“This wing is for people in custody who haven’t been tried yet. There’s only a handful of us. Not many visitors.” He hesitates, his voice laced with dejection. “People tend to disown their friends and family when they hurt them.” Kenneth’s gaze falls to his lap, passing over his grey sweats.
“Except for Harper,” I add. Suddenly, his whole face lights up, a smile chasing away the tension like sunlight breaking through clouds. I huff a small laugh beneath my breath and think,there he is.
“How is she?” He scoots forward so I can see him without the shadow of his hair cast over his face. The artificial lighting catches on a fading bruise beneath his left eye and a healing split in his lip. When he props his face in his hands, his sleeves slip back, revealing neat rows of bandages around his wrists. My chest tightens despite myself. I didn’t come here to feel sorry for him, but it’s hard not to when the evidence of his pain is laid bare.
“She’s great,” I say quickly, for both our sakes. “She’s…worried about you.” Instead of being pleased by this, Kenneth stiffens then, retreating into himself, knees pulled up defensively.
“I don’t deserve her kindness.” Kenneth’s face lowers into his knees, putting a physical divider between us. I say nothing, because I don’t wholly disagree. He may not deserve a jail sentence, and I’m glad he’s on the path to getting the help he needs, but Harper’s kindness? That’s something I value far too highly.
She may be able to forgive easily, but after the slutty photos, the fire, the stalking, and that’s before I even consider how Kenneth humiliated me and vandalized Jeremy’s jacket…Let’s just say, my forgiveness is going to take a while longer. Sensing my train of thought, Kenneth peeks up, his face becoming blotchy.
“Why are you here?” That’s the golden question. I clear my throat again, stalling as I carefully pick through the responses that come to mind. I didn’t come here to fight, brag or hurt.
“Harper wanted to visit, but I suggested that I should clear the air with you first. Give us the chance to say whatever it is thatshould have been said long before now.” Kenneth nods, slowly starting to relax like a frightened animal realizing he’s not being ambushed. “Harper cares about you, and I’m going to spend my life making her happy, so here I am. Willing to try and clear the air whilst we still can.”
The counsellor scribbles notes, but I barely notice. Holding Kenneth’s gaze, I try to gauge what he’s thinking, and as always, I come up empty. After a full minute, he nods once.
“I hated you,” he admits quietly. “I wanted to ruin your life until I met you properly. Then, I wanted you to like me, or I wanted to be like you. You had Harper, and your mom was always kind to me. Everything just got… tangled.” Burying his face in his hands again, Kenneth saves me from seeing him cry. I wait until he drags his hands down his face, eyes wet and wide, letting him confront me how I wish he had from the start.
“I went to your hearings. I heard you confess to Antonio’s death. You admitted it,” Kenneth starts to ramble, a sliver of clarity returning to his eyes. The counsellor shifts, her face uncomfortable as if that’s not supposed to be happening. Sensing we don’t have long, I raise my hands in surrender, keeping my voice calm.
“I know from experience that feeling responsible and being guilty aren’t the same thing. I didn’t pull the trigger on your cousin. I didn’t raise the alarm. Just like I didn’t ask my brother to take a bullet meant for me. We both lost someone that night. The difference is, my grief was beaten out of me behind bars. Yours was left to rot.”
Kenneth stares at the table between us for so long, I worry I’ve broken something irreparable. Maybe I have, but sometimes breaking is the first step toward healing. I rise slowly, sensing the end of the conversation. I promised Harper I would check on him, and I have. I wanted to clear the air and put my guilt to rest, which I have.
“I understand acting out of heartache,” I tell him, “but I was never your enemy. I think you know that now. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you went through all of this alone.” Content with saying my peace, I turn to leave as Kenneth shoots to his feet. His counsellor does too, her hand flying to the radio on the belt of her pencil skirt.
“But… what do I do now?” Kenneth asks, his voice is small and lost. Stepping forward, I put Kenneth and myself at arm’s length of one another. Slowly, I reach out and place a gentle hand on his shoulder so I can stare directly into his eyes.
“You get better. You serve your time. You remember the girl who believed in you so fiercely that she stood between you and a bullet. You honor Antonio by choosing a life he never got to finish. And one day, when you’re ready, you build something good. You still have a future, Kenneth. Harper has never doubted that.”
The first tear slips down Kenneth’s cheek. He touches my arm with a trembling hand, and to the counsellor’s astonishment, I pull him into a hug. I hear her gasp over the sound of Kenneth’s sobs soaking into my shirt, his grip desperate and childlike. He lost everyone who was meant to guide him, as I did. But that’s no longer true for me, so maybe it doesn’t have to be for him either. I pull back, reassuring him with a small smile.
“Don’t forget to write to Harper. She’d bust my balls if I didn’t tell you that.” A tiny laugh bubbles from Kenneth, a hint of my loony roommate slipping through the haze of medication he’s on. Giving him a solid pat on the back, I walk away with relief spreading through my chest. My knuckles rap on the door, and as I’m escorted out, I finally breathe easier.
Despite Harper’s insistence that this visit was only for Kenneth’s sake, I find myself smirking at her little tricks. She’sfully aware that some burdens only lift when you finally face them, that little minx.
Epilogue Two
Three Years Later
“Hold still for one more second,” Klara mouths, twisting the strands of hair on either side of my face into loose curls, “and done!”
Taking a step back, she jumps up and down, clapping her hands at her handiwork, until she remembers that in the deaf community, we shake our funky little jazz hands instead of clapping. It’s far less offensive on the eyes and the implants.
Swiveling on the stool, I take the handheld mirror Klara passes me and angle it toward the dresser mirror to catch the full reflection of the masterpiece she’s created with my hair. Rose-shaped buns cascade from just above my ear down to my nape in a soft, swooping motion, the rest tucked neatly into a chiffon bun underneath. At the front, one long curl falls on either side of my face. She picks up my receivers and gently snaps them into place, careful not to mess up her design.
“I don’t want to sound vain,” she giggles once they’re switched on, “but I’m fucking amazing.” I laugh, rolling my eyes.
“You always sound vain,” I joke. Well, mostly. Klara takes no offence either way. As she finishes studying her masterpiece, she takes the handheld mirror back and turns it on herself to check her makeup. As always, she’s stunning, her blue eyes framed by long lashes, her skin blemish-free and glowing with a confidence that took time to nurture back to life. Stroking a finger along her lipline to check her gloss hasn’t smudged, she looks up at me with a singular brow raised.
“Next time I do your hair like this, it had better be for your wedding and not some poxy graduation.” This time, I laugh wholeheartedly, pushing to my feet and smoothing down my black robes.
“Excuse me,” I say, making finger quotes, “my boyfriend is the valedictorian for this ‘poxy graduation’, and you’re just as excited for today as I am.” Klara's eyes soften, going all dreamy as she glances upwards.
“Only because the handsome new trustee will be giving out our diplomas,” she sighs, “and he is the definition of a H. O. T sugar daddy.Hunkier Over Time.”
Rolling my eyes, I walk over to her bed, picking up our yellow sashes and handing Klara hers. After a very public press release announcing the academy's change of hands, most of the board and all of the investors were forced out to avoid conspiracy charges with Arthur. There’s no knowing just how deep his knack for blackmail and fraud ran, especially since he’s sitting in a jail cell for the next twenty-five years and apparently taking a vow of silence. I take pride in the lesson I taught him. Only say what you intend to be heard, for you never know who could be listening.
