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He drops the piece of cake to his plate and stares at it, head bowed. “Kimmy also said that and then…”
“Then what?”
He shakes his head, his chin quivering. “I’m not supposed to tell.”
I lean over until only a small space separates his hand from mine. “What happened, Kir? You can tell me. As our bro code says, you can tell me anything.”
He lifts his eyes before focusing back on the brownies on his plate. “She promised that it won’t repeat.”
“Repeat what?”
His lower lip trembles again. It’s his tell of when he’s about to cry. She used to be the same when we were kids. It always happened before she started bawling.
Kirian is a lively kid and doesn’t cry, so the fact he’s fighting it right now should mean it’s something serious. Is it about their parents, or what exactly?
“Sir.” Our butler, Ahmed, stands in his elegance at the doorway. He’s a short man with olive skin and light brown eyes. His forehead has that dark crease due to the five-times-a-day prayer. Even I know better than to disturb him during his prayers’ time. Oh, and on Eid days—Muslim celebrations—he brings us the best kebabs from his family.
But that’s not why he’s the only tolerable presence in our staff. It’s because he practically raised me when neither of my parents found time to.
“Miss Reed is here for her brother,” he says with a slight Middle Eastern accent.
Fuck.
Perfect timing that is, as if she could sense he was going to spill the beans on her.
Kirian’s eyes widen as he stuffs the rest of the brownies in his mouth until it’s full, then hops off the stool.
I wipe the side of his face, and he grins as he runs outside. But first, he stops and stares back at me, placing a finger to his mouth. I make a zipping motion as I follow him.
He was on the verge of unveiling something and I’m sure, next time, with the right brownies bribe, he’ll reveal everything to me. Not because he’s a telltale, but because whatever happened upset him enough to make him stop eating his favourite food in the world.
“Didn’t I tell you not to come here?” Her stern voice filters from the entrance as Ahmed escorts Kir to her.
“But I want to play with Xan.”
“Why do you have to play with him?” She grabs his arm. “Am I not enough?”
“Of course you’re not.” I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest and my legs at the ankles.
Kimberly’s reddening face turns crimson under the late afternoon light. The descending sun catches in her green-ish strands making them appear rebellious. Since the beginning of this year, everything about her has been going out of that normal direction. Her uniform’s skirt rides to above her knees, almost to the middle of her thighs. The jacket is too tight, I’m surprised she can breathe in it.
Fuck that and her spiritual journey and weight loss journey and all the fucked up journeys she’s made.
She’s starting to be as fake as the image Silver has been maintaining for years.
“Let’s go, Kir.” She ushers her brother in front of her, quickly cutting off eye contact with me.
That’s more like it, not whatever the fuck she’s been doing since yesterday.
“Go without her, Superman.” I smile at him, showing him my most charming dimples. “I need to talk to your sister.”
“Okay!” He doesn’t pause before running in the direction of their house, probably ready to steal more chocolate cake from Marian.
“I have nothing to talk to you about.” She starts to follow her brother.
“If you want to be enough for him, maybe you should stop whoring yourself around like a cheap little slut.”
She comes to a screeching halt and whirls around so fast, I’m surprised she doesn’t fall to her face with the force of it.
