Oh, not by a long shot.
The next time I took control, the story would be far different from this.
Callan needed to watch his fucking back.
17
BETH
The wind rustled and moaned as if mourning this moment.
‘I’m here’
It was exactly 12 midnight when the message dropped on my screen. Usually I would’ve been long asleep by then. But Kenzo and I were still awake. His mom was giving him silent treatment after he got himself a week of suspension and voluntary service at Lochborne private nursing home.
We were trying so hard to decode what could be going through Mrs. Takahashi’s mind at the moment. According to Kenzo, his mother had never been like this before.
So yes, it was really past my bedtime and I was trying so hard to keep my eyes open. Of course I didn’t believe the message that was staring at me right now was from who it said it was from.
With Kenzo still on the call, the shuffle of his feet as he paced about in his room echoing in the background, my fingers clicked on the said message, leading me to my conversations with him, the unanswered messages, and well this one right now.
I stared at it for minutes long, like the sheer force of my eyes would bend reality, make it make sense, or vanish into a puff of smoke if this was just my mind playing tricks on me.
How do I reply to this? Days of silence–well, he did pick my call earlier today after school, though he didn’t say anything before he hung up. But still, what did he expect me to do right now? Was I supposed to jump in joy and go welcome him with a nicely packed hamper bag?
What I wanted was a stable ground, someone I knew would be right next to me the moment my eyes opened. Not someone that would be here this second and gone the next, someone who didn’t know if he wanted to stay or leave.
I was not sure if Callan Raskov was a stable ground.
Staring at his casual message that still managed to make my chest tight, something hot and visceral coiled behind my ribs. But despite the anger, I couldn’t curb the urge to reply because this right here was what I had wanted for days, checking my phone a million times a day.
A reply.
“She has gone to bed,” Kenzo said, breaking my chain of thoughts, so unassuming of my current misery.
“Has she?” I asked, hiding the crack in my voice, my hand trembling, a buzzing sound ringing in my ears.
“Yeah, I just heard her room’s door shut.” He dragged in a sharp, unsteady breath. “Damn. I’m cooked, aren’t I? She’s like so mad. That’s why she isn’t saying anything. Because she doesn’t want to say things she doesn’t mean out of rage, right?”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, guilt overlapping my other emotions. “It’s all my fault.”
“It’s not your fault, Christ. Must you take credit for everything?” he dismissed, his tone lacking that teasing edge. “You didn’t ask me to hit him, did you? And to be honest, I don’t fucking regret it. I will do it again and again if given a chance. He’s a fucking dickhead.”
A beat of silence stretched between us. I chewed on my nail, my thoughts running wild. How do I fix what was happening between Kenzo and his mom? And for Callan; do I reply to him or leave his message unattended like he did mine for days?
Would replying make me desperate and cheap? What about Kenzo’s mom? How mad was she at Kenzo? Did she hate me now because I was the reason her son did something he wouldn’t usually do?
God, I was going insane.
“I don’t know why she’s being so difficult.” Kenzo’s frustration was evident in the strain in his voice. “Like, I know I did what she didn’t like. But why can’t she just scold me and let’s get this over with?”
I didn’t know what to say. Maybe I would know how to comfort my best friend if Callan’s text wasn’t staring at me, waiting for my reply.
‘I’m outside your house’
The next message dragged breath out of my lungs like a blade, my phone clattering to the floor right next to the bed.
What?
