It doesn’t.
Kyson takes it slow with me, each step more careful than the last.
When we finally reach the bathroom, I can see he already has the lid of the toilet lifted. He turns me around, and before I go to sit, he lifts my shirt and tears my underwear off me.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say with a smile, but as soon I move to sit, cuss words spill from my mouth. It hurts, but so does my bladder, which is about to burst if I don’t relieve myself right now. Ignoring my outburst, he turns to the toilet paper, pulls some off, and hands it to me.
“Thank you.”
Kyson nods and stands back while I sit there, peeing for what feels like forever.
“Shower, or can it wait?” he asks.
I raise my eyes and shake my head. “It can wait. I’ll try it later.”
He assists me back to the bed, and as soon as I’m lying down again, he fixes the pillows before he grabs the ice pack and walks out of the room.
My phone is sitting on the table beside the bed. I completely forgot about it with everything that happened. I unlock it and note that I have a contact—Kyson. He must have added it.
I’m not sure why or what I’m even thinking—maybe it’s the drugs—but I download the Facebook app and sign up. Maybe it’s because I know that asshole Tony can’t hurt me again, and that’s a really nice relief to have.
I’m asked to upload a profile picture, but I have no pictures on this phone, and I really don’t want to take a photograph of myself right now. I skip that part and add my bio, which is very basic and bland. I put my location as nowhere before I start a search.
After typing in my mother’s name, her face pops up immediately. I click on it, not adding her as a friend but checking her public profile. Most things are private, apart from the pictures of me asking me to come home. I gasp, and my hand covers my mouth as tears begin falling down my cheeks. She’s begging me to contact them, to come home, and I had no idea.
I keep on scrolling and see that she posts once a week and has for many years. Quickly, I go back and search my father’s name and find the exact same thing on his profile, asking me to come home. I didn’t think they would ever want to see me again, but maybe that was the poison that Tony put into my head. I did tell him the safe combination and let him break in to steal what he wanted, and I’m to blame for that. It’s not something I am proud of.
“Fuck, why are you crying?” Kyson hurries over and places the ice pack on my stomach. He glances at my phone but doesn’t take it. “That’s your father, right?” he asks.
“Yep,” I say, wiping the tears.
“Seems they miss you.”
“I miss them too.” I click on his profile picture and find a picture of me when I graduated. I look happy. Little did we know this would be one of the last images they’d take of me.
“Message them,” he says and clicks the message button.
Unsure, I ask, “What if they think it’s a fake or don’t read it?”
“I have their info if you want it. Remember, I can track anyone.”
I shake my head and start to type a message. It’s early, and they will most likely be sleeping and won’t respond right away. “What are you typing?” he asks, giving me a bit of privacy by not reading over my shoulder, so I read it out as I type.
“Hi, not sure if this message will come through, but I wanted you to know I am safe. And if you are comfortable with it, I would love to see you again.”
I turn to look at Kyson. “Do you think they will see me?” I ask him, my tone filled with hope.
“Of course, they will.”
My eyes start to get heavy, and I press send. My heart rate picks up, and I feel nervous.
Really nervous.
But I shouldn’t be because my parents love me. Whatever it was that Tony felt for me was anything but love.
“Do you want to be there when I kill him?” Kyson asks.
“No, I do not.”
“Do you want to say anything to him before he dies?”
I think on that for a second before I meet his eyes and reply with, “I do.”
“Okay. When you’re feeling better, we’ll make that happen.”
“You’re just gonna make him wait down there?” I ask, not sure what he has planned.
“Of course. He has nothing better to do.” He smiles at me, and I smile back.
I start to fall asleep, and Kyson molds the blankets over me. I want to tell him thank you, but I can’t seem to get the words out because sleep takes me.
When I dream, I dream of a white wedding.
My white wedding.
And at the end of the aisle waiting for me…is Kyson.
Something in me tells me that’s a lie.
Twenty-Five
Kyson
It’s three days later when she feels well enough to walk around. Kalilah showered the day after everything went down and hasn’t done so since. But when I walk into the bedroom, she is sitting on the end of the bed, trying to get up.
“You want a shower?” I ask.
She looks at me pleadingly, and I walk over to help her. If she were anyone else, she wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t be helping her. In my relationship with Lilly, I never helped her with anything. I was incredibly self-centered, and I expected her to meet all of my needs. I don’t expect anything from Kalilah. Somehow, the roles have reversed, and I’m willing to do anything to make sure she’s okay.
My brothers want to know if I really do want out of this life. I’ve mentioned it a few times to them, but I haven’t really had a straight answer. I enjoy what I do, and that is the biggest issue. How can you enjoy being so fucked-up that the sheer mention of your name makes other people run?
“Do you have plans today?” she asks.
She’d been worried about work, about how she’s only just started and has already called in sick. I handled that for her, though. Lady McBeth was more than happy to call on her behalf and say she’s working with her for the next few weeks so it doesn’t reflect poorly upon her.
And her parents haven’t replied.
She checks her phone several times a day, hoping they’ve messaged her back, but they either haven’t seen the message or don’t believe it’s her. I try not to mention it. I have her parents’ cell numbers, and I figure I’ll give them another week before I message them myself.
“I have plans to spend it with you, watching that trash you call TV.”
She chuckles. “I like it. It’s such good trashy TV,” she whispers as she steps into the shower.
I remove my clothes and follow behind her. I reach for the soap and grip it in my palm before I turn around and lather up my hands and start to wash her. She turns around to face me and leans in, her head falling to my chest and resting there.
“I really like you, Kyson,” she whispers.
“Good, the feeling is mutual,” I inform her.
“So, when I say this, I want you to not get mad.” I look down at her as I wash her back. “I want to move out. I don’t want to live here anymore.”
“Okay. I’ll sell the house, and we can live somewhere else.” Problem solved. Easy fix.