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Chapter Eighty-Eight
Point of View: Nick


"What the hell is wrong with your neck?"

Brian wouldn't look at me. "It's a lovely shade of purple isn't it?" he joked, keeping his eyes very well trained on the cup of water he was drinking and the newspaper on the table.

"Seriously dude," I said, "What the fuck?"

Brian looked up, his eyes were tentative.

Kayla glanced between us and laid down the portion of the paper she'd been looking at.

Brian swallowed. "Okay, don't get pissed off," he said.

Any story that starts "okay don't get pissed off" is a bad story. Clearly, Kayla agreed because I felt her eyes darting between Brian and I.

"I went to see Leon."

"HE FUCKING BRUISED YOUR NECK?!" I bellowed, standing up extremely rapidly. The officer in the doorway tensed and I saw his hand slip to his holster. I sat back down. "What the FUCK were you thinking?" I demanded as calmly as I could - which wasn't calmly at all, but at least I was sitting.

Brian looked abashed. "I wanted to see if he knew where Desi was."

Kayla face-palmed. "Brian," she groaned.

"I needed to know," Brian said defensively, "And it's true, Leon was Desi's roomie."

"Did you find Desi at least?" Kayla asked.

Brian frowned, "No..."

Kayla looked surprised. "Leon didn't know where to look?"

"He suggested the morgue."

Silence fell over the table.

"I can't believe you went to see that asshole," I muttered, beyond mad. Brian was about to say something, then he hesitated. I could see him debating internally with himself. He swallowed and looked away. "What?" I asked.

Brian shook his head, "Nothing."

"Bri," I said in a warning tone that sounded far too much like something Kevin would do.

He looked up at me, his eyes searching mine, a mixture of fear and sadness in them.

"Dude, what the hell?" I asked.

He sighed. "I shouldn't .... I shouldn't have to ask this... You're going to get so pissed off at me..."

I stared at him.

"Did you... did you ever..." he pursed his lips, frustrated. "Did you... ever... hit... Krystal?" he asked slowly, each word coming out in a painful exhale.

I stared at him.

"HIT Krystal?" Kayla asked, rolling her eyes, "What? Who the fu--" she stopped mid-word. "IS THAT WHAT HE'S TELLING EVERYONE?" she cried.

Brian hadn't stopped looking right back at me as I stared at him.

"Nick?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"No you didn't or no, you don't want to talk about it?" Brian asked.

Kayla looked at me, her eyes worried.

"You know how I feel about guys who hit women," I snapped.

Brian nodded, "That's why I didn't want to ask you."

"They deserve to die," I said. I imagined Leon laying in a jail cell, flies crawling in and out of his mouth like something dead on National Geographic magazine. He'd hurt Kayla. He was nemesis number one, as were all things that hurt her.

Brian sighed.

I shook my head in disbelief. "You don't believe me," I whispered.

Brian looked up, "What? I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to," I stammered, standing up.

Kayla looked at me, pain in her eyes, feeling sorry for me.

Brian stood up too. "Nick, come on, that's not fair."

"What's next?" I demanded, "Are you going to question if she committed suicide or if I killed her?" I picked up the paper we'd all been reading and angrily balled it and shoved it into the waste basket. "Are you going to try to help the state jail me? Get me killed by these mothas?"

Kayla reached out a hand for mine, but I ignored it.

"Nick..." Brian stood up.

"I grew up with that, Brian!" I shouted. My eyes were burning. Run, run away, now! my mind was screaming, yet I felt my mouth continuing. "Why the fuck would I repeat it? My father was a fucking asshole when I was a kid," I bellowed, "I will never be like him!"

It was the same words I'd screamed when I'd been accused of beating Paris Hilton - the ones that I poured into her ear the day she finally called me back after the accusations had been flying for quite some time. The words that had finally made her stop being a douche and letting the papers print bullshit stories on it.

Brian looked thoroughly miserable.

I stormed out of the room.

The officer followed me.

"He's pissed," I heard Kayla whisper.

"I know," Brian whispered.

Normally, the tone that he said it in would've made me turn back, melted. But this topic was way too touchy. Way too personal, way too painful.

And he knew it.

I sat on the stairs about halfway up.

It took a few minutes, but Kayla finally emerged and saw me and climbed the stairs to sit beside me. She tucked her arms into the sleeves of her sweatshirt and scooted close, laying her cheek on my shoulder.

"Nick?" she whispered.

"No," I answered, before she could even ask.

"I didn't believe it for a second," she whispered.

I leaned back into her.

"Brian left," she whispered. "He went out the side door. He said you'd be on the stairs."

"I always sit on the stairs when I'm saddest," I said.

"Why?" she asked.

I'd never thought about it. "Experience," I answered after a long moment.

"Experience?" she asked.

"My mom and dad never thought to look up in the banister before they fought..." I shrugged.

Kalya's arms stretched around me.

"It was a hiding place that afforded me the knowledge of what was going on, that kept me safe while allowing me ample time to prepare before I would get in trouble for no apparent reason... It allowed me to be afraid, but still protect my mom."

I pictured the worst night I'd ever had in my entire life. It included the banister.

I clutched Kayla.

"I didn't," I repeated.

"I know," she said.