Page 43 of Watched

“You said you wouldn’t get mad.”

I look back at Indie, who’s as shocked as I am. She didn’t tell her. Why does Indie not know this? They tell each other everything.

“When was this, K?”

“I went to a party with some friends,” she whispers, pulling down her sleeves to wipe her eyes.

“Were you drinking?”

“Yes,” she admits shamefully.

I won’t judge her for that. “Then what happened?”

She releases a shameful sigh, looking out the window. “We were talking about losing our virginity, and everyone was saying they just wanted to get it over with.”

“And?”

Tears wobble in her eyes. “I was a little drunk, and a guy kept saying, ‘I’ll help you out. Let’s just go upstairs and we can do it together’. He…um…”

The steering wheel groans under my strangling grip. “He what, Kilah?”

“We had sex.”

“Did you want to?”

“No,” she sobs, burying her face in her hands.

Shifting into park, I push open my door and round the car, ripping hers open to undo her seatbelt. Pulling her onto the pavement, I wrap my arms around her while she hyperventilates. “I said no, but he kept pushing and—begging, saying it’ll be good. I didn’t want to—but I felt bad, and I—”

“Shh,” I soothe, doing my best not to rip out her hair as I stroke it. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.” Her tears wet my shirt as I hold her tighter. “Who was it, K?”

“Oliver Viscose.”

I’m going to kill this bastard.

Kilah dives in for another slice of pizza as she and Indie sit on the mattress on my lounge floor, watching TV. I watch Indie as she watches her, her hands twitching like she wants another, but she’s fighting herself.

“Princess.” I dip my chin. “You’ve had one slice.” Indie tucks her legs up, dressed in the fluffy white pyjamas I keep here for her, Kilah in her floral flannel ones. “I know you’re an athlete,” I say, “but so am I, and look how much I just devoured.” I point to my empty plate. I ate an entire pizza. I have no shame. I was hungry.

Her lips purse, and she glances at the pizza that has more vegetables than bread. We went to the shop, and I bought ingredients so they could make their own. To say my kitchen was a mess by the end is an understatement.

“Eat, please,” I order softly. She sighs and reaches for another slice. “I’ll also know if you head to the bathroom afterward.”

An embarrassed heat creeps onto her cheeks. I’m in no way trying to shame her for the fact she was once bulimic; I just want her to eat and not wither away to bone.

You’re a prick, Rome. Why the hell would you say that?

Feeling horrible about my just previous statement, I attempt to backtrack. “Being a dancer requires muscle, right?” She nods. “You can’t get that without fuel.” She fights a smile, taking a bite. Standing, I ruffle both their hair as I pass. “I’ll be back.”

“Rome,” they grumble in unison.

My chest heaves as I close my bedroom door and pull out my phone. I hate that I’m needing to resort to this. As much as I want to ring that little prick’s neck, covering a homicide isn’t my forte. Dialling the number, I put it to my ear and then freeze at the foot of my bed when it connects immediately.

“Hey, baby,” Rain greets.

“I need your help,” I blurt out, getting straight to the point and filling him in on the details.

“I don’t give a flying fuck if this kid’s seventeen,” he shouts so loudly, I need to pull the phone away. “That’s manipulation and coercion. I’ll have that disgusting punk killed within the hour.”