Even in the dim light from my phone flashlight I can see tears glimmering in his eyes, hear guilt dripping from every syllable he speaks. He doesn’t touch me, doesn’t move in any closer. Just kneels down in front of me and looks up with eyes that beg for the forgiveness he can’t ask for out loud. It breaksmy heart, looking at how hurt he is. But it hurts me just as much, too—how badly I wish he could’ve arrived a few seconds earlier.
I’m not sure what to say—what could possibly sum up all the conflicting feelings swirling in my head and my heart? How I’m not sure who I can trust here after that voicemail from Mikey and what Timothy’s done. How it feels impossible to not believe that Kai is exactly who I want him to be when he looks at me with those kind brown eyes and touches me with the kind of tenderness I’ve always wished for.
So, I don’t say anything. Instead, I let my body speak for me. I reach down to where his hand is resting beside mine on the counter, squeezing just enough to say what my body can’t: that I’m okay. And that I hope we’ll be okay too.
The simple touch is enough for Kai. He gives me a thin smile, eyes still watery as he wipes them before getting back to the much more urgent (and unpleasant) task at hand.
“This’ll probably sting a bit,” he warns as he settles himself back down on the ground, carefully lifting my leg up to get a better look at my heel. “Bite down on a towel, scream, hold onto my hand—whatever you need,” he reassures, and I nod around a gulp.
Kai’s hands move in a blur, too quickly for me to make out what he’s doing in the dimly lit room. I can hear the snap of a package pulling open, and something coming unrolled, but before I can put together what it all means pain jolts through me. White hot enough to make me arch away from the wall I was leaning against and let out a choked, pained whimper.
“I’m sorry, almost done,” Kai promises, sounding just as panicked as I am. I can feel his fingers trembling against my leg as he struggles to move efficiently and painlessly. The edgeof what must be tweezers dig into my skin as they root through the gash for the stray piece of glass.
Sweat breaks out along my brow, my chest heaving as I struggle to keep my breathing as controlled as possible—to focus on the steady in-out-in-out instead of the pain rippling through my leg. Finally, I hear a softclunk. The sound of the blood-stained glass hitting the tile floor. I sag against the counter, leg dropping like dead weight as Kai lets go of me to scoop up the glass.
Once the glass is stashed safely in a paper towel, Kai cleans off the wound with a warm towel and wraps it with an adhesive bandage. Despite his shaking hands, his touch is still gentler than anyone else who’s cared for me before. He reads the slight pulses in my nerves—the unexpected jolts of pain—and slows or softens his movements in response. I wonder if he plans to go into medicine, to handle patients with the same care. To whisper softly that they’ll be all right. Or is this something reserved just for me?
It’s a pretty thought, but I don’t—can’t—let it linger. Not after tonight. Not when the world proved that a popular boy’s attention isn’t the miracle I once thought it was. Not with Mikey’s warning voicemail echoing in my head.
My attention fixes on the paper towel Kai sets down on the counter beside me. In just a few seconds it’s almost soaked through with blood, the shard much bigger than I anticipated. Just looking at the jagged edges makes bile crawl up my throat. I’m not sure what hurts worse—the phantom pain of the glass, or the phantom sensation of Timothy’s lips against mine.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with,” Kai says, breaking the silence, after wiping down his own sweat-drenched face with a towel. He reaches into abasket beside the toilet and hands me a fresh towel of my own, waiting until I’ve wiped down my brow and damp collarbone to continue. “But…” He trails off, glancing down between my foot and the small drops of blood staining the tile. Keeping his gaze on the floor when he finally finds the courage to speak again. “What did he do?”
I swallow hard and dig my fingers into my arms to keep myself grounded. To stop the nausea from overwhelming me again. I don’t want to linger on it—to relive that moment and the sourness of his breath—but I know if I can tell anyone it’s Kai. Mami would find a way to twist the story and make me the villain—tell me that I led Timothy on or did something to make him think this was what I wanted. Mikey would do the same thing he does to anyone who pisses him off—solve the problem with his fists. I have no one else.
So, I tell Kai everything. About how I’d seen that the sliding door was open and assumed the worst. How I came prepared with a weapon, in case I had to defend myself. Timothy startling me—the scream he’d heard all the way from the shed. How Timothy had me trapped in a mess of shattered glass, unable to run. That he kissed me, hard and messy. That I did my best to push against him but all he did was hold me tighter. That I wasn’t sure what else he would’ve done if Kai hadn’t come back when he did. How sick it made me feel. How I can still feel his touch lingering all over me.
When I finish, Kai doesn’t say anything. He turned his gaze up toward me when I mentioned the scream he must’ve heard, guilt written all over him, but his eyes wander when I get to the kiss. His shoulders tremble as I continue, to the point that he’s practically vibrating by the time I finish. He mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like “I’m going to killhim” before rocketing up at breakneck speed. Before I can ask him where he’s going—or ask him to stay—he’s rushing out of the bathroom and storming toward the deck.
“Kai!” I call out to him as I hop off the counter and do my best to trail after him. I can only go so fast without putting any weight on my foot, and he has an athlete’s stamina and rage powering him.
“Timothy!” Kai shouts as he throws the sliding door open so hard I worry the glass will shatter. The frame wobbles as the door snaps back, suddenly loose on its track from the force of being yanked open, but the glass thankfully stays in one piece.
I grab onto anything I can find—table edges and chair arms—for balance and guidance as the light from my phone fades once he gets outside. By the time I make it over to the sliding door, Kai looks like he’s a ticking time bomb seconds from exploding. There’s a red-hot flush to his skin as he paces the edge of the deck and points the flashlight at something over the edge.
“Where is he?” I ask, lingering in the doorway and gripping the wall for balance.
Kai leans over the railing, his grip on the wood banister so tight it looks like he could snap it. With a scoff, he leans back up and points the light toward the ground so I can see what he sees. A set of fresh footprints in the mud, headed into the woods.
“Gone.”
Exhibit H: Autopsy Report
Deceased: Timothy Leonard Gibson
Age: 17
Sex: M
Date and Hour of Death: October 31, approx. 10:00 p.m.
Date and Hour of Autopsy: November 1, 4:31 p.m.
Findings:
Victim was discovered approx. 100 feet from the cabin where he was staying with friends for the weekend. Discovery was made by first responding officer, Frank Doughty, after witnesses claimed he had gone missing over the course of the night. Defensive wounds on the palms, wrists, and arms indicate a struggle. Multiple injuries to the skull, head, and neck are consistent with a heavyweight weapon such as an axe or hatchet.
Manner of Death: Homicide
