

     "Why did you do that?" I ask. 

     "It's call how to stay on hot list," Kyle shrugs. He shows me some very expensive clothes in his luggage and a pair of jeans that can cost my entire flat. 

     "So why are you trying to make me feel bad?" I ask. He doesn't speak, I go on, "you don't even like these, do you?" 

     "You're wrong. I do now." 

     "I'm wrong for many other things too," I mumble. 

     Most of the time, we watch the DVDs until we mention something that makes both of us lose the urge to speak and shut up. Or we argue, and then we watch TV again. One afternoon, the day after he cut himself actually, we are watching How To Train Your Dragon, Kyle asks me to see if Steve can come over with a guitar. I've asked Uncle Mike and Steve not to come because I want to be alone with Kyle. 

     "Why would you still want to drag him into your life? Haven't you done enough damages last time?" I say as I cover myself better with the thin blanket. A moment later, I regret saying that. Kyle doesn't have a hard face, he nods casually. 

     "You're right," he says. No I am not. 

     Later that day after I bathed, I find a guitar in the living room. Kyle says he went to a shop nearby to buy it. He grins and says the owner is an old man and that no one recognised him. Kyle plays some chords while I am making dinner. He never sings in the house now. I detest how mature we're acting. 

     Kyle puts down the guitar then, and he helps me to cook. We laugh at some rumours about him secretly dating Marco. I am so close, almost able to ask him what with the LSD. He, however, gives me all the hints I need on this matter. At a point we're setting up the table, he knows what I want to ask. So he grins and says, "No, you know. I feel like, like, I am exactly where I want to be, like, why would I want to say no to anything? I can pay the bills, I can party. I have people taking care of my face and body. I can do what I want to do 24/7. I don't want to say no, don't want anyone to think less of me - like, Es, it's not like I'm going to punch someone or go dancing naked or make a sex tape. I just, I am nineteen, I am playing hard. You don't always get to be nineteen and, and yeah, and rich. That's all. I'm not saying no to anyone." 

     It is a big deal because he could have told me in the letters or on phone. 

     "It's not much of a big deal," I say, "Everyone gets high and drunk some time." 

     "Exactly, we're not old people."

     "Yeah, and we're not kids," I say. "How is it like though? To be like you."

     "I can get into any events I want. No line up. No waiting. Beautiful girls. Camera everywhere, photographers are determined to get a bad photo of you. They provoke you, almost like a daily, verbal abuse routine. They pound on the windshield and now when that happens, I don't even care if anyone gets hurt. I just want to get out. It's sick to see them. And then you get invited to another party. Kids not older fourteen walking around the halls and houses with cocaine around their nostrils. Drunk people messing, dancing until someone passes out, and that's how they call it a fun day. And I love it." 

     I chuckle at his last sentence. 

     "Well," Kyle looks up from the chair and grins, "next morning, it's like you've woken up from a battlefield with corpse everywhere. People's eyes are red and sound hoarse and try to find their own clothes. Quite an enjoyable scene."

     "Okay," I say. "And sure you're not hiding upstairs in some empty room for the night and wait until morning comes? And sure you're not the first one to leave when nobody is sober?" 

     "No, I..." Kyle shakes his head, "You. How do you do that? Like really? Did you buy a long lens and stalk me or something?" 

     I turn back to the kitchen. 

     "No, Esther, tell me. How do you always know? Like," Kyle talks wild gestures with his arms. "Come on, tell me!" 

     "Hiding in a room, that's how you party with furniture," I say. 

     "Stop that. Come on, Es. Tell me. How do you know?" 

     We put the food on the table. 

     "Are you psychic?" He stares at me with a stern expression.

     "Yes." 

     "Liar." 

     "I know you," I reply. 

     "You don't." 

     "You're a passive person-" 

     "Obviously I'm not." 

     "You only response when you need to. You like music and art more than you do people. You like to stay in quiet places and don't bother telling me you like be in a crowd. You've got this little hero in you, like helping Livy at the beginning and saving people around." 

     "I hate heroes." 

     "You are constantly being pulled by everyone to different directions, and that you don't have motivation at all to fight for yourself, and since you can't fight for yourself, you end up fighting for random people who seem to need you when nobody really does to satisfy your hero urge." 

     "That's so wrong. Shut up." He gives me a fake smile.

     "You can get anything you want, but you don't know what you want. You exercise no control in your life and you end up having this habit to run away." 

     "Just shut up." 

     "You're only attached to people because it's part of the formality of the life you're living now." 

     Kyle kicks the table and the glasses fall down. 

     "Why are you doing this?" 

     "You asked me how," I say, "See? I am honest when I'm with you. And I thought honesty was something that bounded us." 

     Kyle sets the table and brings the food out. He doesn't look at me, and we eat like two strangers at two ends of a table. We clean the kitchen and when I wipe the table, I feel him lifting the side of my hair. I ignore him and wash the dirty towel. 

     "Not you," he says and drops his hand. 

     "Uh huh?" 

     "Es, not you," Kyle says, takes the towel and hooks it. "About attaching people - like, just now I mean. About formality, I...just. Everyone, maybe. But, like, you know. Not you. I want to be attached to you. And I'm not saying you were right."

     "Is it so hard to accept that I know what kind of person you are? Or it just frightens you?" 

     "That's just too much honesty for one night," Kyle says. 

     "It's been a while since honesty hits you, right? How come our realities are so different from each other?" 

     "I don't get -" 

     "- to choose. I know," I say, "but here, you could have chosen to be honest." 

     "I'm trying -" 

     "Yeah, you are," I say. 

     "You said you've got horror films. Let's put them on. I'll get the blanket and pillows." He goes into my room. Mum calls to tell me about meeting a Frenchman who works in the museum, she asks if things are okay, I say yes. We watch Silent Hill then. Most of the time when monsters come up, I hide under the blanket. I don't look at him. There is this nurse scene that I am frightened of. Kyle takes away my blanket when I try to hold it. We end up fighting with the pillows. The film is over and Kyle suggests a break before watching the sequel. I hate sitting in the dark with him because we'd talk about things that I don't want to hear. 

     "I miss Johnny, I always do," Kyle says, "like I, the truth is I didn't watch the film just now. I was just -" 

     "Hitting me with the cushion." I don't want to hear tragic stories of his life. Why doesn't he ask about me? 

     "That, and I was thinking about him," Kyle says. 

     "Why tell me now?" I say louder than necessary. "I asked you about it. I was trying to be there for you. I was worried sick about you. I tried to call you every night. You always came out with s**t like -"

     "I was really busy," Kyle snaps. "I was, okay?" 

     "Not okay," I say, "Because you were away in some foreign places and I know you didn't have anybody next to you." Kyle stays quiet. "And I am your only friend, and this kind of friend means always being there for you even when you're behaving like a dick and ignoring me." I sound really angry, I guess I am. Was. 

     "I had Raya. She was touring with me. You aren't that...nah, you are that important to me," Kyle shakes his head, "and that makes it so difficult. I mean like, yeah, you're my only friend." 

     "Did you talk to her?" I don't want to say her name. 

     "She isn't much of a listener," Kyle says, stroking the fabric of the blanket, "but she slept with me that night after mum called. The first time. I had a good time." 

     "Good for you," I utter. 

     "I was devoted to it. We did it in the bathroom, and did it again in the morning. On the bed, the desk - I don't remember," Kyle licks his lips, and he stares blankly ahead, "We did it again that afternoon. She slept then, she was tired. And I woke her. We did it again one more time past midnight. We ran out of condoms, so I went out. I kissed her goodnight. I felt like a monster. I went into a strip club, did it with two Italian ladies. I never took off the sunglasses and cap even when I did it. And, like, I wanted to call you, but I left my phone in the hotel. And, like, I went into a quiet room in the club. There was loud music behind the door and this old, orange telephone in front of me. And like...I dialled Johnny's number. His voicemail is there because I keep paying the bills. But like...like, I called him again and again. And like, he's, like, dead."

     I put my hand over his, he pulls away. 

     "Dead," he repeats, "Don't comfort me. I know you don't want to, and I honestly don't mind. I haven't been a good friend, I know. But I've tried. And the next day, at the end of an interview, Fane Bane wanted me to continue tour and work. He only let me go back for the funeral - someone asked about my thoughts on this. I walked out. That night, I went to another strip, so sunglasses and cap, and I watch people. Like, people came and went. I wanted to call you. But like, like, I didn't. And I just wanted to die." 

     "When Rulissa died," I say, "I was so angry at her. Because I didn't - I didn't," I don't want Kyle to know this, "there was something happened, and I should have believed her, and I didn't." 

     "What happened?" 

     "Just...yeah. And I was so angry that I was ready to kill myself, because I literally couldn't go anywhere without seeing her and I thought I was going mad, and, and I kept thinking about dying - not killing yourself, but just ending things...and then, I thought, um, if I died, this anger and frustration would pass to mum. But I wanted to be caring, and I didn't want causalities, and the only way to minus that, is to live. I lived like I was constantly drowning, but I lived, and soon, feelings were wearing off. I didn't feel sad, I felt nothing. And I thought feeling nothing was good and alright, and I stayed away from things that triggers thoughts of Rulissa or Barry. And I kept absorbing nothing, believing this was the solution." 

     "And then I came. Will I ever know you the way you do me?" Kyle mumbles. 

     "I am a mystery to myself too," I say. " Most of the time, I'm very puzzled by the things I do."

     I sit farther away from Kyle and look out of the window. I rub my eyes with the blanket and take a deep breath. I am not going to cry. I stand up and open the window. There is nothing outside, nothing inside. 

     "You're crossed with me. Say something please." 

     "If you have called, I would fly to the end of the world for you at once without no hesitation, and I'll talk to you and hold you until you start feeling again."

     "And people would see you and write something awful."

     "Do you think I care about that?" I say and turn to look at him. 

     "You don't, but you can't handle the photographers, and that's a part of my life now," Kyle says. 

     "Right," I say, "but you should know that I would still go there and stay with you. Regardless Raya is there or not. No matter what anyone says. That's how far I'd go for you, even though I know you won't -" 

     "Who says I won't? I'll do that for you. I will if I can," Kyle says, "leave everything behind and get away from here. Go somewhere you want and, and -" 

     "Let's stop talking about bullshit," I say, "you have a girlfriend and a life and everything scheduled and I am...happy here."

     I go to the kitchen, open the window and take out a pack of Pall Mall and light one. I take a deep drag and exhale towards the window. 

     "When did you start smoking?" He asks. 

     "Last year," I say. I play with the small stick with my fingers. "Want one?" 

     "I don't smoke," Kyle says. Such a liar. I saw him smoking on the newspaper. 

     "You know it's not fabulous - my life -" 

     "It's better than..." I want to say 'here without you', but I just trail off. 

     "Can we talk about Johnny now?" 

     "Go on." 

     "Come sit with me please," he says. 

     "Let me finish this," I say. I take my time, sit on the kitchen table and finish the cigarette. I sit down with him again. He pulls the blanket around me. I imagine sitting here with Rulissa, talking about universities boys, this is how things supposed to be. Not me sitting here with a celebrity, both trying not to sound broken. The TV screen is so black, like the night and everything else. 

     "I wish he'd let that other guy die. That's a valiant thing to do, but he should have ignored those people. But, like, he...well what I am trying to say is that, he could have waited for the police or guard, anyone with a gun. I know I'm wrong, but, like, I think he's just stupid. He was, I don't know, like, Johnny was..."

     "Being vulnerable," I add. 

     "Doesn't matter how." 

     "It does," I say, "Johnny was a courageous and brave man. Be proud of him." 

     "I've never told him that, like, he should have known that. Like. I should have, like, visit him. He had invited me to spend some time with him before, and like, I wanted to get some networking in LA...and there was this stupid fashion show in Hollywood and I thought, like, Johnny was boring. Whatever, let's play the f*****g DVD," Kyle sounds like he is panting. 

     I put in Silent Hill 2: Revelation. Kyle is wiping his face next to me, there is no point acknowledging it, so I don't. I am screaming on the inside because I am devastated to see his tears. But forgive my selfishness, I realise as much as I want to, I can't care about him too much, to resume what we have. Because if I do, the goodbye will be nasty. I need to shut it down before it gets worse. And he is right, I can't handle some part of his life. He's going to be away soon. That's so much to carry. Love itself is too much for me to carry. 

     I go bed earlier because I need to work tomorrow. I work once a week in River Hotel only since now mum has more editing to do. She wants me to teach how to manage her webpage, but if I do, she'd be so ready to leave for France. And I know I should let her go though it's the last thing I want. As I lie on the bed, I stare at the closed door. Kyle is playing the guitar outside. It's just the chords, intros and outros. I hear him humming now. And there is a knocking of door, I shut my eyes. 

     "Hey Esther," Kyle opens it and says, "are you sleeping?" 

     "Yes," I say, and realise how stupid I am. 

     "Really?" 

     I don't reply. 

     "Can I play it here? In your room?" Kyle says. I sit up and shake my head. 

     "Alright then," Kyle closes the door. He's humming again. Kyle is singing Wild World outside. With closed eyes, I listen. I have a moment of terror, thinking about Barry's trousers on the floor. I'm trying to slow down my breathing. 

     "You know I've seen a lot of what the world can do, and it's breaking my head in two, cause I never want to see you..."Kyle stops singing. I bury my face in the pillow so I don't have to feel the tears on my face. I am grieving, not for Rulissa this time. I can imagine her sitting next to me. Kyle plays another song now. He is singing The Incredible Lonely. When it comes to the chorus, I get up and go to the living room. Everyone gets an opinion about the song now. It's not mine, so don't sing it in my house just to haunt or taunt me. 

     "Stop it. Just stop."

     Kyle looks startled, and then stunned. He nods. I turn around. I wish I know why I am so angry all the time when he's here. Don't I get what I desire? Him? What's going on with me? 

     "Goodnight Esther," I hear him, "and, dream of me, please. Or us."

     "If I do, it'd be a nightmare, wouldn't it?" I smile vaguely at him and go into my room, lock the door. I keep thinking about him and what I'd seen on the internet about him and the LSD for some reason. I'm going to ask Ian for a spliff tomorrow, he'd sell me one during break when we work. Being with Kyle is like getting high, touching yourself, smoking and in love. 

     Kyle doesn't sing again, he only plays the melody of The Incredible Lonely, and that's enough to destroy me. I feel all the aches and longing, all the wishes and regrets. All come raging towards me, breaking the prison that I've stored them into. I see my beast like face from the mirror. How sad I am trying not to be. When I wake up in the morning, I can still hear the same melody coming from the living room. Perhaps Kyle didn't sleep last night - I need to remember that it's none of my business. 

*

     I go out of my room, it's 6:04 a.m. The sky is pale and grey, I have to be in the hotel two hours later. I urge Kyle to get some sleep, he insists no. Kyle makes hash browns and fried eggs. I sit across him and eat. He pour orange juice into my glass. 

     "You tired?" I can't help to ask him. There are dark bags under his eyes. Kyle shakes his head. He eats and looks up and grins. 

     "I'm fine, really," Kyle pauses, "I'm an energetic guy, staying up one night makes no difference." 

     "You said you were never energetic," I say. 

     "Humans are complex. We change," Kyle says. 

     "And disappoint," I add. 

     "And regret," he says with finality. "Tell you something about Raya, don't tell anyone though. She likes planning. Like holidays or her pictures. Just plan everything in advance. Funny isn't it? 'Cause I hate planning anything, and she does." 

     "Funny," I say without smiling. We go on eating. 

     "Raya has an eating problem. She's fit and beautiful," Kyle says in a dark and low voice, "she needs to go on those shows - I don't get it actually - I mean, like, it's just a kid show. But she doesn't like people talking about her body. Well I guess girls don't. But she looks great, and she's always...like she always can find something to criticise herself. Don't get me wrong, she's amazing - like perfect - when she's not upset. Her sister, Raven, told me that she didn't set a good role model for Raya. Raven, like, had problems with eating before as well, she thinks she influenced her sister. Their mum died last year." 

     I don't want to hear her story. I want to throw out when I hear her name. 

     "Raya eats very little. Sometimes she can go on a day without eating anything, especially when she's working on a project. I have to go to her studio and be like 'Raya, you need to stop working now. You're working too much and now you need to eat something. I'm taking you out, and you're not eating salad". Like I'm asking Pana to eat when she has fever. Like, you know, like, no paper really criticise her - maybe once - but no one talks about her body. When they talk about her, it's always about her artwork or her inspiration. It's - like, sad to see her like this." 

     Does it make you sad to see me living alone, surrounded by ghosts the I loved, ghosts that can't and won't love me back? Kyle pours himself some orange juice. Kyle goes on like it's the only thing he wants to talk about. When did he start being not interested in my life? Maybe it's because I am not interested in mine as well. 

     "There was this one time during Christmas, Raya was in a good spirit. She made a lot of these chocolate flavoured ginger bread men. They looked really nice and she gave me some. Without eating any of those herself, she just chucked them all into the bin. She said she didn't want those. She stayed in her studio all day," Kyle says. He finishes eating, and he puts the dish into the sink. he doesn't turn around to look at me like he always does. He is peeking out of the window, I look at his red trousers. 

     "Are you going to say anything about this? 'Cause I'm waiting for your response," Kyle says. 

     "I think, um, I'm sorry for her?" I say. I don't even remember what Kyle has said. 

     We share a total of ten times silence, he never turns around. He opens the window and closes it for three times like some ritual. 

     "I need to take care of her. I'm doing that. I'm trying," Kyle says. 

     "Wow, I'm impressed. It seems like you are trying so many things so damn hard this year. Very impressive. But why you?" I ask in a loud and hoarse voice, "why it is have to be you, Kyle, of all f*****g human beings on the planet? How about that sister, Raven? Or your friend Marco? Or anyone in Raya's family? I mean," I am shouting and my throat hurts, "Kyle, there are million people out there for her! Her friends and family or any random person - why does it have to be you every time you see someone has a problem? You can walk away," or come back to me, I want to say, "Are you trying to, what, act all heroic like Johnny? Heroes die, that's what they do. Do you really want out of this life that much? Gosh! You're the one taking LSD and singing craps and scared of people. You're everyone's puppet and you don't have to get into serious relationships. You don't need to save her - don't need to - you're f*****g stupid -" I stop dead, because if I am to go on, I will tell him that I am the one, all along, who he needs to take care of. If I go on, I'll tell him to save me. 

     That's the thing about feelings. You feel. You get hurt. The hurt follows you. You can't get rid of the side effects of being hurt. The numerous regrets, and hatred building in you. Wrong choices flash in your brain. And the idea of feeling happy falls back into a distance shore. You either become sad or hateful. Or both. And I hate being hateful. 

     "I'm sorry," Kyle whispers, "I'm just trying to make things less complicated. After I left last time, I estimated the troubles I've brought you; I am trying to be fair to you. I want to keep you out of troubles." 

     "Keep me out of troubles? Maybe you don't have to. Maybe I just want you to tell me when there are troubles."

     "I'm, like, telling you everything." 

     "What about taking LSD, or Livy? I know there were times that I should have come to find you..."

     Kyle becomes emotional, "Why didn't you?" 

     "What - I had school! I had A Levels! I'm not an A List celebrity who gets income by saying a line or doing a commercials and can go to anywhere anytime I want. I had studies." 

     "But you could have come for at least one weekend, or just one f*****g night," Kyle says. "I'd drive you back next morning before your stupid class began."

     "I've offered to come after Johnny died and Livy's performance, but you were changing subjects and rejecting!" 

     "Why didn't you fight harder? I'm always waiting on the other line, waiting for you to say 'I'm coming anyway'. But you simply said 'okay' like you've given up or something. I don't want okay." Kyle looks hysterical. "You could have fought harder and said you're worried and insisted to come. I was waiting for you to go against me - I kept hoping if you would show up and say 'it's a surprise'. Do you know how terrible hoping something and getting let down is? And yes, I am ruining my own life and yes, I'm abusing myself - but like, I'm Fane's f*****g brand - I can't stop -" 

     "Bullshit, sure you can. Stop finding excuses." 

     "My name is Kaigan, that who I'll always be." 

     "No, you're giving away who you are. You acting like you're all alone and disconnected -" 

     "Look, shut up - you don't know half of the things you're saying," Kyle turns away. His eyes are red. Guess mine are too. 

     "No. Now I go against you. Just as you want. No one around you is really talking to you, and I know that because when you show up, you're like a traumatic lost boy who's trying to look like a man -" 

     "Shut it please," He mumbles.

     "What if someday you explode like Rulissa did and you go kill yourself?" I tremble when I speak because once the words left my mouth, I realise this is my biggest fear, and it's this fear that drives me insanely angry and sad these days. And now I want to run away from the flat.

     "Maybe I will." 

     "You can't put me through that again. If you do that, I'll be stuck and I'll kill you. Don't you dare to try," I say, "Get back on track."

     "What track? Which track?" 

     "If both of us don't know, then give up Kaigan. There'll surely come a time when Kaigan is unwanted and off the market, and I don't want it to be too late to grab you back. Because if you die along with Kaigan, I'll be f*****g wrecked and no one else will be able to fix me again," I say. 

     As I pick up my bag from the table, I accidently sweep my glass of orange juice to the floor. I stare at the shattered glass pieces and orange liquid on the dark brown floor in the soundless room. I hear the ticking of clock again. It takes some time for me to decide to leave the flat. 

     "Don't hurt yourself when I'm gone. Please." I mutter, I leave before seeing his response. I hear Kyle kicking the table as I close the door and go into the lift. I watch Greenyard become golden and fair and my own heart becomes more buried away. 

*

I light a spliff and sit down on the broken couch, watching the back of the residential building. I am invisible in the dark corner, I see everything and everyone, like I'm some photographers of the nature show. This is my hideout. I drink a half a bottle of Absolut. Drink from the jar like some broken homeless. I take a long drag before leaning back on the soft leather. My phone vibrates, it's mum. 

     "Hello," I say quietly. 

     "Hey it's me," mum says in a bright voice, "how are things with you?" 

     "Good," I take another drag. "What about you?" 

     Mum calls to tell me about the date the Frenchman has planned for her. I pretend to be interested in it and lie about being very happy with Kyle here. 

     "He's my best friend," I say, which actually means, he'll be the dead of me. 

     "Well done - that doesn't sound appropriate," she laughs lightly, "I mean, I think you're handling your friendship very well. Usually people break up and don't go back to being friends." 

     "We're," I pause, "special. You sound really happy." 

     "I am," I am sure she is smiling, "anyway, how's everyone?" 

     "Went to work, saw Steve and Uncle Mike joined us for lunch. Steve said Colleen has this growing passion towards the youth group, I think she sees, um, Rulissa there, which is great because she's staying away from me." 

     "Don't be rude." 

     "Uncle Mike said he's sorry for the kids, and I agree with him," the spliff and drinks make me bold. "I find my new freedom wonderful and I want to keep it. But you're going to say no and s**t like, we have to help Colleen. Maybe you should send somebody here to help me instead." 

     "Esther are you alright?" Mum says in a different tone, "Esther, do you want me to call -" 

     "No," I say sharply and take a deep breath, "I just... mum it's a tough day at work. I got shouted by some costumers. And I was having a fight with Kyle." 

     "Why? What's wrong? I can ask Mike to stay with you for a while. By the way, where are you now?" 

     "The lobby, waiting for the lift, and no," I say, "we're just fighting about some stupid things...the laundry, I don't like him," I think fast, "shoving his dirty clothes on my desk. And he, um, it's silly, he ate all my," I pause, "snacks." 

     "Oh, well, Mike and I used to fight about these things all the time. And you grandma punished us whenever we started shouting. So usually, we did the argue at Colleen parents' house."

     "Right. Look, mum, you said something about staying in France," I say, "I've been thinking about it. If you like it there, you stay there. I'll be fine, on one condition. You need to ask Colleen to stop coming over. She can come when Steve and Uncle Mike do, just not every day. And I'm glad that you're happy in France. I really am." 

     Mum says she'll think about it, we hang up. I return to my spliff and drink. I feel relax, dumb and dizzy. The small window on the nine floor opens, it's the trash room window. I see an arm and a thin body. He puts the cigarette between his teeth and lights it. The smoke clouds his face, and then I recognise it's Kyle. Said he doesn't smoke.

     He's wearing a black tee shirt that is too big for him, his shoulders look bony. He has become really thin these months. Not the kind of model thin. The depression thin. His hair is a long mess. He's wearing his blue boxers. A cigarette is between his fingers and he gazes forward. If he looks down, he'll probably see me. What would we say at each other's distanced faces? I take a longer drag. I have this smoke trick of breathing out perfect circle and swallow it back. 

     Why would people actually like him? He is not built like those American model, nor does he bear any trait of attractiveness. His pale face is nothing without skinny jeans and fancy boots. His jaw is square with hollow, cold cheeks. His eyes look like they are subsided into his skull. His thick hair is parted from a side. He runs his hands into it and takes another drag of the cigarette. 

     I stay here hidden until Kyle crushes his cigarette at the window glass and throws the small remain onto the street. He closes the window and leaves. I should buy him an ash tray. 

     I hope a stranger will sit down next to me now and listen to me talking about him. I do have a stranger number in my phone. My dad, mum inserted it when I was bathing one day. It's the first time I want to dial the number, but I'm scared. Yes, I'd rather drown myself in eternal loneliness than calling him because I am a coward. 

     I crush the end of my spliff, finish the remains of the vodka and wait for a while before going back. The guitar Kyle bought is outside the trash room. I inhale deeply and open the door. The lights are all on inside. Kyle is sitting on the floor, surrounded by DVDs. My DVD shelf is empty. His luggage is opened. The flat spare key is on the table. 

     "Hi," Kyle says instantly, "I had a difficult time choosing what to watch. And I remember I left Peter Pan in the other house. I should have given it to you last time. Is there anything you want to watch? You look tired. Do you want to -" 

     "I want to take a shower," I say. 

     "Yeah," Kyle replies. He gets up, "Okay. Okay. Es, I am going to tell you something before we start fighting again. I've been thinking how to. Like, I, like...that night, I was, like, really tired and I was in this after party with those people in Paris. It was a premiere of a music video. I had three interviews and two live performance that day, and before I went to the party, Pana called me and told me that mum was fine with dad inviting Hailey and her kids to move in-" 

     "What night?" I put my bag on the table. I glance at the cupboard, the absence of a glass is obvious for some reason. "Oh that night, now you're interested in telling me." 

     "Just listen. I was pretty pissed that night, someone claimed to be a 'reliable source' and 'insider' and told everyone that I distanced myself with my family because I got famous. They wrote it like I've abandoned my mum and dad, which you know i didn't," Kyle is speaking very fast, "Some guy gave me Lucy, I took it. I almost, like, black out. Got really high that night. That's all, f**k what everyone says. Don't trust the news." 

     "I never do."

     Kyle opens his mouth, and he shuts it and nods, says "I know you don't. And like, yeah." 

     "Yeah," I say. I go into my room to fetch some new clothes and put down my stuff in the bedroom. I look at the clear mirror, Kyle is standing near the cupboard in the living room. 

     "That's all you're going to say? I promise I won't go too far."

     "You don't have to promise me anything, and I don't need confession," I say. 

     "Because you're still crossed with me about this morning, or anything in general?" Kyle says. "It seems like you're always grumpy." 

     "After Rulissa killed herself, I am always grumpy during summers. And I'm mad now because I feel like I don't know you, and that's a horrifying feeling." 

     "Well, listen to me then. Get to know me again," Kyle says, "Talk to me. Stop distancing yourself from me. Don't go back playing mysterious again." 

     "No, do you see now? We can't go back," I say, "no matter how we try, or we pour our hearts out to talk - no, we're so different. It's like before." 

     "So then what now?" Do you want to pack my stuff and stay somewhere else or you want us to stay here and keep fighting about bullshit? I choose the latter."

     "I choose to shower," I say. Kyle is breathing heavily. "I don't know what I want."

     "Right," Kyle says, "f**k you, Esther." 

     And he sits on the floor outside the bathroom, "Tell me when you know. I don't want to guess."

     Eventually I sit on the cold tiles, staring at him as how he stares at me. Kyle is in the bright living room and I am in the grey, dim bathroom next to the toilet and bathtub. Two places. Two worlds. That's how we always have been. That's what we always will be. It isn't about the oceans or continents or miles that separate us. It isn't about how many calls we make or minutes we share on Skype, nor it's about how long our letters are. 

     "Sometimes I dream of us going to different places together. Not me in a jet or in the hotel room alone," Kyle says quietly, "and once I dreamt of us on a highway, I was driving and you were sitting next to me with a book that was too difficult for me to understand." 

     "That's just a dream," I reply. 

     "I woke up that morning and found a woman on my bed," Kyle says tonelessly, "and when I look at my phone, I saw Raya text me, asking if I wanted to have breakfast together." 

     "Then?"

     "Then I drove to her house to pick her up. I met her sister and her dad. I looked them in the eye and told them that, like, I love Raya. I had breakfast with her down the street. And I told her, like, I spent the night next to an old friend, writing songs and reading classics."

     "You're a terrible person," I say without condemning him. 

     "I don't know," Kyle says, his fingers trace the wood pattern on the floor. 

     "You do," I say, and I lie, "I'm sorry for Raya." 

     "Me too. Always. Every time after I sleep with someone else, I'd sit on the bed, and curse myself," Kyle says. 

     "Why?" 

     "I guess if you can't get the love you want, sex is the closest feeling of it. But maybe I don't want it, love. And Raya is perfect, and I am, like, not. I don't know. But that's me, you know, that's me now." 

     "F**k you, Kyle," I reply. Kyle chuckles, he leans forward and kisses my cheek. I smile at him. 

     "Despite how much I don't like Kaigan, I will always care about Kyle. And I think you need to remember what Kaigan is and who Kyle is." 

     "It's not easy. When you're in my shoes, every decision you make is just...damn it." 

     "Kaigan is a standard, a construction. He's just a figure for people who need him," I say, "Kyle is a real, compassionate person. And Kyle is always deeply loved, whether he's in Greenyard or Bolds or somewhere really far away." 

     I step out of the bathroom to hug Kyle. We hug for a long time, I sit on the floor between his legs, wrap my arms so tightly around him and bury my face in his neck. I miss this long lost intimacy. I feel his lively pulse. I pull back after what seems ten minutes and I brush his hair off his eyes. Don't lean forward, Esther. 

     "I will always," I say, I tear my gaze off his lips, "be glad to have you here." 

     I stand up and close the bathroom door, take off my clothes. I wish I've seen his response. I feel numb. If I was drunken, I would kiss him. I sit like a ball in the bathtub with hot water pour down from above. Can't there be an IN/OUT button in my system, that I can just click OUT and I will fall out of love with Kyle at once. I have a moment of panic for some reason. What if I open the door and Kyle is gone? What if Kyle is just some male figure I hallucinated to make myself feel less taunted by the ghost of loneliness? I try not to think about Rulissa. 

     "You've been in for a while, are you okay?" I hear Kyle knock. 

     "Yeah," I shout, "There," I pause, "There wasn't hot water at the beginning, I did some waiting." I'm impressed by how much I've lied with his arrival. 

     My hair is dripping water when I go out of the bathroom. Kyle is sitting on the carpet. I tell him I want to read tonight. 

     "Do you have anything else you want to talk about?" I say when I pick up my copy of Olive Twist. 

     "I'll let you know when I do," Kyle says with a smile. I sit around the kitchen table. Kyle says he's checking Twitter. I glance at him a few times, he's lying on the floor with his phone on his chest. I am proud to finish reading three chapters without being distracted too much. I'm half way through the next chapter when Kyle stands up. 

     "What're you reading?" His voice is shaky. 

     "Oliver Twist. Told you." 

     "I - I want to , like, um. Are you hungry? Never mind," Kyle says. 

     "What's wrong? I've got some cookies in the cupboard," I say. I put down the book and open the upper cupboard. I freeze. Kyle is pulling my hair to one side at my back. I feel his hot breath on my neck. My head is boiling again. 

     "Kyle..." I trail off as he presses his face on the top of my head. I turn around, I feel his hands over my waist. His breathing is rapid. 

     "I just," he murmurs, "...Esther."

     I dare to touch his hips. I master my breathing, reminding myself that this is no Barry. I close my eyes, taking in the sense of my shampoo from him. I am going to do this with Kyle. This is what I want. This can solve everything. I am thinking about getting a condom somewhere, but I don't think any more as Kyle starts kissing me heatedly. The taste of his tongue makes me want him more. He is my spliff and coke. He kisses and touches my face, my neck and shoulder. I feel his hands grabbing my waist. I don't want him to stop. Everywhere burns. I lift his shirt. He takes my hand and we go into my room. We kiss and the feeling his lips and my skin making contact is like blade cutting into flesh. I feel his hands over my thigh and his chest over my breast. I am lying on my bed when I look at his face. We kiss again and his hands are under my tee. I feel his fingers at the lace of my bra. And then I feel him undoing my trousers. 

     Suddenly darkness comes. I think of darkness being more than just the absence of lights. I think of Barry's room. The big bed. I think of him pulling my hair. I think of not being able to get away. I remember feeling his paw like, powerful hands grabbing my breast. I am shivering. I remember saying yes to Barry, and I remember yelling no at him. I remember yelling no but there is no one in the room. I remember I can't stop anything from happening. I remember Barry breathing down my neck. I just want to die when Barry's cold laughter rings in my ear. 

     "Kyle. Kyle. No, Kyle," I whisper hotly. I push his chest. "No. Kyle." 

     "What is it?" I hear Kyle's voice. I cover my face with my hands. 

     "I'm sorry, Kyle. No I can't do it. I just can't. I'm thinking about him. I need to - I can't do this," I say. I start sobbing, "I'm sorry Kyle. I want to." 

     Kyle gets off my back, I sit up looking at his bareback. Kyle stands at the door. 

     "I'm sorry. I should have remembered. I shouldn't have - are you okay?"

     I'm just sobbing. I am scared of what Kyle must be thinking now. His face is scarlet.

     "Let's, like, do you want me to leave the house? I don't know what else I can do. I'm not mum, I'm not good at handling these." I hear him. I try to stop weeping. Kyle puts his red jacket around me. He sits down on the bed away, patting my back. 

     "I'm a fucked up b*****d, Es," Kyle says. Kyle stops patting me. He is covering his own face with his hands. For sure, he's thinking about Raya. He sits there in silence for about thirty minutes before leaving the room. In the end, I stay up the entire night on my bed. Kyle is outside watching the whole series of The Land Before Time alone. 

     Next morning, we both act as though nothing happened last night. We're Oscar winners of acting okay. I even call Steve. Kyle and Steve are playing music in the afternoon after Steve's morning shift. When they're in the flat, I go down to open my mail box. I put mum's letter and find six rejection letters. I've tried to apply for minor jobs in some advertising companies, and I have received more rejections than I've expected. None of them invited me to interview and one of them even states that I would not be considered due to my public record with Kyle. It doesn't make sense, and I want to go upstairs and yell at Kyle. And then I remember I was the one who fell for him. I put my letters to the trash room. 

     I'm meeting Ian outside Greenyard Memorial. I give him cash and he hands me a small paper box of spliffs. 

     "You've never bought this much, is everything okay? Or you have someone to share?" 

     "I'm good. Why does everyone assume there's something wrong with me?" I say, "anyway thanks. You're going to work tonight?" 

     "Yeah, with Kitty. Why aren't you coming?" 

     "Whenever I go there and see her, she keeps asking me s**t about Kyle - I mean Kaigan. Wednesday is the only day she has evening course, so it's the only day I can come to work," I say. 

     "You're still with him?" 

     "We're friends. And being friends with rich people sucks."

     Ian laughs. "We're too used to the peasant life. Where are you going now?" 

     "Visiting an old friend," I say. "You have a lighter?" 

     "Happen to have a spare one," Ian gives me a blue lighter. 

     "Give it back to you next time I see you. Bye," I say and go into the memorial. The memorial isn't guarded. I put a spliff in front of Rulissa's headstone and find a corner in the back, light my spliff. I run my fingers over the little white stick. Someone calls. I groan and look at the phone. It's Uncle Mike. 

     "Hello," I say. 

     "Hi," Uncle Mike says, "Is Kyle happened to be in your flat, occupied by Steve?" 

     "Yes, aren't you in the hospital?" 

     "Nope. I need to be there at six tonight. They have a nurse conference and I'll be ready to hear Dr. Pipe asking me to be a full time nurse." 

     "You're calling me to practise how to say no?" 

     "No, I'm calling you to see if you're sitting on the bench, smoking in the memorial." 

     "What - how do you know?" 

     "Because I'm walking towards you," Uncle Mike says. I look around. Uncle Mike, wearing a terrible green sweatshirt and brown trainers, walks towards me with his sunglasses and take away coffee. There's no point hiding the spliff. Uncle Mike sits down and smiles cheekily. I hang up. 

     "Hello young lady."

     "Looking like a Hollywood star with the these big glasses," I say. 

     "That's what I thought when I made my way down the street just now. I swear the housewives stared," Uncle Mike takes off his sunglasses. "Latte?" 

     I take a sip and Uncle Mike takes out a pack of Lambert and Butler. He puts a cigarette in his mouth and I give him Ian's lighter. He lights it before taking back the Latte. We sit with our backs against the bench. 

     "That's a joint?" Uncle Mike says as I take a drag. I exhale slowly, making as much smoke as possible. 

     "A spliff," I say. "You're not going to tell mum."

     "Your mum did these kind of s**t until she met your dad. And even after they got married, she still called me out to smoke. We were little s***s. Smoking. Stealing. Bullying. Steve stole a car once." 

     "Did he?" I find myself laughing. 

     "He sold it and used the money to buy himself a nice guitar and a lot of weeds. Good old days. We had nicknames for ourselves. Your mum was Speed. She was quick when she took things from the shops. Steve was the Screwdriver. He could break any locks. Colleen was the Lame, she, sort of, still is." 

     "What about you?"

     "Chimney," Uncle Mike chuckles. "I always smoked. And then we grew up."

     "Sad, right? All these growing up." 

     "You mean you feel sad for us old people, or you feel sad for Kyle and yourself?"

     "Both, and I feel sad that Rulissa didn't get to grow up with me," I say. "I should be sharing a spliff with her now."

     "Right, but you're stuck with a terrible old man." 

     "You're not old, and you're not terrible," I say. "What are you doing here anyway?" 

     "Same reason you are," Uncle Mike says. He takes a drag of his cigarette and drinks his latte. "I miss her, and it's summer. I'm lucky. None of my friends die before. Remember I used to teach the two of you homework?" 

     "And when we were six, we were always arguing and not sharing. So you made this oversize tee shirt and made us wear it. I had the left hand and she had the right. We managed to clean the kitchen, throw the rubbish, and make the bed. And there was this one time, Rulissa was sick. I distracted Colleen and you brought her some ice cream." 

     "That was Steve's idea, not mine," Uncle Mike says. "And when you were ten, we went hiking. You, me and Rulissa got lost in Lion Fort, and I was trying to bring us home. Rulissa said -"

     "'I think Uncle Mike is really scared. We should give him a hug'. I said hugging would make you look lame. But she hugged you anyway. And you heard us," I say, "and we were eleven when we made you a cake for birthday." 

     "You little pranksters put salt instead of sugar in the cake," Uncle Mike says. He's rubbing his eyes with back of his hand that is holding the cigarette. "Good old days. When the two of you needed to hide from Colleen, I was the first person you'd call, that made me feel like superman." 

     "You and Steve are supermen," I say, "we were fourteen, fifteen and we told Colleen and mum that we had late tutorial section with older students, and we would go around the city. When we were tired, we would go to the hospital to visit you with snacks during your night shift." 

     "But actually, both of you just wanted a ride home," Uncle Mike chuckles. I take a drag of the spliff and drink some of Uncle Mike's latte. 

     "What happened though? She was this bright, lovely girl and suddenly she just killed herself," Uncle Mike says, "why? Why didn't she talk to me or Steve? Why - It's a crazy thing. Killing yourself at such a young age. There are still so many things I want to show the two of you." 

     I say "I know" when I want to say "f**k this".

     So we keep smoking until the sun glows orange. I go to buy something. Uncle Mike rides me home and gives me his latte. We go up and Uncle Mike chats with Kyle for a while about the hospital news. Uncle Mike cooks us something to eat, and then he leaves for the hospital and Steve leaves for River Hotel. 

     "I had a wonderful time," Steve shakes Kyle's hand. Kyle asks Steve to take both of his guitars back. Steve frowns but agrees. I stay in my room with lights turn off, the sun goes down and the sky becomes dark. For once, can this be not predictable? Nothing interests me. It's about 8:00 and I hear Kyle turning off the lights in the living room. I knocks my door. Now this is unpredictable. Kyle sits down next to me on the single bed. He looks out of the window. 

     "You want your jacket back?" I say, unzipping it. 

     "No. You look nice with it," Kyle says quietly. 

     "Thank you." 

     "Where did you go just now?" 

     "Greenyard Memorial," I say. 

     "I could have gone with you," Kyle says. 

     "Doesn't matter," I dare not to look at him so I count the number of bus that passes the road. 

     "I need to talk you," Kyle says. 

     "We're not very good at talking to each other," I say. 

     "Worth a try though." 

     "I know you. Once the light is off, you'll start talking about those things that are upsetting you, and hearing those things upset me. " 

     "Okay, I see where this is going. You're switching to your shutting people out mode. Like what you do to your dad. Shutting me out so you don't have to feel bad."

     "You know me too well," I glance at him. Kyle smiles. 

     "Yes, I know you'll listen to me now," Kyle says, "because you know how much I need you to. So you will." 

     "Okay," I turn to face him. He runs his fingers over the edge of the pillow. "Before that, want a present?" 

     Kyle's smile grows bigger, "what?" 

     I get my bag and take out a blue ashtray that I purchased just now. 

     "You saw me?" 

     "You're a liar, " I say. Kyle returns to my room with a pack of Benson & Hedges.

     "Don't let it get on my bed," I say. We put the ashtray on the window sill. I'm not a big smoker and I don't smoke in the flat normally. In case Colleen asks and I have to answer. I don't care now. 

     "I'm officially crushing. I don't live like I used to, like, I don't think the way I did before. It's not, like, something that I'm happy about. I'm constantly thinking my persona and people's opinion. I talk to and hang out with a bunch of people that I don't want to know. I go to places that I hate, pleasing people when I'm out there because I don't want anyone to write bad stories about me. There are too much these months. But I'm so sick of it all. When I remember what I've said at night, I'm just, like, disgusted." 

     Kyle smokes and looks out of the window. I blow the smoke on his face and we smile like we idiots. 

     "I keep thinking I'm a standard of ... of how to ...I don't want to be a standard, but I am. When I'm here, I don't have to think about those things, but once I'm on a street, I'll be thinking if anyone is, like, taking photos at the moment. I'll be thinking about my clothes and my body. I'm always working out during tour, because I am - well I don't like...I'm not scared, just...I don't know. I have these little moments when I get so scared suddenly, like, all the bad thoughts will come out...I can't explain it. Like, it's...I don't know."

     "A panic attack, isn't it?" I say.

     "I'm not sure. Panic attack only happens to, like, to..."

     "People like me," I say. 

     "Don't say that," Kyle looks up, meeting my eyes, "it probably happens to everyone."

     "You feel a sudden panic takes over you and you feel like sinking. Nothing will ever be good. Can't move or anything. Panic will go away some time later. But you know it'll come back," I say. 

     "The good thing is it has never happened when I'm here," Kyle says. He shakes the ash on the ashtray. "Mum thinks I'm just nervous. I feel, like, I can be nothing again. Anytime. One day someone will make up something horrible, and Fane Bane will end the contract. Everyone says I can't sing...I'll have to go back to Bolds and be that guy being pushed to the walls. Do you know how that feels?"

     "No," I say, "You'll never be nothing to me." I blow the smoke to his face again and giggle. I feel his hand on my neck, thumb soft tracing my jaw line. 

     "So you still like me? 'Cause it's big deal for me," Kyle says, "It's difficult to keep any relationship going on now."

     "You are in a relationship though, and you cheated on her," I point out.

     "I've tried not to," Kyle says and drops his hand. I take a drag of the cigarette and lean on the pillow. 

     "Break up with her then," I say hastily. 

     "I can't," Kyle replies sternly. 

     "Yes. Of course you can." I remain optimistic.

     "I won't." Kyle looks at me intensely as if telling me to fight harder. 

     "Okay then," I reply. 

     "She needs me." 

     "Okay." 

     "She takes in the negative things easily. There was a month that I had to call her every night and tell her to stop listening to people. And, like, every time I talk to a female, there'll be news titles like 'Kaigan is flirting with someone', or something like 'Is Kyle cheating on Raya with somebody?' I don't sleep with everyone I meet. I can just lock myself up."

     "You must love her a lot," I say quietly. I put the blanket around us. 

     "I do. One time I went out with my favourite sleeping trousers, you know that red one?" 

     "That's my favourite too."

     Kyle chuckles, "there was a title 'why does our darling Kaigan go out dressing like a homeless girl?' I wanted to reply 'because I can dress however I want when I'm not working and I love that trousers'. And when I comment on somebody - I only comment on someone because they ask for my opinion - they'd say it like, like I am anti them. I am not anti anyone, you ask me what I think, and I tell you. But it doesn't work this way for them. No nothing." 

     "I think too many things happened this year," I say, "and you need to a holiday to adjust your life. Not everyone can cope with so many incidents at once. Go on a holiday, tear yourself away from all these mess. Find a way to start seeing the positive again. Watching those crap movies with me is boring, but -"

     "No, those movies are not craps and I love staying in with you." 

     I chuckle, "Okay. But what I mean is that, you need to stop yourself from being upset."

     "Esther you don't get it. It's not about me being upset," Kyle's voice is going louder, "it's the fact that I hate myself. I hate what I am. People are pushing you around - like in school - I can't forget those years - you'll never get to say or do anything and you just wish you'd get the hell out of the school sooner. Now the problem is, I can't get out of this. People will always know me. I keep thinking they can hear every conversation that I have, any gosh - I hate me. I am nothing good -" 

     I embrace Kyle the way I did before. I sit on his laps and remind myself to not cry. I take long drags of cigarettes to stop my tears, and I choke. I cough but I don't let go of him. "You know," I whisper in his ear, I feel his arms on my waist, "you're really important to me."

     "You don't get it -

     "I don't but," But I love you, "But I always going to be here when you want to make your great escape. I'll run away with you. I'm your best friend."

     He kisses my cheek and strokes my hair. I pull back and Kyle lies on the bed. I cover him with the blanket. I prop my face with my left hand. Kyle's eyes are still open. 

     "Get some sleep." 

     "I'm getting." 

     I kiss his forehead and close his eyes with my hand. I take the cigarette from his fingers and crush the end on the ashtray. He's snoring soon. I get off the bed, close the door and take the ashtray to the toilet. And I sleep on the couch, thinking that Kyle is never nothing. That I'm the one who's always nothing. 

*

     I ring the doorbell. Kyle answers it. 

     "Oh no, you're all soaked," He shoves me into the house, strides out of the bathroom and hands me some dry towels. It was raining just now. I dump the box of pizza on the table, take off my wet jacket. 

     "You should have let me buy them, or have someone driven you," Kyle urges, scouring my hair. 

     "I'm fine," I say, moving away from Kyle. "Eat. You haven't eaten anything all day. I forgot to buy enough food yesterday," I open the paper box. It's his last day staying at mine, and every last should be memorable. "I'll go change my clothes." 

     Kyle is leaving tomorrow to his house. Hopefully not many people will bug him. He's excited about the arrival of his girlfriend and friends. He's happy, I hope he is. The past few days were messed up. I caught him looking grim, but when he saw me, he'd smile. I avoided being in the same room with him, he did the same. We almost kissed again when we were watching Resident Evil 1. I got off the couch and didn't return for the rest of the night. 

     Kyle cut the pizza. I glance out of the window. Night falls. There is neither star nor moon. There are thick clouds, and suddenly are seared by blinding flashes. Thunder rolls. Rain lashes down again. I hear it, the summer rain, beating the window glass and thudding the floor. We share a can of beer and eat .

     "Are you picking up your friends tomorrow?" I try to make a conversation. 

     "No, the driver will drive them to the house I'm staying. You're coming over. I can't bear without seeing you." 

     "You in fact haven't seen me in one year and three months, and you survived. So you'll be fine," I point out. He finishes the beer and throws it into the bin. I am starting on my third piece of pizza.   

     "I missed you," Kyle says. For the first time. 

     "You, yeah...you can always write to me," My throat is dry. 

     "Sure - oh s**t, stop this. We're stopping this now," Kyle throws the rest of his pizza of the plate, his voice is loud in the empty house. He glares at me. "Why are you talking like we're saying goodbye? Why do you have to do this."

     "We're not doing that," I convince him, and myself, "but your girlfriend is going to be here. I'm happy you're spending time with her. Really. You can call me afterward. I can meet you in her exhibition."

     "You're doing it again, like," Kyle says. "You know why I can't call you or talk to you on phone anyway? It seemed so easy to keep us at the beginning, but we...you never talked about your stuff when I asked you. We're - it's always silence or uh ah on phone. Why?"

     "Every time before you asked me, you talked about Raya...and I - and I," I got up, "and I got so angry because you shouldn't date someone you don't know - and you know that." I glare at him with the same equal hatred he has in his eyes. Here we go again. The unstoppable arguments. Both of us being so angry at little things that shouldn't matter if we're just friends. Maybe none of us wants to be just friends, but none of us wants to say that out loud as well. Because he has a girlfriend. Because I can't handle his life and won't be with him even though we ... feel something intense. Here we go. The pointless fights, trying to show how much we care about each other without acting like we do. 

     "When I talked to you on phone, you always tried to get off. You'd miss my calls intentionally," I shout. 

     "I didn't!" Kyle says, standing up and pushes the table. "Whatever you say -"

     "Oh yeah? I called you. I was worried about you and what did you do? You slept with everything with a vagina! I f*****g cared about you -"

     "Then you would have come to see me! I waited for you that evening, I started the concert late because I was waiting to see you out there -" 

     "I got over it already! It was just a concert!" 

     "- I especially asked Fane to have the concert in Greenyard, your home! I reserved the best, hidden seat for you! Mailed you tickets! I bought you some f*****g flowers! I practiced Wild World with the band just for you even though no one wanted to do an extra song! It's all for you. I talked to Jared and the security unit and show them your photo in case you wanted to come and say hello! I was waiting at the door for you when the whole music band was dragging time for me! Do you know how difficult it is to persuade Fane to have a stop here! No call! You only texted me three hours after the concert! I waited for you," Kyle's eyes are bloodshot. 

     "I wasn't feeling well -"

     "Stop lying, Esther." 

     "How do you expect me to stay there? Yes I have panic attack! I can't deal with public. I can't go to concerts and you, of all people, you ought to know that...and you could have visited me," I say shrilly, "you could have come over. And you could have called me. You liar. You weren't sick that night. Why didn't you come to my house? I managed to have Colleen left the flat earlier. I sat in the kitchen, brought food that you like and hoping you'd come around. I waited for you to call me because I didn't know when the concert would end! Do you remember what you said? You said you would come to visit me when you come to Greenyard. Where the hell were you might I please ask?"

     Kyle turns around to look at the sink. He slams his arms against the sink edge a few times, kicks the cupboard and stops. 

     "Stop lying. You're the one who lies the most," I say. 

     "I don't lie - Jesus Christ mother sweet god! Can everyone just stop calling me a liar!" Kyle wails, "You. Livy. Everyone. I'm not - look, I'm not a f*****g liar!"

     I realise he's talking about the song Livy wrote. There's a flash of lightning outside the window, scatters the dark sky. There comes the roaring thunder. Kyle puts his hair to a side, combing it with his hand. 

     "I'm not arguing with you. I have a pretty, fit girlfriend, who is everything I want. Not some -" 

     "Ex girlfriend s**t, and w***e and disgusting fagot. Yeah, your internet friends call me that," I say and go into the bathroom, lock it. 

     "Esther," Kyle knocks the door after fifteen minutes. I push my hair off my eyes. 

     "It's time to make up now, isn't it?" I ask. 

     "Yeah," Kyle says, "I'm sorry." 

     "I am too," I say to the door. How lame we are. "I wanted to come. Trust me, okay?"

     "I was really looking forward to see you that night," Kyle says. I open the door. 

     "Now you see me, what then?"

     "We go somewhere," Kyle says, "Somewhere fun." 

     I grab the key, Kyle gives me his red jacket. He opens his luggage and is going through his clothes. 

     "What are you looking for? We'll probably get all wet anyway. It's raining," I say. He ignores me and keeps throwing his clothes out. Finally he picks up something long. It's the tie I mailed him. 

     "Do you want me in a button down?" Kyle asks. He is wearing a v neck, blue cotton tee and grey sweats. 

     "You look fine."

     "Will it match this?" Kyle holds up his tie. 

     "Of course," I say, "I'll take that."

     I pick up a black button down on the floor and go into my room. I put on his shirt, it smells like him. I look ridiculous because I am wearing a pair of stripe, loose pants with a formal shirt. I smile. I put on the red jacket and go out. Kyle is putting on his trains and a cotton jacket. He takes out his Benson & Hedges and a lighter from his pocket. He puts it on the table. I do the same with my cigarettes. 

     He pulls the hood over my head when we're in the lift. The storm turns into a drizzle. 

     "We have terrible fashion," I say. Kyle chuckles, I love how that sounds. Kyle goes outside into the rain. I follow him and we walk in the light water. I almost slip. We are crazy. We're five years olds. The alleys are empty. We walk side by side then. We don't speak nor hold hands - but it isn't a lonely gesture, and I feel like we're as close as two people can possibly be. We walk past crowded restaurants, walk under the neon signs of clubs. We stop under a cafe umbrella. Kyle pushes my wet hair to the back of the hood. 

     "Thanks," I mutter. I feel hot rather than cold. 

     "Do you want to get some hot chocolate?" Kyle asks, "or stop here now? We can if you want."

     "No."

     So we walk down to the next street. Busy people are struck in heavy traffics, cursing and yelling at the ever changing traffic lights. We listen to the beeping when the rain grows quieter. Kyle slips on the floor. I help him up. He laughs and pulls his hood up. Nobody sees us in the dark rain. Through the window glass of a pub, we watch an old man performing with a saxophone, imaging jazz, folk - any kind of music. There are muffins in a bakery, smelling so incredible. It turns out none of us have any money with us. And we keep walking. We arrive the house Kyle has bought from his friend. He has put a spare key in the mail box.

     "Keep this, I have another one," He says to me after we goes inside. I put it in the kitchen drawer though. Everything in the house remains the way it has been as the last time I was here, only that the wedding photos are taken down. The house looks old and dusty. Kyle and I take off our jacket. We sit on the cold layer of dust on the couch.

     "Is that a projector?" I ask. Kyle shrugs. I open the cupboard glass door. 

     "It is," I say, "do you think there's a computer here?"

     Kyle goes upstairs and comes back with a laptop. The laptop has low battery and Kyle can't find the charger anywhere. It belonged to the gloom. We connect the projector with power and links it to the laptop. Kyle says it can last for a while. He turns off the light. We project the images on a white wall between the windows. Kyle comes back with blankets. We spread them on the floor. He put his tie over his blue tee, and I fix it. 

     "Let's watch something," Kyle suggests. "Yes, the neighbour doesn't set password on their wifi! Let's watch the viral video of the year." Kyle types in some words and say "may I present to you, the world's biggest liar and the innocent sweet victim. Oh, did I mention that I'm the victim?"

     This is not a funny joke. Kyle clicks the video of Livy's performance and we play it on the wall. Kyle is gazing at Livy, who is singing the first verse of That Liar Fooled Me on the grand stage. 

     "Do you want to come back with some eggs and tomatoes so you can throw something at her on the wall?" I ask. I made him laugh. Kyle lies down and props his head on his arm. 

     "No," Kyle says, "I don't get back at people."

     "Why?" 

     "It's just not what I do. I'd like to think I'm better. As a person anyway." The photos with Kyle's face start to float down from the roof. " I'm a singer song writer - I, like, I'm trying to be, and it's normal to put your relationships in your songs. Because that's your job. I wrote about you too. In songs that aren't recorded. I don't want to give all my life away. You're my inspiration - well, yeah," Kyle chuckles uneasily, "of course Raya is my main inspiration for love songs - she is my girlfriend. And Pana and mum and Bedir too. But like, yes, if you date a singer song writer, you need to know that he'll write about you. For Livy, however, what exactly have I done to her? That's a trashy performance. Like, literally, she got the wrong signals and - Jesus, why would you do that in public? Grow up. Look at my face in the photos and that stupid cross. F**k this."

     The thunder returns and the dashes of lightning are reflected on the floor. The storm comes back and the sky seemed darker. 

     "You should have put your guard on," I say. 

     "I was just 17. Es, it was too quick. I shouldn't have auditioned. At least not that young. I don't mind the work, because you need to keep in mind that there's always someone who needs to work more for that event, or that performance. But the social aspect of this, this job? Like...Livy didn't bother to talk to me afterward. I was sitting there, looking at the photos of myself. Look," Kyle points at the screen, "I'm clapping for her."

     In the back stage interview, Kyle says on the screen, "It was a very emotional performance with real feelings. I enjoyed it." 

     "Someone should give me a metal for not leaving the award," Kyle says. "I switched off my phone after I called you."

     "Write a song about her. Ask your moral to stand aside," I say. 

     "No," Kyle says, he clicks to play the video That Liar Fooled Me (Audio Full Song). "Look, this is what I always believe. Randy, a producer I like, is the only one I've talked to about these stuff. Like, like, music is art and art is beautiful because they're raw and have a bit human in them. I think, like, like, I don't want to put it this way but, like...we destroy music by putting on a show and purposely using it as a way to bring people down or hit people back."

     "But the problem is, she's hurting you and these noble values shouldn't hold you back. You just have to express your thoughts."  

     "That I think she's childish? The person knows if the song is especially written for him or her. If it's a good song that praises people, then it's a good thing. But if it openly insults someone, the song gets everyone's attention and makes a million pounds at once. And if performing it is just for revenge, it's not art, it's militarising the song and make it like...I'm just frustrated how people like to bring others down in this industry. You can write a song and leave your audience to decide in their personal life what they can relate to, you don't have to tell everyone that on national television show. My mum was like...just, honestly...forget it."

     "Have you slept with her?" 

     "No! Stop talking about me like that, okay? I don't sleep with everyone!" 

     "Okay." 

     "Ah, that okay means you don't believe me. You're such a good friend," Kyle says. I chuckle and I see him smile. "I've never even started anything with her. But, like, a song can make someone feel ashamed of himself by knowing the other person's actual heartache. But, like - everyone everywhere is laughing at me. Pana got a detention because someone in her class laughed at the performance, well at me. She punched him. The school and my parents did a good job keeping things quiet. What really have I done? I was just being nice. And like, like, selling your breakup and fantasy and look is different from sharing your real pain in a song with the audience..."

     "There's just a thin line between them," I say. 

     "Esther you don't get it. This is important for me. I had a secret gig in Manchester - that was the time before I was too big. There were about a hundred people in the pub. Small mic. Small stage. No yelling or screaming. I could see every face there. I got to sing my own songs. Afterward, I even got to eat with the people and chat about university and their weird passions. That was my favourite gig of all time. That intimacy and relationship that I had with people is something that I'll never have again." 

     I nod to show that I'm listening. 

     "I don't want to sing any more songs about dating a summer girl, or selling craps. Some people's music makes you feel like you've missed something on the inside, and I want to be those people. I want to be remembered as a musician who poured his heart out to his music. I don't want to push to sell something or make an expensive video. I want to write something that people will listen to and enjoy because of the emotions of the songs. I want to put out a record that I am proud of, not just some two weeks production. I don't want to be on headlines because of an event I go to or scripted things that I've said. Like, like, Livy doesn't make bad music. She is absolutely talented musically and is a very experienced and gifted song writer. She can write beautiful melody and lyrics expressing her emotions. But like, like, that night? She was an awful person. I couldn't go out for the next whole week. When I was in America, the paps kept provoking me. It has nothing to do with the song but that performance." 

     Kyle looks at me, "Es, we argue and we'll make it back. But, like, I don't deserve this. It's just a show, why didn't she have to put me on the spot? They won't forget it unless I die." 

     "Don't say that," I say. Kyle sighs and replays the song by Livy. 

     "Music is my pill when I start going insane," Kyle says, "when I think about you, I get lines and melody easily. Raya said Livy is crazy, her advice is to ignore her." 

     Kyle keeps quiet for a while. 

     "You know...yeah you don't, you're just some ordinary person having a life that I envy," Kyle says with a sad smile, he's rubbing the edge of this itchy blanket, "being a musician is also about being a nice and kind person - that's what I've learnt. because that's how people will want to write music with you, not just getting money and being rude - I guess I'm probably the weirdest person ever. I mean, like, come on - I shouldn't be thinking about these. I have more money than I know what to do with it. I told mum and dad that I want to buy them a bigger house. They said they want to stay simple. I offered to give them money to travel. They say no. I don't want to be a bad person, but like, like maybe I am."

     "I think you're a kind person," I say. 

     "And a very lost one," Kyle says, "why am I so different? I can't fit in. I try to party like they do, but I don't see the point of buying a costly car or house. I am not good at making friends with them. I get all awkward. They've been famous for too long to forget what normal is. Like, I love hanging out with my security unit and the co song writers. I want to feel normal though all I get is chaos. I don't want to be an arrogant person, but I literally hate everything I have." 

     Kyle lies flat on his face on the blanket, staring at the pendant lights, "My media trainer said there's a strategy with ladies. Act dump. Say want you look for in a girl and wait for them to act out all these qualities. Compliment their insecurities. Call them beautiful...That sounds disrespectful, but that's part of the job, part of the contract. I can't do anything about it. When we were, back then, you know, I never did any of those...like, we were, like...something else." 

     My heart flutters. Something else. Wow. 

     "My music," Kyle snorts, "I don't know to be one of those people who take advantage of kid's emotional weakness by music, like singing what little girls want to heart and making perfume and jeans collections. The way those poor girls are giving away their money...it's sickening and disgusting. Go on twitter, I'm my 19. My audience are 13 and 14 and they want to have sex with me. I want to write for people my age or older. I want good review. Loads of people out there hate me, I get it. They get the impression that I don't have to work. They say the songs are just catchy and crappy, which is true. Everything about me is produced and over produced. But they need to know that I don't enjoy any of these."

     "I know," I say, "And I don't know what I can do about it. I don't know how to cheer you up again like I used to. I'm always away and you're on your own. I wish I can try harder -" 

     "You're great." 

     "- I wish I know what to say or do -" 

     "You do cheer me up all the time." 

     "- I'm just sorry that you have to go through all these." I say. I want to do something. I download Cat Steven's acoustic life performance of Wild World in 1971. And I click to play the video repeatedly. Cat Stevens is sitting on a stool playing his guitar in the video. I grab Kyle's hand and pulls him up, standing in front of the white wall. 

     With Wild World playing in the background and the blurry, old video projecting over our body, I pull Kyle closer to me. Rain is still falling, making a perfect harmony with the song. He takes my hands in his, put them over his shoulders. His hands are on my waist. I can see his eyes and hear the song and smell his rainy scent. We move along with the music. I remember his fear of abandonment and my habit of hiding things. We're each other's thorns, but he's also the rose that makes me fearless. Am I just a withered flower to him though? What a mystery he still is to me sometimes. 

     "You really like this song, don't you?" He says. 

     "Yeah," I force a sound from my throat. The song goes on again and again. The projector bright light upon us makes me see Kyle better. I put my hand on his cheek. He leans towards it. 

     Thick rain doesn't stop coming. Though the thunder is loud and the wind is violent and lightning flickers, it is all very peaceful here. No tears. No fights. As though Kyle is pulling all the scattered pieces in this universe together, making the stay stars a complete constellation, creating a double rainbow in the fierce hurricane. Did I ever make him feel the same? Kyle is singing the song in a low voice in my hear. 

     "I'll always remember you, as a child girl," he mumbles. 

     "I was awful," I say. 

     "Uh?" 

     "When I was a child," I say, "I developed this fascination of climbing trees." 

     "I'd like to see that," he says. 

     "I thought one day I could reach the sky," I say, "I was the weirdest kid I know." 

     "Well, they've invented planes and helicopters," Kyle says. I smile. He goes on. "Raya and I never talk like this. I like talking to you." 

     "Why?" I hold my breath for the answer. 

     "You don't act stupid, I like that," Kyle says, "we have problems. Not games. And you believe that I do have problems, not some pointless rich people complaints." 

     I cling to him and listen to his breathing. Wow. Wow. I don't response to his opinion, I don't want to ruin the memory. The song is playing for the sixteenth time.

     "I'm going to ask a dumb question." 

     "I love dump questions," I say. I wonder if he smiles. I hope he does. 

     "Do you love me?"

     "You're my best friend." 

     "Are you in love with me?"

     "I don't know," I lie, "we broke up. Are you?" 

     "I don't know," he says. 

     "Kyle, are you lying?"

     "I have a girlfriend." 

     "And you love her so, so much."

     "I do." 

     So we keep dancing slowly, like the ending scene of a war film when people are departing, like those heroic death scenes are done and now there is only the endless mourning with damaged souls and forbidden songs and despised stories and fading hopes. 

     "It's like," Kyle says, "I can lose myself when I'm with you. Sane kind of losing. Like, like when I was on tour, receiving your letter made my day. I kept them with me everywhere I went." 

     "Good." 

     This sincerity should never go away again. No one else can get this out of me. This dying honesty between love and life. Kyle pulls away all the veils and curtains. Suppose sincerity comes after witless passion, and it's more consuming and promising than the wild, impulsive tendency. 

     "Kyle?" 

     "Yeah?" 

     "I know you're insecure, I hear that when you talk," I say softly. He is pulling me close. 

     "No," He says. 

     "Alright," I say. 

     "Yeah I am," Kyle says some time later, "So? I am working out during tour and back home when most of the time I want to eat junk food and watch TV. But guess what? I'm working in an industry where people's insecurity helps them to keep their job."

     "It'll be okay," I whisper. That sounds so lame.  

     "How? When? They have this false, crazy expectation that I'll still look like sixteen when I'm twenty nine. I can't always meet their demand. I won't end." 

     "Everything will eventually ...I don't know what I should say." 

     "Don't then. I'm secure when I'm with you, if you want to know. I don't mind messing up around you. I'll always defend for you when they mention you. Though I'm scared as f**k when people say your name. And I've been meaning to tell you. I think you're intelligent and you never try to be what I want."

     "Perhaps I just don't know."

     "Me neither," Kyle says. "What do you want?"

     You. I want us to keep dancing because we have started. I want the rain to keep falling and the video of Wild World keeps running so we don't have to stop. I want you to smile and tell me that I'm your anchor. I want you to feel loved. I want courage to say these things out loud. I want you to choose me over anyone else. 

     "I want you to remember to take all your stuff when you pack tonight," I say, "And I want us to not lose temper tonight." 

     "Are you scared of me when I lose temper?"

     "No," I drop my hand from his soft cheek. 

     "What a friendly dance," he says, "sometimes, during the whole year, I thought, like, we were too young for the kind of relationship we had." 

     "Too young for a fling?" 

     "You know what I mean." 

     "Do I?"

     Suddenly, the song stops and the screen goes all white. The laptop has run of out battery. the bright light is still on us. There comes a loud thunder. I glance at our shadows on the wall. We look magnificent. The dance and a lot of other things end. Rain is striking the floor louder than ever. Kyle doesn't move as I pull back. He kisses me. Strength disappears within me like it has never been there. It isn't that kind of earth shaking kiss. It isn't like what we had the other night. This is light. This kiss defines blue and bitter. I drop m hands from his neck and I feel his lower from my waist. It's a goodbye kiss. He releases me. 

     "Let's go back," I whisper. Every step hurts as though I am walking on burning coals, but I make it to the cupboard and grab our jackets. We walk all soaked in the storm. When I get home, I grab some clothes and go into the bathroom. I bath and cry. I put on sleeping gowns. I give Kyle back his shirt, I don't want to. I have dried my hair when he comes out of the bathroom. I grab a pillow and blanket and approach to the couch. 

     "I can take the couch, you know," Kyle says. 

     "But I promised. Come on, you take the bed. It's your last night here," I smile weakly. Mum doesn't like people going into her room, so I don't. I pull the blanket over my head. 

     "Goodnight," I hear him say later when the lamp is switched off. It's a long night. I listen to the rain, which sounds like a waterfall. Crazy how I pay attention to the storm tonight. Then it sounds quiet and gentle. Then, the rain stops. Then, there is the dripping. The clock short hand points at the numbers 11, 12, 1, 2. Kyle isn't snoring as well. I pretend to be unconscious and go into my room, catch a glimpse of Kyle shutting his eyes quickly. I slid into his blanket. Kyle should push me away and right the wrong, he is supposed to be the one with courage, which makes him the one who should shove me out. He doesn't and moves to spare a place for me. 

     Here I am, lying on the same single bed with Kyle again despite many changes has taken place. His fingers coil with mine. My hand over his chest. I fall asleep, I know he does too. The night is still and serene, and despite how things are losing, changing, replacing and breaking in the world outside, both of us are safe here in our little place under this blanket.

*

     I feel Kyle moving. I open my eyes and he's getting off the bed. 

     "Don't go," I whisper. I reach out to grab his hand, "Kyle stay here." 

     Kyle looks at me and his eyes soften. 

     "I have to go sooner or later," he says. 

     "Stay here, I'm asking now. Please, just stay with me," I say, "Kyle we'll figure a way to make things work. Just don't go." 

     "Go back to sleep," Kyle says. He doesn't move though, "I, like...I suck at goodbyes."

     So we're saying goodbye. To what? 

     "Me too," I reply a long while later. 

     "I'm so glad that I've come," Kyle says. I remember not being able to study for the A Level because of the external and internal stress Kyle brought me during our last encounter. Always, I could only think about stuff like if Kyle was okay in the Philipines or New Zealand or London, or if he was upset. And at school, people took photos of me in class and put them on social media. I was called names after names online and in reality. There came a certain extent after Kyle publicly announced Raya as his girlfriend, there were press everywhere. Whether I was going to school or buying grocery with Uncle Mike. So I make up my mind and let go of his warm hand. I close my eyes and feel him kissing the top of my head. I hear him packing, and there this final zipping sound. The door opens. The door closes. I get off the bed. I open a bottle of Absolut. The house looks clean with Kyle's stuff. His red jacket is in my wardrobe though. I hid it. I sit on the floor. 

*

     I go to Raya's exhibition the third day after it's opened. I met Marco, he is a chatty person. Kyle introduces us properly. Marco says it was Kyle who suggests having the exhibition here in Greenyard. Raya is blonde, bright and beautiful and nothing like the person Kyle has described. She doesn't like me. Good. The illustrations are stunning, mostly twisted images of the urban city with a dark meaning. I'm eyeing at the golden couple. Kyle presses his forehead against Raya's, and they grin at each other. Some minutes later, Kyle puts his arm around her and photographers take pictures. I leave then. Greenyard is too excited to welcome them. 

     I call mum the night Colleen comes to visit. Mum remains as happy as she sounded last time. Colleen asks me questions about Kyle.

     "Esther, look at me when I'm talking to you," Colleen says. I shrug. 

     "What is happening your attitude? You're a legal woman now and this attitude is going to get you into trouble. Mark my word," Colleen says. "Now look up from the table. What are you even staring at?" 

     Colleen now feeds me with news about Kyle. Kyle swore to the photographers for the first time. No one knows what they've said to him, but Kyle gave the finger and kept swearing until Jared dragged him away. He broke somebody's camera. 

     "That little boy," Colleen sighs, "He's living in a world where the lines of law and morality are distorted by how much he earns. Destroying somebody's property now. Doing drugs. What will he do next?" 

     "My mum did drugs too, didn't her?" I say, "when she was Kyle's age?" 

     "But it doesn't mean it's right. I know you're young and illegal behaviour is something for you to brag when you're Mike's age. But they're not proper behaviour and they hurt your body," Colleen says in a high pitched voice. 

     "Did you do it?" I ask. "When mum stole things, did you help?" 

     Colleen says "I'm going to check if Miss Oldman has sent me the art students timetable." 

     What a pleasure hearing the disgust in her voice. I know that Colleen is right, being young doesn't mean you can do anything without consequence. She doesn't know Kyle. I do. I call Uncle Mike and Steve to see if they want to have dinner with me. 

     "Or you just want a rescue?" Uncle Mike says. I hear doctors talking about medicals in his back. 

     "Well," I smile, "Yes. Buy ice cream when you come over." 

     Steve arrives earlier than Uncle Mike. He helps me make dinner and for some reason, Colleen and Steve are talking about my dad. They say he's a generous person. Steve met him yesterday when my dad dine in the River Hotel. 

     "Him, and two other people," Steve says, "it seemed like he was congratulating them. By the way, Esther, your dad sends his love." 

     I nod. Uncle Mike arrives and after dinner, he agrees to go grocery shopping with Colleen so I can stay home with Steve. Steve is holding the screwdriver, examining the DVD cupboard. Colleen said the cupboard needs check up or it'll fall down and hurts somebody. That sounds ridiculous. 

     "Steve?" I say, "Why didn't he say anything?" 

     "Who?" 

     "My," I pause, "dad. When those stories about me come out. When Kyle was here. He didn't say anything about you as well. The pub thing." 

     "He has said more than you know. Just not publicly," Steve says, "He's called me and your mother for so many times. He asked to not put you on phone because you were already in a mess. If he said anything, asked the press to stop or made any move, how do you think the media will react? How many more questions you'll have to answer? You're Thomas Brown's daughter, people are already restraining."

     "Okay. I don't know whether you've heard," I say, "Mum wants to move to France." 

     "I know," Steve says, "I was the one who encouraged her. It's something that she's been talking about years before you were born." 

     "I'm not mad at that, I just," I say, "I want her to go too. She sounds so happy there. But is it going to mean more Colleen - Stay - At - Mine time?"

     "Colleen is my friend, but - can you pull the chair here?" I do that, Steve continues as he stands on it, "you remain her of Rulissa, and that keeps her positive." 

     "I know, she remains me of Rulissa too. But it doesn't keep me positive," I say, "I can't keep having her here reminding me everything. I can't look at her. She and Rul look so alike, and when I look at her, I remember that f*****g phone call I had with Rul before she...she...she did that. I can't keep doing this." 

     "What was the phone call about?" 

     "We - We - we had a," I calm myself, "a disagreement. I know Colleen is part of your friend group. All of you grow up together and you get the sense to protect and support each other, but Steve, I can't." 

     "This is difficult for you, I understand," Steve says, "I do. I see the way you avoid her, and it seems to me that you're avoiding her more than before." 

     "Kyle, sort of, taught me to not shut myself out," I say, "so I am trying to feel instead of keeping myself numb like I did. But it...do you know that moment you seem, you feel that you're getting better, you're moving on. You seem be happy. And then, you look at little things like the phone, or the television or Colleen's face. And it all goes down. You're back to that confused, grim state, spending every second wondering what has gone wrong in your life."

     Steve climbs down from the chair and opens his arms. "Come here." He hugs me. I pull back and put the chair back. 

     "I'm going to try to talk to her. Colleen doesn't choose to be like this." Steve says, "If she doesn't listen, I think you should consider spending some time at your dad's." 

     After all of them left, I go to the trash room and open the window. I light a cigarette. I think about people's option and what mum said about taking love for granted. I think about Kyle's choices and his regrets. It is sad to accept that choices, truly, are always limited because of our instincts and conscious to give, to protect, to receive, to maintain and to love. We're always just allowed to pick the given options. 

*

Today is Raya's birthday. Kyle is having dinner with her in the top restaurant in Greenyard. I texted him that I have to work. Steve has arrived the hotel early and Ian and Kitty are arguing about their shifts. 

     "Steve isn't in a good mood today. The wedding band was rude to him," Ian tells me when I pull my hair up. "You finished your spliffs?"

     "No," I say, "I'll let you know when I do. And stop arguing with Kitty." Ian shrugs.

     The hotel is less crowded. People look excited and happy. It feels like the old time, but the person performing on the stage sounds awful. The bride and her husband point at me and they look away. They probably have seen me on the entertainment news. I pour the bride some water, she returns a smile. 

     "This next song is for the bride," says a voice from the stage. I look up at the strangely familiar owner of that voice, recognise a face that I'll never forget. His eyes are round and big, his smile is charming and cunning. He winks at some girls who is screaming the name of the band, Holy Wolf.

     That night, he declared his love with poisonous sweet lies. I'd seen red on the empty bed the next morning and the pain in my vagina. Clothes on the floor. His shadowy hands grasping and pulling and dragging and tearing. I couldn't wash away anything. The drummer starts playing, and Barry, the Barry with hands of monster, sings on the stage. The sound of drum is like magnified thunders. I catch Barry's eyes before excusing from the ballroom. I'm sweating. The jar of water is taken away from my hands. I look up, Steve puts it on the desk. 

     "You look pale," I hear his deep voice, "You nearly dropped the jar. Why don't you just go to the restroom and take a break? I'll do the tables." Steve walks me into the restroom. Sitting on the couch is horrible because I think of Kyle and he is not here. My heart races like a leopard is going to burst out of my chest. I check if I am all buttoned up immediately. Okay, I'm still clothed. Memories are immensely dreadful. I open the window for some air. I rub my wet palms against my trousers. Do not think about the red on the bed sheet. I should get some cigarette. 

     "Stop shaking," I tell myself like an insane person. Funny how one person can rule you. Kyle needs to be here because all along it isn't I who listens and gives advice, it's he who saves me from wrecking myself. It occurs to me suddenly that it is impossible to be fully impenetrable and strong. 

     "Your name is what, Isabel? No, Bianca? You're the quiet one. You went to see me in my concert. Right? You were shy." comes a voice. When I look up, Barry is standing at the door with a grin. He walks into the room. I shoot up from the couch. I prepare to leave, but Barry closes the door. 

     "I'd like to leave," I try to speak loudly. 

     "Well, they'll be too busy to hear us. I'm horny, really -" 

     "No." 

     "That's the funny thing about girls. When they say no, they mean yes. You threw yourself at me last time," Barry locks the door. I start panicking and shivering. Door, get there. Ask for help. I can't bring myself to move though and I think about the closed door in Barry's bedroom. 

     "Let's do it here. I tried to f**k that girl, red hair - name? Bianca? Yes. Here. Fierce little thing she was," Barry smiles. "Oh you're Esther. You were going out with Kaigan. Are you still with him? Because I'm up for a three-" 

     "What the f**k is wrong with you?" I say, "it was just one night . Get out." 

     "Shame I didn't recognise you on the news. Will somebody pay me if I tell them how you looked on bed? You didn't tell Kaigan that you were a virgin, did you? Stop the bullock, let's get over with it. Don't have condom, but you don't mind that, right? Let's be quick. I've still got one more song for the groom. The bride is fit."

     Barry stands very close. He will tear me apart and there will just be darkness. I have enough darkness in me to add more. "Stop shaking," he mumbles. 

     "I'll," I breathe, "I'll strangle you."

     "Whatever." 

     He touches my hair. I step back. He puts his hand on the small of my neck. 

     "We need to get on with it. By the way, I have another gig tonight. So bring some friends. The other girl, Katy? Kitty? Bring her." 

     I fling his hand off me. His Hands. They grab my shoulders as he crushes his mouth on mine. I struggle. I punch, resulting in being pushed to the hard wall. His face is visible. His touch is hurtful and rough. This is the violet end. You can't possibly know how scared you can be until this is the moment when all you can feel is dying, and you want to end as quickly as possible because it doesn't, you'll start notice what exactly is happening.

     I yank his hair. He pins my arms on the wall. I feel his hot mouth, eating up my face, my neck, and no...I don't want this again. He is unbuttoning my shirt. I try to kick and scream. Barry hit my face with his hand. 

     "Stop moving!" he hisses. He's heavy, I can't push him away. He covers my mouth with his hand. And I realise I still want to hang around. I realise I want choices. I still want to feel. I've never told Kyle that he is the first boy I've loved. Be brave, Esther. Please, for once, be brave. 

     I rise my leg and give Barry a mighty kick at his balls. He yells and steps back, groaning. I push him on the floor with all my strength. kicking his stomach and race to the door. I try to unlock it, my hands are shaking too much. 

     "Come on!" I plead. I hear Steve's distant voice, "I'm here! Steve! I'M HERE! IAN!"

     Barry is crawling to me with hatred in his wicked eyes. I'm breathing fast. Focus, I can do this. I can stand up against my darkness. I turn the doorknob. It doesn't move. I try harder! Barry climbs back up to his feet, and he launches at me. Please move, please. 

     "You're smoking in there? I've told to smoke outside. If Steve finds out, you're going to - Esther? Are you in there?" I hear Ian's voice. 

     I push Barry, who is grabbing my face, covering my mouth, backward and in the struggle, my hand never lets go of the doorknob. Clink. The door opens. Ian is on his way going back to the ballroom. I run past him, running straight into the crowded, silent ballroom, trip over and bump into Steve. Everyone is staring at me and the bride's dad is holding a mic on the stage. 

     "Esther?" Steve put his hand over my shoulder. 

     "He was there - Barry - he did something to Bianca too and he tried to do it again to me! He was there. I fought him. I came out - he's here!"

     It was chaotic because I'm disturbing the wedding reception. The father says something like "take this mad girl out of here". The panic attack comes, I can't feel the ground. People are walking towards my direction. So I crouch and scream until someone hugs me. 

     "What's going on, Esther? We can help you," the female voice says. 

     "Barry is here," I mumble, "he tried to rape me again. He's here...I can't..." I am panting. 

     The room falls into silence again. Steve drops the jar of water, he pushes past the suited people and runs into the backrooms. I hear him yell, "It's that guy! Seize him! No Ian, don't let him get away!" His voice echoes in the corridor, sending back into the ballroom. The husband and the bride's father run out to help as well. There is the sound of heavy footstep. The bride holds me. For a second, I believe I am dead and she's an angel. She buttons my shirt. Someone gives me a coat and she puts it around me. 

     "Pepper?" 

     The bride looks up, the husband, with sweats between his brows, says, "I've called the police and Thomas. Is she hurt?"

     "Not physically I suppose," Pepper says. "Everyone, stop walking forward." 

     "She needs some space. Please, everyone. There're still food on the table," The husband says. 

     "I'm going to the police station with you. We're going to the court together. Your father is going to charge him. Stop saying you deserve it. You're not responsible, not even slightest, for what he has chosen to do. Do you need medical care?" 

     I shake my head.

     "Esther," Pepper the bride keeps stroking my hair, "It's not your fault, whatever history you had with him." 

     "Whatever." 

     "Robbie?" Pepper says, "what did Thomas say?" 

     "Esther, you have an uncle right? Is his name Mike?" Robbie says, "your dad said Mike will meet us in the police station. His has called your mother already."

     "We got the rat!" I hear Ian shout, "Steve grabs him before he could get away. All of them are locked in the restroom. Steve fights like a ...." Ian keeps telling people in the reception. 

     "Is there anyone you would like to call? A friend?" Pepper says softly. 

     I take out my phone from my pocket, switch it on. I find Kyle's number and press call. He answers at the third ring. 

     "How's work? Didn't realise you'd finish this early." He says. 

     I hand the phone to Pepper and say "ask him to meet us in the police station."

*

The police officer with little beard assures me that I'd be absolutely safe here in this empty room. He is bringing Kyle in. 

     I was brought to the police station. The bride called her boss, Thomas Brown, my father. She said my father has always talked about me with them, that mum has sent photos of me and talked to him every week about me. My dad didn't go to their wedding because my dad knew I was working there and he didn't want me to be uncomfortable. The police has called mum again. She said she's taking the first train tomorrow morning. Barry is in another room. My Uncle and Steve are coming, they ask Colleen to stay at home. 

     The white door is opened, Kyle comes in. He is in a blue shirt. The door is closed again. Just us. Here. Standing as distanced as the room allows. His mouth opens a few times but no words come out. He runs his hand over his face then. 

     "Why didn't you just - "Kyle drops it, he is whimpering. He sounds like the boy I eavesdropped what seems centuries ago. "Why - what - I can't even picture that. Why - what exactly happened? I need to know that, and how did he get into that room? Why didn't you run away - right, he said you tried. It's useless talking about these. I mean - How far did he? I - no."

     "I'm okay," I whisper. "They'll put him in jail. My dad is here, he's going to fix it - I'll be okay.' 

     Kyle shakes his head. His eyes are red. "I know - I wish, like, like...I came here as soon as you called. I'm sorry,' Kyle covers his nose and mouth, breathing hard. He stumbles closer, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. This is the most boyish face that I'd ever seen on him. 

     "Do you need money?" Kyle says, "I can help with that," Kyle weeps again, "I'm sorry. I promised to protect you - I'm sorry for staying away. I mean, I shouldn't have promised anything if I can't do them. It's all I was thinking about." 

     "You did," is all I can say. 

     "I should have been there," Kyle says, "this is fucked up. This is fucked up. I literally can't do anything." Kyle sits on the floor, covering each eye with one hand. I hug him and he is crying so hard with a muffled voice. Kyle cries for his failed heroism. He mutters "I'm sorry" for so many times. I rock him and we stop. The police knocks and comes, says my father would like to talk to me. Kyle is waiting outside. Before my dad comes in, I hear him calling Raya for his sudden disappearance during her birthday dinner. I'm playing with the sleeve of the jumper Kyle gave me when my father settles in front of me. He's gangly and doesn't have a lot of hair. He smiles weakly. We awkwardly shake hands. 

     "Hello sweetheart," he says, sitting down with me. He looks wearier than he does on newspaper. 

     "Hi." 

     "I know it's strange to see your dad for the first time in such situation," he says steadily, "But I want you to know that I'll do anything I can, I promise you, to make sure that b*****d spend as many days in jail as possible. You're the only victim. There was another girl working as part time waitress in the hotel before. Steve said she resigned right after Holy Wolf performed. We believe Barry has sexually assaulted her." 

     "That's Bianca," I mumble. "She was acting all strange before she left." 

     "Steve has made an overseas call to confirm. Bianca and her mother are coming here to give witness so we can press charge against Barry. Your uncle is worried. Pepper, the bride you've encountered," Thomas says calmly, "and her husband Robbie are my close friends. They were my students. They've seen you photos in my house. So they recognise you and contacted me at once. I've talked to your mother as well. I know that you may not want to meet me or -" 

     "I do," I say, "I, just, give me some time." 

     Thomas looks into my eyes deeply. I'd never known how sad and concerning those eyes are. They're usually sharp and earnest on the papers. Guilt wells up in me, and that's why I hate feelings. 

     "Sweetheart," Thomas says in a quiet voice, "I want you to know that I never meant to leave in the first place. Your mother was protective of you at the beginning and she didn't let me see you until you were eight. But you rejected and please know that, I still love you very much." 

     There is another police officer. He asks questions. They allow Kyle to stay in the room. I keep repeating "I said yes" uncontrollably for more than twenty times until Kyle takes my both of my hands and says, "I know you said yes. And I love you. And you need to tell them what they need to know. Be brave." So I finish telling the rest of the story. Later, we find Uncle Mike and Steve. They hug me. 

     "You're alright? They said it has happened before. Is it true? Why didn't you tell me? Did you mum know?"

     "I thought I could handle it." 

     "F**k that dickhead," Uncle Mike says, putting his arms around me, "where the f**k is he now? I'm going to skin him alive and feed what's left to the stray dogs. Son of a b***h." 

     "So Kim didn't know about any of this too?" Thomas says expressionlessly behind me, "I've heard she wants to move to France -" 

     "And she can if she wants to," I say, "It shouldn't change anything. I'm an adult now. I don't need a guardian to stalk me everywhere I go." 

     "She's coming back anyway. Why are you fussing about it?" Uncle Mike says. 

     "He just wants to make sure someone is taking care of you," Steve says, "but now, let's -" 

     In the corridor, Barry comes out with a man in black suit. Kyle rushes forward and starts to swear. The two other polices grabs his arms and pins him on the wall. 

     "Calm yourself, mister. Calm yourself please." 

     Kyle's face is scarlet and he is kicking and pushing the police. 

     "No, you let me go now - don't - no!" Kyle pants, the police is holding his neck and torso. He grabs the police's collar and they pin one of his arms behind his back. "Get off me!"

     "Stop Kyle," I breathe. Kyle smacks a police's face and makes his square glasses fall on the floor. Barry is brought away and Kyle is still cursing. 

     "Hey kid, slow down," Steve says to Kyle. The police keeps Kyle on the wall for some silent minutes until he looks completely calm. He apologises to the police. I kiss his cheek. There are some more papers to sign. Barry denies it. Eventually Uncle Mike drives me home. Thomas asks me to call him if I need anything. I apologise for ruining Pepper and Robbie's wedding. Mum phones me, I tell her we'll talk tomorrow. Kyle and I sit on the two ends of the backseat. Yellowish and brownish lights fall on Kyle's face, flashing. He smiles when a bus passes. 

     "The lights are still pretty here, just so you know," Kyle says.

     "Are you going to stay with her tonight?" Uncle Mike asks. 

     "If she needs me yes," Kyle says. 

     "He'll probably stay with me for some hours. I'd like to be on my own tonight," I say. 

     "I don't think so. Someone should stay with you in case you feel depressed," Uncle Mike says. 

     "I'm not going to kill myself," I say.

     "I - I mean, just in case you need someone. I can call Colleen," Uncle Mike says. 

     "Don't you dare," I say. 

     " I'm just worried." 

     "I am not going to kill myself." I repeat. This is what Uncle Mike is afraid, I see his face on the rear view mirror. "I promise. I swear. You've got Barry. I'm relieve." 

     "You feel bad or something, you call me right away. I'll get here as soon as possible," Uncle Mike says, "one more thing, do you want to talk a therapist? I know somebody from the hospital. If you want to, we can-" 

     "Let me think about it," I say. Uncle Mike says goodbye. Kyle and I stay in the flat and eat ice cream. It's almost 1:00 a.m. 

     "Do you want to sleep?" He asks.

     "No." 

     "Are you hungry?" 

     "No," I say. 

     "Do you want to go out? Lion Fort?" Kyle asks. I go change into the same floral dress. "You look nice," Kyle says when we are taking the lift. He doesn't look at me. "I wanted to tell you last time. Sorry I didn't." Kyle takes out a small bead bracelet from his pocket and hands it to me. 

     "There. I've wanted to give it to you last time during the concert. But we didn't get to meet. So I thought, like, I was going to give it to Raya for her birthday." Kyle says. "Now I can give it back to you. I'll buy her something else." 

     "You're so mean to her." 

     "I've been thinking, like, well. The truth is she and I are never on the same page," he glances at me, "Let me put it on." Kyle put it around my wrist. He tucks my hair behind my ear. We arrive, but we don't feel like walking on a slope. So we sit down on a bench near the streetlamp. A man is walking with four dogs. He lets us play with the dogs for a while and asks for a photo with Kaigan. Then he leaves. 

     "Kyle I want to talk to you about it. The night at Barry's house. Because I never really can. What if, on court day, I stutter?" I say. Kyle nods and I start talking then. I cry and talk, and talk and cry. The more I speak, the less heavy the night seems. I lean on his shoulders and feels his hand on my waist. I'm so sheltered. 

     "I'm going to talk again," I say. Kyle nods and I start recalling everything over. It's an emotional torture, but every time I finish, Kyle will repeat that "you're safe. It's not your fault". Hearing that makes me start believing it. He's pulling me back from a sea of insanity. 

     "You're the first boy I loved. Don't forget that," I whisper. Kyle kisses my cheek. Trees look dark and tangled. A white later, we sit on the grass. There are a few stars above us only. Kyle's head is on my laps. We talk about his favourite country in the world. Kyle tells me about his childhood life. We go back home and watch Men In Black. I walk Kyle to the lift. 

     "Listen. It sounds lame. But you're, like, you'll always be the Juliet for me. Whatever happens next." 

     I smile and his face is replaced by the metal door. Kyle calls later, he says he wants to say goodnight. 

     "Hey, if it's not too much to ask, would you like to come to the after party of the gallery? It's just a little gathering, Raya says thank you to the local sponsors. They watch little videos and chat a bit." 

     I say yes though I don't want to. Uncle Mike texts me next morning. Mum needs to take another train since the morning ones are full. The news that Barry is arrested is out to the public, it somehow becomes national news because I was related to Kyle. Barry's family claims their son will not do that. Bianca arrives at afternoon. I have never seen Steve more relieve when he sees her. 

     "Hi. How's your mum?" Steve asks instantly.

     "Good. I've missed you," Bianca hugs me and Steve. She comes here on her own. 

     "Who needs mum at 18?" She says when I ask about it. Her hair is like flame. She has always looked bright, and now she looks tough. We go to the police station first. Later, Bianca and I, who barely emailed each other, are driven by Uncle Mike to buy food. 

     "We want to be on our own tonight, is that okay?" I ask. 

     "Don't you think it'll be better if I stay?" Uncle Mike says, "I mean, I'm not that old." 

     "We're not plotting 100 ways to murder Barry," Bianca says. Uncle Mike laughs. 

     "But think about it. We can put on animal onesies and play board games. I can get - well I have Legos. We can build space ships," Uncle Mike says. 

     "Mike, we're not 5 and nurses don't wear animal onesies and we play with smart phones now. Welcome to the 21st century." 

     I smile and Uncle Mike laughs again and he compromises. Bianca is cooking, she is horribly clumsy and forgetful. 

     "You know, all I know is to cry about it," I say, "when that happened." 

     "Natural. You know, after that and when I got back to the States, I designed tee shirts for a company. Making graphic designs to ask people to stay strong. You can't forget it, so don't. Channel inspiration from it."

     "It only gives me nightmares," I say. 

     "Why don't you write about it? You do your mum's blog," Bianca says, pouring a small pack of crisps onto her risotto. "Expel the nightmares by writing it." 

     "I don't want to recall any of it."

     "My theory: If you don't expel your nightmares, they destroy you. You can't make a peace protocol with them. It's your life, you can't revert it." 

     "But he took that from me," I say. 

     "I know, and I hate him for that. But it's not about what he did or how he's treated. He's gone. Enough is enough. It's like a new age. What he did to you belongs to the past and what you are going to do with your life belongs to now. And I want to live and have fun."

     "I can't get into university. Screwed my A - Level." 

     "Give me a high five. Screwed my SAT too," Bianca says. 

     "You're taking foundations?" 

     "Community college. Same thing." Bianca exclaims. We sit there and laugh for a while. "Actually, I'm planning to come back here for design courses. I want different culture experience and now I've enough Americans...so..."

     "So you should enrol into University of Greenyard. They've got a good design program - well, so I've heard," I say. "And you can move in with me." 

     "Sounds like a plan that my mum will hate, so it's a good plan," Bianca says. I laugh. 

     "And I've got spliffs." 

     "Like a joint?" 

     "But with tobacco," I say. 

     "You've got some now?" 

     I come out from my room with my little paper box. I light hers and mine and open the window. She gets used to it after coughing for a while. I feel light when I smoke.

     "Esther, this is the last packet." Bianca says, holding up a box of crisps, "Mind if I open it?" I shake my head and she goes on talking about the last time her friend got drunk and went screaming "You Shall Not Pass" to anyone on the bridge. I watch her talking about her adventures with drunk and stoned people in the State with wild gestures and expressions. With smokes clouding the kitchen, we make apple crumble. She crushes her cigarette on the edge of the sink and when I take out my hidden Absolut, we drink and talk with wilder expressions. And then, she talks about the crazy librarian she had in Los Angeles. She told her mother that she had school camping, and then ran off to road trips with senior boys. 

     "I've made fucked up decisions. But life is made of series of fucked up decisions," she says when she drinks. And then she tells me about riding a bike for 5 miles in a storm just to see a punk band concert. I realise I want to be her. She's funny and I'm boring. We eat the apple crumbles and talk until she says, "nah, this is it. I'm done for today. Long flight. Stoned. Sick. Sleepy. What a good day." I laugh and she moves the tea table and lies on the carpet. She closes her eyes and a few minutes later, I realise she passes out. She didn't talk about Kaigan with me, she makes it like it's the most unimportant thing in the world. I text Ian, "More spliffs?"

     I wake up. Bianca is vacuuming the house. 

     "What are you doing?" I shout over the hoover. 

     "What do you think? Gosh, you don't ever clean your place, do you?" Bianca says, "throw the bottles to the trash and call Mike." 

     Uncle Mike says he's picked up my mum and they've been to the police station and are on their way here. Bianca puts the hoover away and we try very hard to rub sink edge where we crushed our cigarettes. Bianca sprays her perfume around the house to keep away the smell of the smoke. 

     "You're so experienced," I say. 

     "I used to hold house parties at mine," Bianca says, "trust me, I'm not proud of it. Imagine the vomits." 

     Mum gets here and she looks very formal and quiet. She hugs me, and then she looks confused. Uncle Mike makes tea and Bianca calls her mother in my room. I tell them that I need to get something from the shops. 

     "Do you need Mike to come with you?" Mum asks. 

     "No," I say. I get out of the flat to get away from questions. When I am walking to the shops, I feel people following me and soon after I turn the corner, I find paps with huge cameras coming towards me. The flashing and the crowd of people with recorders remain horrifying. I stride and glance at the newspaper stand, and start running until I get to River. Steve is inside. I sit in the rest room to wait for Ian and his spliff. 

     "You're really popular, aren't you?" Ian says as he hands me a bigger paper box. 

     "Too famous," I mumble and hand him the money. 

     "Don't take too much. You smoke like you're addicted to it," Ian says. 

     "That's the point of spliff right? It gets you addicted and distracted," I say. "Anyway, thanks. Tell Steve I'm going home." 

     "Do you need a ride? My shift ended," Ian says. I nod and I sit in his van in a dark corner when he changes his uniform. I find a lighter and a pack of Windsor Blue. I light one. When I exhale, it feels good. And it feels terrible to know that I so desperately need something from the outside to make my inside feel good. Vodka. Cigarette. Masturbation. Distractions. Good. What is good? Seeing the ring of smoke is good because it tells me that I'm still breathing. How does Kyle have a normal life with people chasing him? But then, what is normal? Is it normal to feel like this body isn't mine? Is it normal to want to have sex, make love, yet can't? 

     I think about Kyle's songs singing about getting girls to bed and the music videos where he dances among many naked ladies, and the lyrics about winning and buying girls. And then I think about the newspaper headlines that I've glanced from the newspapers, stating that I've been drinking that night and predicting Barry's sentences. Does putting him into jail makes it okay? Is rape just a gossip to them? Kyle is raped too. By the world. All things truly wicked start from an innocence, someone has said. Now I see why Kyle is going wicked. I think I'm joining him in a way.

     Ian gets back and he doesn't say anything about the cigarette. 

     "Is that Kitty's bra?" I ask, pointing at the pink laced thing on the backseat. 

     "Yeah," Ian says, "she and her boyfriend were here." He starts the car. 

     "You have a scarf or something? Don't want people take photos and get you into troubles." I say, breathing out big smoke rings them with my finger. Ian grabs something from the backseat and takes out a black scarf. 

     "Thanks. It looks familiar," I say. "Kitty's?" 

     "She left it," Ian says.

     "You fancy her?" I smile. 

     "That boyfriend is a bloody pig," Ian says as I put the scarf around my head. 

     "And you still lend them the car?" Ian doesn't speak. So I toss the cigarette out and he keeps driving. He drops me off near the backdoor. I get home and Bianca is talking to my mum. 

     "Don't ask me s**t please," is the only thing I say to mum. I stay in my room. I drink and lie still. I hear mum knocking the door and says the dinner is ready. I shut my eyes. 

     "Give her some time," Uncle Mike says. 

     "Did you see the newspaper today?" Mum says, " I've sent a compliant letter to the editor already, but Mike, look at the websites." 

     "There's nothing we can do about it," Uncle Mike says. The door bell rings. "It must be Colleen. I've told her to not come." 

     I hear them closing the door. Hours later when the sky is pitch dark, I get up and my head hurts so much. I call Kyle.

     "Hey, is everything okay?" he says huskily. Sounds like he's in the bathroom.

     "Yeah, I'm wondering if ... I'd like to see you," I say. 

     "Bad dreams?" 

     "Yeah," I lie, "I can meet you at yours? Now? I'll drive." 

     "No, like. Raya's here," Kyle says. "But, I can't talk - and - wait...No Ray, I'm fine." 

     There's a soft feminine voice, "Come back to the bed. The condom's in the drawer, I've found it." 

     "Okay, I'll be there soon. It's Fane, he wants to talk about the tour date," Kyle says. A moment later, he says, "Es? You're still there?" 

     "Nah, Fane Bane is," I say and hang up. I call Ian. 

     "Hello," I say. 

     "What do you want? You've taken all my spliff," Ian says. 

     "No, you have something else other than spliff?" I ask.

     "There's a party down there, I can get you some Lucy. LSD. But we need to share," Ian says. "Why are you calling me so much these days?" 

     "I'm trying to get a social life," I say. "Come pick me up at the backdoor."

     I take the keys and carefully go unlock the door. 

     "If you're going to meet you secret famous boyfriend, you'll want to be back before eight a.m. tomorrow because that annoying Colleen is visiting. Your mum and Mike went home." I hear Bianca. I smile before leaving the flat. If only I'm meeting Kyle. Ian arrives within 30 minutes. 

     "Why aren't you sleeping at this hour?" I ask when he drives. 

     "Kitty and her boyfriend are on my bed," Ian says. "I've been staying in the van."

     "Why?" 

     "Kitty wants to celebrate her one month anniversary with him but she doesn't have anywhere to go," Ian says, "So, Lucy?" 

     We arrive a shabby looking house. Ian says the party is in the basement. I don't want to go in because it could be extremely crowded. But I see Marco outside. He waves at me. Ian comes back and we drive away. 

     "I have got two pills. One for each of us," Ian says. "Hey, can you hear that your phone is vibrating. It's been ringing since you get it."

     "Is it?" I take it out. It's Kyle. "I'm too numb to hear it." I turn it off. Ian pulls the car into the driveway.

     "How about this? You'll stay in the back of the van and I'll stay in my granddad's. He's died. I don't want company. Suppose you don't want too. You lock the door, and I'll meet you back here at nine tomorrow?" 

     "Seven, I need to get home. See if you can get up, or I'll drive and you can pick up your van at mine," I say. Ian hands me the key and he leaves the car. 

     I swallow the pill. And I wonder if my eyes are glowing. I wonder if my world is a black and white place that can only be lit by this single pill. Now I'm high, I wonder if it makes me happy. Life is trippy and a series of addictions. The world is a beautiful s**t. People are demons and I don't f*****g care because now, I feel like an angel. If only Rulissa is getting high with me. Now escaping becomes more than a hobby. Love becomes dope. I'm dizzy and I lie flat on the seat. I think I am seeing clouds in the car, and spaceships. I am counting the elephants on the rear view mirror. I'd like to be happy, and getting high is the closest I can get of being happy. How pathetic. We want love, but we go for sex. We want happiness, but we go for chemicals. 

     I wake up as soon as the sunlight hit me. I stay still in the car and for a second, I pretend I do not exist. Ian knocks my door, so I have to get up. He gets in the car and starts the engine. 

     "Did you take it?" 

     "I realise I don't want to," Ian says. 

     "Why? She broke your heart," I say.

     Ian drives passes River Hotel. 

     "You still love her?" 

     Ian shrugs, "Let's grab some donuts." 

     I get home and take a bath. Mum gets up and I make her coffee. Bianca gets up and I make her breakfast. Colleen comes and I smile and listen to her wailing. Uncle Mike makes some jokes and I pretend to laugh so hard that my stomach hurts. My dad calls and I lie about being ready to go to court. My life is so predictable. 

     Mum and Uncle Mike go to meet my dad. Bianca literally asks Colleen to leave the flat because she needs to "study". Then Bianca smokes my spliff and I listen to her introduction of the punk bands that she likes. She takes me to jog and watches comedies. 

     "I had my life mapped out when I was seven," Bianca says when she is eating Doritos, "after Barry raped me, I thought the plans should all go to trash. But I don't want him to take away anything else from me. F**k him, this is my life, and my dreams and my future. F**k him, because no one takes away my things. I do things my way and I've decided that I don't want to back off. I was upset but everyone gets upset sometimes. Like you do. Like in high school, people got in my f*****g way. Teasing me and poured piss on me during Sport Day. So I reported it. And I gather pig dung and pour them over those girls during homecoming. And the bully stopped. I was the heroine, I like being a heroine," Bianca smirks. "Look at this." 

     She takes out a tee shirt from her luggage. The words "Rape Is Not Swag" is branded beautifully on it. At night, mum and Colleen come back. 

     Mum doesn't talk about it. I'm glad. She doesn't know how to handle it, she should stay this way. Colleen pretends she knows what to do and asks questions from her "101 Young Teen Council Guidebook. Edition 7th." 

     "I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't say anything," Bianca says, she is drawing on the window sill, "but Colleen, she's grown up. Both of you are treating her the same way you did two years ago, that doesn't make sense to me." 

     "Thank you for that advise, I think I know what to do with my dau - with Esther," Colleen says. 

     "I'm just saying that she's an adult," Bianca waves her hands innocent, "she can handle it."  

     "Bianca is right," I say, "And mum, go back to France. I can manage." 

     "I'm going to help you -" 

     "I don't need help! Give me some space and - I just want things to go back to the way they were. I'm moving on, I'm trying to make a - a progress. Bianca is helping me, but the two of you just makes it hard to breathe. I want some time alone. I'm going out. To see Kyle." 

     "I'm coming with you," Bianca gets up. 

     "I'd like to have the car key," I say. Mum kept it when she went to France. She doesn't like the idea of me driving. 

     "I don't think it's a good idea," mum says slowly. 

     "You need to accept that I'm growing up. I know it's hard for you, you're a parent. But I can't go back to be that all happy and cherry 14 years old. I'm not who I was," I say, "you need to let that naive girl go. Both of you. Can I please have the key? I've passed my driving test."

     I snatch the key from mum's hand and I drive while Bianca sits with a pack of cookies. 

     "Why are you always eating?" I ask. 

     "Sorry, took that from the drawer. You don't mind?" Bianca says. 

     "Nope," I am surprised that I'm smiling. "Where do you want to go?" 

     "Aren't we seeing your boyfriend?" 

     "I'm not seeing him," I say. "There's a pub, and there's a guy who plays saxophone there. I've walked past it once, want to go?"

     "Okay. And sure Colleen is cursing me now," Bianca says. I laugh. She puts in that punk CD that Steve left in the car and sings loudly. In the pub, I watch Bianca eat and listen to the jazz in the backseats with a cap over my head.

*

Kyle drives me to the exhibition hall, which is empty now with all the paintings all loaded into big vans. 

     "The party is up there. Raya is meeting people and she's going to give a speech, as she always does," Kyle says when we're waiting for the lift, "would you like to get a drink? Is there something on my face or what? You keep looking away," Kyle says. 

     "No you look," I look at him, "great." 

     I've never seen Kyle dressing formal in person. He is wearing a suit with a black bowie with his hair styled. I don't want to stare at him. I am wearing Bianca's blouse dress. My hair is down and messy. I had some heavy drinks with Bianca and Uncle Mike last night at Uncle Mike's. I woke up half an hour before Kyle picked me up. Lately it feels like I can't live without taking in something. The taking in part feels great. The getting high part feels grand. The waking up is dread and thirsty. 

     "I'll pass," I say. 

     "Pass what?" 

     "Drinks. Just now you said something about getting a drink, and I'll pass," I say. I look clumsy. 

     "Not even water? We don't have to get to the room yet. We can go to a shop and get you drinks, or food, or dinner." 

     "I'm not hungry. And it's just 5:30," I say. 

     "It's like we've run out of things to say," Kyle says. The lift arrives and Kyle presses the top floor. 

     "I thought the party is on the 7th," I say. 

     "It is," Kyle says, "but the sun should be setting now. I just thought we could go and see the sunset, but if you want to go -" 

     "Sunset is brilliant here," I say, "we've seen it before, remember going to Lion Fort?" 

     "Yeah," Kyle says, "they've got reflective tint window. So no paps or photos. Steve said they're giving you troubles." 

     "How do you get used to it?" I say. 

     "I don't, which is how you stay normal," Kyle says. The lift door opens and the large hall is empty. Kyle sits down on the floor in front of the tall window. The sun is glowing, causing long shadows on the orange wall. I sit down as well. 

     "I've...like," Kyle says, "Marco saw you the other night. You're with your boyfriend, I think?" 

     "You think I should have a boyfriend?"

     "We've...well, you can of course have a boyfriend if you want. I mean, like, I'm with Raya and you, well, I..."Kyle says, "what's his name?" 

     "Ian. Are you happy for me?" 

     "I'll be if that's what you want me to be." 

     I smile at him. 

     "Like, in the letter days, you've, like, mentioned like you were happy for me when I told you about Raya. So, like, yeah," Kyle runs his finger over his hair. 

     "You look better in sweats," I say. 

     "You look better in my clothes," Kyle says. 

     I laugh. 

     "How's your friend Bianca?" 

     "She is eating everything in the house. Colleen doesn't like her," I say, "Uncle Mike does. She eats everything he cooks. They make the funniest jokes." 

     "Steve said Bianca looks like her mother," Kyle says, "that's the woman he loves. All these years, he's never got over her. That's the first girl he loves." 

     "Where is she?" 

     "In the state. Her husband cheated on her. It broke her heart, and Steve's," Kyle says. 

     "Why doesn't he go and find her?" 

     Kyle shrugs. We look at the colourful sky for a moment. Piano music is coming out from the speakers around us. 

     "Ian is not my boyfriend," I say. 

     "I know," Kyle says. "Like, I guess so."

     "He's got me Lucy that night, and two nights after that night," I say. "I had a great time in his van. I was counting your face on the window glass." 

     Kyle chuckles. 

     "I was handing in my course application forms in the university, and there was press. The office lady treated me like a freak. I was going to work, there was press. So I resigned. I was smoking by the window, there was people taking photos. I should just spend a lot of time in the flat, but there are Colleen and my mum. It's confusing. I think I'm going crazy." 

     "Welcome to my life," Kyle says. "Just like, you watch your social life getting destroyed and you spend all day trapped. Soon you'll need something to maintain the in betweens. And now, you're looking forward to the time where you get to be alone in a closed space because you can be shamelessly addicted to those substance that keeps you going." 

     "True." 

     "I've been thinking about it," Kyle looks away, he licks his lips. "I was...I keep, like, thinking that we should get together. I'm going to talk to Raya. Not for you. For me."

     "Great, be honest with her," I encourage. 

     "What do you think though?" Kyle says, "we can always figure something later. You don't like people taking photos of you, and I've talked to your father the other night. On phone. I asked him about the court's order. The high court can help restraining the paps. It's rare, but it's possible. Of course it's going to take a lot of time going through the papers, but it'd mean we can be, like, you know. Or we can meet in secrets. I have a tight schedule next year, but you can fly out to meet me. Away from the country and we can go somewhere." 

     "Let's get away then," I say. 

     "Would you like to get a ticket now? We can go abroad. Hungary? We can skip these," Kyle says, "I'll explain things to Raya later. Do you want to go?" 

     The lift door opens. I hear someone stepping out and I hear Marco's voice. 

     "Raya's looking for you everywhere. She's about to make the speech," Marco says. "And there're some local producers and directors want to meet you. Mate, you need to get down there now before Raya starts yelling. Good to see you Esther." 

     I smile politely and get up. We follow Marco down to the 7th floor. Marco tells me about a fashion show he went to and talks about hooking up with models. Now we're dragged back into this reality. Raya rolls her eyes when she sees us, and Kyle wraps his arm around her. They walk into the hall and Raya goes to the centre of it. She made a beautiful speech, giving thanks to people around. Marco is checking nude photos of girls on his phone in a corner. People clap. I look Kyle and the fascinating smile he gives everyone. I sit in a corner and look at famous local producers and television hosts. 

     "You are on the newspaper," somebody says, "you're Esther Brown."

     "Somebody has to be," I say. 

     "You have cigarettes?" I ask Marco. He gives me a pack of Richmond and a lighter. I feel people looking at me, so I go out wandering the corridor. I open the fire exit door and sit on the backstairs. I pull my hair back. I feel s****y and I want to throw out. Suddenly I'm scared if anyone will yank my hair from the back, it is as though I can hear myself screaming in my head. Last time I got high, I saw Rulissa sitting with me. Which has become a reason why I'm looking forward to the next time I get high. I light the cigarette. 

     A while later, I hear the door open and it's Kyle. He's holding a pack of Benson & Hedges, his favourite brand. He smiles when he sees me and puts a cigarette in his mouth. He sits down next to me and I light his. I open the window. 

     "Bianca said she was so terrified when she read the list of diseases caused by smoking that she stopped reading," I say. Kyle laughs. 

     "I was in this party at Livy's house. She invited me, for some reason," Kyle's voice is hoarse, "and I smoked in her room - when I was hiding from Fane. She came in, she said 'you're cute when you smoke, but it is annoying me.' I told her, 'it's killing me.' She left me alone."

     "I don't like it when people are rude to smokers and addicts. Why can't people be nice to suicidal who are dying?" I say. 

     "They tend to talk and feel like suicidal but they won't really do it," Kyle says.

     "Because that causes causalities." 

     "Nah, because in the end, they don't have that much to run away from," Kyle says. He blows the smoke on my face. This familiar smell of ash witnesses our wicked innocence.

     "Do you?" 

     "I should probably plan my funeral soon," Kyle says. "I'm not serious."

     He runs his thumb over my face. I close my eyes to and breathe. I feel him thrusting a small plastic bag on my palm. I look down. It's some white and blue pills with a crown symbol. 

     "I can get you the best Lucy," Kyle says, "Marco said, when I was 15, 'don't ever pay for your drug. Get more gigs and become the headline. And people will hand you the best stuff'." 

     I stare at the pills on my palm. 

     "You don't like it?" Kyle says, " What do you want then? I can get you other stuff." 

     "It's fine," I say. I take a drag of the cigarette. I put it inside my pocket and kiss his cheek. He smiles. We're screwed in every possible way. I hate drugs, but I love getting high so I don't have to think and remember. I fall so quickly, I'm the crashing plane. Boam. 

     "I just remember that your jacket is in my room," I say. "I'm not giving it back to you. And you should get back inside."

     "I'm staying with you," Kyle runs his free hand over my knees. 

     "Lately I've been going insane," I say. 

     "I can see that," Kyle says, "because you look terrible." 

     "I am terrible. I'm always running in the streets and I think I can join the Olympic now," I say, "When I'm not taking in stuff, I'm thinking about things. Hanging around people is the most difficult time to get through." 

     "Yeah, it's bad. I know. Last night I sat in my room," Kyle says, "and I was like, if we could start everything again, like..."

     "We should have just kept being together," I say. "But then, I'd start screwing up." 

     "Or we'd have to break up because we're always so far away," Kyle says, "If you're thinking about what I wrote about Raya a few months ago, I was just trying to keep my letters long. She likes art, but you don't have to end up with somebody who likes the same thing you do." 

     I find looking at him very difficult because I'd remember loving him for the first time. I guess I've never stopped. He loosens his bowtie. I take a long drag, so long that I choke. 

     This morning I googled myself though Bianca said I shouldn't. There are comments like "Esther Brown get raped for attention", "She deserves it" and "I wish that guy killed her". I was sober this morning, so I almost believed them. 

     "We will drift apart like we did," I say. 

     "I didn't mean to talk rubbish with you on phone. I wanted to move on. I know what's over is over, but then everything happened. I didn't tell you about the Lucy Party in Paris because I wanted you to remember me as the one who you've met before, not some worthless drunk s**t. I wanted to talk about Johnny when I saw you, not on phone. I tried to keep my s**t together." 

     Kyle pauses a few. He smokes very fast and he finishes his first cigarette. I light him his second and he starts to talk, "The tour in America was horrible - and those days, like, like you know, if only you were there. I couldn't get through it so I got loose in parties. And there, it's weekend every night. I'm sorry we've drifted apart. I went on tour and met people, but most of the time, I just wanted to lie on the bed with my guitar. I tell lies and I live in lies. I didn't want to get back into your life. Your life should be easy." 

     "You think it's any easier here?" I say, "I hate Colleen. And I missed you and I was on my own. I drink so I can sleep. I drink so the panic attacks will stop. I wish I could stop thinking about you or Barry, but it's not something you snap your finger and forget."

     I crush the cigarette on the stair. He grabs my hand as though he's scared that I'd leave. 

     "How about you just give me a list of things that I can do to help. I give up trying and guessing. I'm not mum, I'm not good at handling situations," Kyle says. He lets go of my hand and his fingers traces along his socks. He takes a short drags of his cigarette and holds his breathe. 

     "Do you think, honestly, that I'll ever be okay?" I whimper, "'cause I want to give up too, but how do I give up? Let's say I'll die at 70 years old, which means I'll have to live for 54 years -"

     "52 years," Kyle says. 

     "And I'll have to spend every day in those 52 years trying to be okay. What if I'm still not okay before I die?" 

     "On the bright side, you'll die and make this ultimate escape," Kyle says. 

     "What is being okay then? Let's say this week, I can stop thinking about Barry, but if later I have a double panic attack, can that be counted as okay? Or what if my panic attacks stop for a month and I start having dreams about Barry at nights again, would that be regarded as okay?" 

     "No. We'll figure something. Don't talk like this - what is wrong with you? There's no good thinking about those stuff. We always figure something later, right? Sometimes you cry and I cry and we fight and we'd make it up," Kyle says quickly, "You always find a solution to things, because that's what you do. You mend things. You answer questions and put me back together. So if you could fix me, you're going to fix yourself. F**k. Stop talking like this. Just f**k this." 

     Kyle throws his cigarette on the floor and crushes it with his shoe. 

     "Sometimes, Es, I can see all the possibilities of us mapping out in front of me, and sometimes it's just nothing." 

     "And nothing is nothing," I say. Kyle twists a strand of my hair to the back of my ear. People seem to be just faces, and later names only. Kyle straightens his legs on the stairs, and I move to sit on his laps. I feel him holding me and for the first time in ages, I don't feel lost. I run my fingers in his hair and touch his thin cheeks. How long has his eyes been this hollow and doleful? He makes a sound from his throat and for a long time, none of us move. 

     "Raya could be coming," I mumble. 

     "F**k that." 

     I push his hair back. 

     "I am terrible too," Kyle says. I feel his fingers stroking my neck. 

     I lean in to kiss him. Hell, I'm selfish. Hell, I'm greedy. Hell, I'm happy. So the two terrible people tangle together and all the broken comes back to life. Maybe it's magic. I remember lights, many lights on the ceiling and Kyle's weight next to mine. That was the world we had before we were shaped into some awful, self destruct monsters. That was whole and complete. Now we're trying to burn. I feel his hand tucking under my dress and him kissing my neck. Hell, I wish the fire can go on. 

     "What are you doing? Oh, f**k you Kyle Mentor. F**k you, you god damn f****r!"

     Kyle turns around and he gets up at once. I slip on the floor and my knees hurt. Kyle has a girlfriend. Passion killed my morals. Raya stares at us, and Raya's eyes turn watery. She is screaming something and she is jumping up and down like a frantic monkey. She pulls her hair and screams again like a mad person. She turns her heels and pushes open the fire exit door. Kyle runs after her. I stand here alone. I'm scared, so I walk down the stairs to the ground floor and call Ian. I stay in the back of his van and crouch and cover my head. 

     "I'm not your f*****g driver, and this van isn't your hotel," Ian says after I sit there for three hours. "I'd like to be a friend, but Esther, I've got things to do." 

     "What?" 

     "Kitty needs some help washing her car and I said I'd help," I hear him. 

     "Where is her boyfriend?" 

     "They're going to a party," Ian says, clearing his throat a few times. 

     "You're lame," I say. "Oh, here." I take out the Lucy Kyle gave me and hand it to Ian, "thank you." 

     Ian shrugs, "remember how we used to be so happy in River? We'd talk about stupid famous people. And I'd pretend to hate everything Kitty liked. Now she has a boyfriend and she's getting into university. And I'm washing cars and fixing pipes and serving dishes." Ian shakes his head. 

     "One more thing, and now we're being actual, good friends," I say. 

     "I'll minus the 'good' part," Ian says. "I'll drop you off somewhere." 

     He drops me off at Kyle's house. The streets near where Kyle lives is exceptionally quiet. Well, that's where rich people live. Coming here is a foolish idea, but maybe Raya is asleep. This is terrible, but I can't - I just want to see him. I look at the brass reflection of the bell, I look at a raggedy homeless. I think I hear someone screaming. I ring the bell anyway. Kyle opens the door. 

     "What're you doing here?" Kyle asks shockingly. Most of his suit is covered in green paint. I hear screaming and the smashing of china. 

     "Oh, she's doing it again," Kyle mutters. Kyle goes into the house. I follow hesitatingly. The plants near the door is lying lifelessly on the floor with broken pots. There are snapped paint brushes on the floor and a large amount of red and blue paints splashed everywhere on the white wall and the furniture. The fridge is opened and all the food is flung out. The vegetables on the floor are trampled. Spoons and forks are everywhere. There are sculpture but they're all collapsed. The papers on the floor are torn. 

     "No no! You don't ask me to calm down. You f****r! You son of a b***h! You wanker!" The screaming is from the first floor. "WANKER! You're a cheating wanker! Don't you dare to tell me what not to do! Back off!" 

     A huge picture is being chucked down from the first floor. 

     "I don't want this! I don't want it Kyle! You wanker!" Raya yells, "I hate you!"

     "Alright, alright now," Kyle's voice is weak, "I'm sorry, Ray. I'm sorry. I've said many times that I didn't mean to. I was, I was drunk. I had a few drinks. You know I don't like her. Please, Raya. Please, now look at me. You know you're the only one I want. Just look at me," Kyle sounds like he's pleading, "Now, breathe. Just breathe. Do you want paint? Keep breathing. I can get your tools. It'll make you feel better, won't it?" 

     Raya screams again in a high pitched voice. 

     "Alright! Alright!" Kyle bellows, "you don't want to paint? That's fine. We don't paint. You want to make something? You love making photo frames with newspaper, right? I'll get you newspaper! Good. Okay." 

     There is a moment of silence in the big house. 

     "What? No! No! Don't cut your hair, Ray. Put down the scissors. Don't cut your dress too! No, just put down the scissors. Give it to me now, Ray. Or you put it down," Kyle says. 

     Raya is thundering down the stairs. She is swearing and she looks so different that I almost didn't recognise her. Raya, now in a dress that is cut and torn, appears to be a very thin girl. Her fringe are cut unevenly and blonde hair is tangled and her eyes are bloodshot. Her arms are stained with blue and purple paint. 

     "What are you doing in our house? Come and taunt me?" She screams. Kyle runs down the stairs. his cheek is cut and bleeding. 

     "Are you here to shag my boyfriend? You s**t! You and everyone always trying to destroy what I've worked so hard to have! You w***e! I keep myself thin, I put stupid make up on and I just want everyone to like me! And Kyle did and you w***e! Give me a break! F**K THIS WORLD! You deserve to be rape-" 

     "SHUT UP!" Kyle yells, "come on Raya. No please. Just look at me. Let's go upstairs. You can take a bath. I'm going to take care of you." 

     Raya screams and sneers and laughs. She sits on the floor and scream, pulling her own hair and she approaches to the table and grabs a fork. Kyle grabs her around the waist instantly and Raya is kicking and biting his arm. Raya looks like me when I was in Barry's house. Kyle holds her tightly to prevent her from kicking. 

     "Easy. Easy, Raya." Kyle pants, "It's going to be okay. Do you want to call Dr Gwen?" 

     Raya is muttering something. 

     "No, you're beautiful," I hear Kyle softly say to her, "No. Do you know what I think about the speech you made just now? Back in the party? I think it's the best speech you've had and I'm so proud of you, and I really want you to call Dr Gwen now. Can you do that for me? Please? And -" Kyle looks up, "Esther, just go home." 

     I turn around and leave the house. The look in Raya's eyes I saw just now is familiar because I see that in the mirror every day. I walk to Kitty's flat in the dead of the night. Ian is smoking a joint and holding a wet towel next to a car. 

     "So you really don't have other friends?" Ian says when he sees me. 

     "I do. But you're the one I like the most," I say, "because you don't try to make me laugh, and that's good." 

     Ian shrugs and hands me the joint he's smoking. We're both hopelessly in love with someone we can't have. Grand. I exhale and wipe the tears away. 

     "Where's the Lucy?" 

     "The van," Ian says. "I'm almost done. Grab food?" 

     "Let's go to your granddad's house." I say. 

     "Why?" 

     "I want to get stoned and have sex with you there," I say, "is there a problem?" 

     "If you're upset, you go find your fancy boyfriend," Ian says. 

     "Come on, Kitty's probably spreading her legs for her boyfriend now. And if we don't do something to keep me sane and distracted, I'll break. So either we have sex now or let's go get drunk," I say. 

     "Lately you've become really fucked up. You know that?" Ian says. 

     "Get in the car," I say and hand him back the joint after a last, long drag. Don't think about Barry, I urge myself. I watch Ian finish washing the car and how he climbs back into his van. 

     " Do you have a condom? Let's do it in the backseat," I say. 

     "No," Ian says and he pulls out of the driveway. 

     "Because Kitty has done it here with someone else?" I say. 

     "Why are you trying to provoke me?" Ian says softly. 

     "I don't want to be the only one who's upset and angry," I say. 

     "Well the good news is you're not," Ian says, "the bad news is if you keep talking s**t, I'll throw you off the car." 

     "No you won't," I say, "because you pity me and now I am basically living on people's pity so I can tell." 

     I get into his granddad's house. Ian goes upstairs and comes back with thick blanket. I sit on it and take off my blouse dress, unhook my bra and I put some Lucy on my tongue, tasting them before swallowing them. Ian's face is turning red and silver and gold. I laugh when Ian pulls down my pants. My knickers look like an umbrella. I am so unhappy but I laugh because I don't care. I laugh when I give Ian a blowjob because I can't locate where his penis is. So Ian turns on the light and his c**k gets into my vagina under the lamp. I wonder if his granddad's ghost is looking at us. I moan Kyle's name while he moans Kitty's. We become one hell of a broken flesh. Ian comes. I come. Ian wants to find his boxer, I've hidden it and I laugh when he can't find it. He swears at me and I laugh and I swear I see yellow stars and green tigers in the house. 

     "I'm going to wait on the van," Ian says, "Get yourself together." 

     "Why did you dye your hair purple?" I ask him and he leaves the house. I lie on the thick white blanket and move my arms up and down like a bird's wings. So getting stoned is the only way to have sex now. I laugh and I rub my hand over my breast and I look at the ceiling until I'm too tired to see Rulissa's face.

     When morning light hits my eyes, I sit up. Standing up isn't easy. I eventually find my blouse dress under the cupboard and my bra hanging over the dusty television. I can't smile for some reason. I fold the blanket and knock Ian's car window. He's asleep. No, he has sandy colour hair, not purple. I get into his car and he drives me back to my flat. Kyle has texted me that he's coming to my flat at nine. And it's ten now. When I'm in the car, my dad calls me. 

     "Hello?" I say. 

     "Oh sweetheart," I hear his voice, "I'm just calling to see if you're okay? It just that I haven't called in a while and I wanted to talk to you. Not about the court. Just some bonding. I reckon we've now met and -" 

     "Would you like to come over for dinner tonight?" I say exhaustedly. 

     "Of course, if that's okay with your mother," my dad says. 

     "Yeah, I'll ask if Uncle Mike can cook tonight," I say, "or I'll cook. What do you want to eat?" 

     We go on talking about dinner and it is decided that my dad will come tonight at 7 pm. Steve had to work and I've texted Uncle Mike, who is in the hospital now. He'll get to my place at around 6 and dinner starts at 7:30pm. So I get back to my flat through the backdoor and ring my bell. Mum opens the door. Bianca is sitting in front of the tea table and Kyle is sitting around the dining table. 

     "Hi," Kyle says. He looks ten years older. Mum says she'll go to the mall and Bianca says she'll go buy sketch books. 

     "I've told your mum that you texted me last night about not coming home," Bianca says in my ear. 

     "Thank you." 

     "Your mum thought you were staying at Kaigan's and Kaigan said yes," Bianca says, "did you?" 

     "No," I say, "oh hey mum, dad is coming over tonight. Dinner. Is that okay?" 

     "Of course," mum says, "do you want me to call Mike?"

     "I've called him and Steve can't come. Will Colleen be here?" Please say no. 

     "Yes, of course," mum says. 

     "I'll see you when you get back," I say. I close the door. I turn around and say, "would you like some coffee?" 

     "No thanks. You mum made tea," Kyle says, "you mum thought you were staying at mine." 

     "And thanks for lying for me," I say.

     "Where were you though? Sorry, last night was a bit messy," Kyle says. 

     "I went to," I pause, "a homeless shelter. I didn't feel like going home and there wasn't paps in homeless shelter. So, why not?" 

     "I'm glad you're okay," Kyle says as I sit down across him, crossing my fingers, "So last night, Raya was -" 

     "You need to take care of her," I say, I keep looking at the cut on his face. 

     "What do you think I've been doing every day since I knew her?" Kyle says, "She isn't normally like this. You need to understand that she's under a lot of pressure every day, and it causes an emotional disorder. I called Dr Gwen, her specialist, last night and we're going back to London for a check up tomorrow night. But she isn't mental or anything, okay? She always has this problem and she was in too much control when she was a kid. Her mum was a ballerina. I know that I'll break up with her soon -"

     "You can't," I say, "You need to stay with her."

     "I'm not her babysitter." 

     "She'll crash if you don't. You made her vulnerable, so you need to look after her."

     "She'll be fine. She calmed down a few hours after you left. She cleaned all the paints and she forgave me. She made pizza and I drove her around at midnight. She'll be fine, it's time for me to move on. The things I said last night aren't real, I was telling what she wanted to hear."

     I don't want to say anything. 

     "I've thought of a place where we can travel after we get back together. I've checked my schedule. I'm going to have a short break in November. Let's go to Rome. It's beautiful and your mum said she's been there as well. You'll like it. We can get a boat and, and..." Kyle sighs, "fine." Kyle gets up and puts down his mug of tea. "You don't want to talk and this is the end of our conversation. Fine." 

     "Kyle," I call, he looks at me, "we can't," I say. Kyle turns around and slams the door. I sit on my bed until Bianca comes back. We've decided to make cheesecake. 

     "Don't smoke, mum is coming back," I say when Bianca takes out a lighter. 

     "What's up with you and him?" Bianca says. 

     I tell her Raya's story. 

     "I think she's anorexic, given by what Kyle told you," Bianca says, "It also comes with other disorders. Like obsessive compulsive disorder or depression. And speaking of depression, are you sure Kyle isn't depressed?" 

     "No he's not," I say instantly, "he's just tired lately. He used to be funny and carefree." 

     "We all used to be like that," Bianca says shrilly, " Why did you go to his house in the first place? You should have called him or texted him instead of finding him while you know his girlfriend is in his house." 

     "I was stupid." 

     "I think," Bianca says, "he has enough troubles already. I mean, everyone is criticising his music and his reputation and now he's got a Godzilla girlfriend."

     "Don't be mean."
     "I'm not. I like Raya, I subscribed to her website. I did a presentation about her illustrations one time though I failed my Modern Art Class. I feel sorry for her. Now, let's finish dressing the cake. I really like the look of it."

     Bianca is going back to the States three days later. She will be back for the court day and after she has enrolled to my university, she will officially be my roommates. 

     We have dinner and we talk about s***s like weather, university and future career. Mum talks about France vividly. Both my dad and Uncle Mike encourage her to go back. I do too and I smile at her despite how difficult it is. Thomas, my dad, is a fairly nice person and gentle person. My dad and mum clean the table after eating the cheese cake ( which is eaten mostly by Bianca). Dad leaves. Uncle Mike and I go to a Haagen Daz nearby. I've ordered Mint Chip and he's ordered Milk Chocolate. 

     "We haven't eaten together in ages. And eating ice cream is healthier than smoking," Uncle Mike says. We're sitting in the back in case there are paps. But now, I don't really don't care what photos they've taken as long as I don't see them. 

     "Why does everyone want to talk to me these days?" 

     "Your mum and Colleen said you're always out at night. You're seeing someone?" Uncle Mike says. 

     "Yes," I lie, "I can't build my life around Kyle." 

     "Good thinking. I know you're becoming a woman, but be nice to your mother," Uncle Mike says, "and to Colleen too if it isn't too much to ask. They're your parents. And a kid will never be a grown up in parents' eyes."

     I nod. 

     "I've heard you went to an art exhibition. That sounds totally boring." 

     I laugh, "It was. You got along with my dad tonight. I thought you didn't like him." 

     "I don't. Because he is boring," Uncle Mike says, "When we were in the old days, he caught your mum and I stealing his car. He was one of the richest kids back then, went to a private school and had a car. And had dumb glasses. And he just reported me to the police. He fancied your mum. I tell you what, I think your mum found him boring as well. I don't know why she ended up marrying him, but she did. He took her to watch ballet and cello concerts and she called me to rescue her. Sometimes you're so like your mum. They divorced. Your dad just wanted to be Steve's friend to be close to my sister, but then Steve and him became heartfelt friends. Little filthy git."

     "That's not a typical love story," I say. 

     "I know," Uncle Mike says, "You and Kyle are really over? I thought you loved him." 

     "No," I lie, "Or yes." 

     I tell Uncle Mike about kissing Kyle and Raya finding out and Raya getting mad.

     "We're bad for each other. Don't you think so?"

     "I'm not an expert of relationships," Uncle Mike says. 

     "Just tell me.

     "I don't want to see you get hurt because you're my niece, and Kyle is a good kid. From what I've seen, you always get hurt, or somebody does whenever the two of you get together. You're an adult and I'm not in your shoes. But it's like you're in this destructive relationship all the time, like living on a shore where tsunami attacks every week." 

     "Oh."

     "Love isn't like this, kid," Uncle Mike scowls, "but I'll leave it to you. I want to try Dark Chocolate and Raspberry Swirl. Share?" 

     I nod. Uncle Mike comes back with the ice cream. 

     "I thought love was majestic. I thought love fixed things," I say. 

     "Life is not Disney. It's not always your way," Uncle Mike says, this is probably the wisest thing I've heard from his mouth, "life breaks people, and I guess love does too. But people heal, and it's people who fix things. Love is just a motivation. Love can change and die. Maybe it's time to grow up and move on. I mean, if you're going out with an ordinary boy, he can meet you anytime you want and hold hands with you on the street without people chasing you. How nice that sounds." 

     Uncle Mike smiles and rubs my back. The night passes swiftly. In the morning, mum tells me that she's decided to stay in France. Bianca is out. 

     "I'll stay there until the week before the court day and you can visit me whenever you want. And now, your dad is with you. How wonderful that sounds. You can spend time with him and when you need someone -" 

     "I'll call you or Uncle Mike or Steve or my dad," I say. "Bianca is moving in, which means Colleen needs to come here less often."

     "About that, Esther. You need to think for her. Since I'll be gone, she'll be lonely and you should spend more time with her. I've given her the key." 

     "No. What? No!" 

     "But she wants to take care of you," Mum says. 

     "No. Jesus, do you know what you've done? No, you're joking. You need to get back the key. She can't come to the flat anytime she wants. She'll move in with me, stalking every move I make." 

     "She will not. She has her own house," mum says. 

     "What if I'm bringing somebody over and she just comes in without telling me?" I almost shout, "what if I'm seeing somebody?" 

     "Are you?" 

     "No. Yes. No. F**k."

     "Language." 

     "Sorry," I turn around. "Please get back her key. Mum, please." 

     "Esther, it's important to have somebody watching over you -"

     "I've got Uncle Mike," I say, I grab the key and a jacket. 

     "Where are you going?" 

     "Out."

     "Out where?" 

     "Don't worry. Not stealing cars like you did," I say. I take the lift and I want to go to Greenyard Memorial, but I don't want paps and people to see that. That is private. So I hang out with Bianca for a while and go to the university with her. She wants to ask a few questions about overseas enrolment. Kyle texts me that he wants to see me. I don't reply. Bianca goes home. I go to River and see Kitty for the first time in five months. She talks about her boyfriend and how excited she is for university. She is resigning next week. I find Ian in the rest room. 

     "Hello?" I knock the door. "Your shift is over." 

     "So?" 

     "Let's go?" 

     "We're not dating," Ian says. 

     "We aren't," I say, "but let's go away." 

     "I need to shop for mum," Ian says. 

     "I need to go to a pharmacy too," I say. "And then we should have sex." 

     "What is it this time?" 

     "My mum is going to France and she gave the house key to somebody I don't like," I say. 

     "That's all?"

     "That somebody looks like my dead best friend, so it's a big deal." 

     "Whatever." 

     I sit in the car when Ian does the shopping. I have opened a bar of his chocolate and he doesn't mind. I go into a pharmacy and buy some EllaOne and Levonelle and condoms. 

     "That's for you," I say, giving him the box of condoms. "Lucy?" 

     "Let's do it without Lucy. You were like crazy last time. You almost bit my penis," Ian says. 

     "Sorry," I say, "oh you have your ears pierced. I have never noticed that until now." 

     Ian sighs. He pulls the car into the driveway and cuts the engine. 

     "And you've got a tattoo on your shoulder too," I say. I roll up his short sleeve and look at the clock tattoo. "You're a hunk." 

     "I realise why you don't have friends. You're annoying," Ian says. 

     "I'm trying to make conversation and sound casual," I say, "which is obviously something I'm not good at." 

     Ian hands me a cigarette and I light ours. I lie back against the seat and put my feet over the driver seat on his lap. He runs his finger over the zip of my jeans. He pulls it down and unbutton it. 

     "Let me finish this, yeah?" I say and take longer drags of the cigarette. 

     "You're planning to be like this forever?" Ian says, running his hand over my thighs. "Just getting stone. Hiding from people." 

     "School. I'll start my foundation course and I'll hopefully go into university next year," I say, "what about you?" 

     "I'm going to Australia next year December," Ian says, "now I'm saving money. There's a low ranked engineering school and I can try to apply for university after studying there for a year." 

     "You should spend less on drugs then," I say.

     "Whatever." 

     "Can I take a bath here?" 

     "They've cut the water," Ian says. 

     "But you have electricity," I say. 

     "Alright," Ian says. 

     I am lie flat and counting the tiles on the wall and lighting my second spliff when Ian comes into the bathroom. 

     "Can you turn off your phone? It keeps ringing." 

     "No," I say. 

     "Are you done bathing?" 

     "No," I say. Ian leaves the bathroom. 

     I dry myself half an hour later and watch the sun sets over the horizon. Good, he's finally leaving. I put down the towel wrapped around me when I reach the living room. Ian has put the thick blanket on the floor and he takes off his shirt. I lie beneath him and watch him run his hand over the little of my public hair. 

     "You've taken pills?" 

     "Those are morning after pills," I say. 

     "I have a feeling that you're here not just because of the key." Ian says. "I'll wait. Just answer it."

     I grab the phone and sit on the stairs. I push my hair back. The floor is cold against my bare butt. When did I stop caring about being naked? Maybe I've stopped caring about a lot of things. 

     "Hello," I say. 

     "Where the f**k are you?" Kyle says. 

     "I'm with somebody," I say. 

     "Where? I have half an hour before I have to go. I'm coming to see you. Where are you?" 

     "My flat," I say. 

     "Liar. I've been there. I'm in the f*****g trash room now. Just bloody tell me. Where?" 

     "Somewhere." 

     "God, I won't be seeing you in I don't know how long! And you don't want to say goodbye. I've texted you the world tour dates. Fly out to see me. I'll be in Manila in February. I don't care if you're sick. You have to see me." 

     "I have school," I say. "The world won't give you special offers just because you put on enough sad faces."

     "Where the f**k are you? I'll be in Switzerland in August. How about that?" 

     "I have a life here."

     "A s****y one yeah. What about London? I'll be in London in December and November for the new record. It'll just take your weekend," Kyle says, "I'll come pick you up?" 

     "We were cheating on Raya, sort of," I say. He doesn't speak, so I go on. "I'm done. We move on. No more friendship. Go take care of Raya. You have to be with her. You're like her saviour, like you've been mine. Paps follow me because of you. All of these needs to stop. Give me some space. We're destructive. It's time to grow up." 

     "Get all the f*****g space and time you want. We can - let me settle with Raya. Someone else will take care of her and you'll take care of me. We'll get out of the country for a while. I teach you how to surf. We'll hike, you love to hike. We'll ask for your dad's help and get a barrister to stop people from stalking you."

     "Kyle."

     "Are you in Greenyard Memorial now? I'll go there meet you." 

     "I'm in Ian's granddad's house." 

     "You can't do this to me." 

     "We're going to f**k." 

     "Come on. I'll find you now, I have about twenty minutes left. Jared is waiting for me down there and he'll make sure no one get close to you. Tell me the address." 

     "Goodbye."

     "I love you." 

     "Goodbye."

     "Don't pretend you don't need me." 

     I hang up and turn off the phone. I throw my phone on the couch and cling to Ian. I mumble emotionlessly in his ear, "Let's f**k."