Page 111 of Faithful

Next to me, he nods and gives Winona a smile. “If you promise not to post it tonight or tag the location. Otherwise, we could end up barricaded by people with phones and cameras.”

“Anything for you,” she replies, gesticulating with an energy I haven’t witnessed from her before.

“She’s a fan,” I mutter under my breath as we’re pulled into the center of the party.

There’s a string of chaotic introductions and questions.

“Are you in a band?”

“I saw you on TikTok.”

“Do you really drink blood?”

“Who drinks blood?”

“Do you come up with the outfits yourself?”

“Did you write any songs for Dylan?”

“Kneel,” someone shouts (most likely Winona), and I blush profusely at that.

“Are you guys on Spotify? What’s the name of the band again? I’m gonna check out your music.”

Only two guest’s–Val’s mother and Gin’s nephew Eric–have no idea who my date is.

Eric, who’s in high school, has already looked up Iodine on his phone and is now shoving it at Kai saying, “Is that you, dude? You’re for real if you’re on TMZ. That’s so sick.”

Kai lets him have his moment.

It’s his job after all. He’s a star. A fucking dark star that owns my world and perhaps he owns a little bit of theirs too because famous people don’t make it big without that special something that sets them apart. And Kai is happy to show off that special something, to demonstrate why he’s amassed a following so huge and why his fans are like rabid dogs ready to protect him or do his bidding at the snap of a finger.

And these people gathered here today don’t judge him for the things he’s allegedly done. They don’t care. They don’t see a Satan worshiper or a man accused of attempted murder and leading a cult. They see Kai who laughs at Gin’s jokes, Kai who compliments Val’s mother’s handmade jewelry, Kai who cheers Eric on in a game of water pong everyone had apparently been playing when we got in.

Somewhere in the middle of this madness, Val pulls me aside and tells me she always knew I had a love life. She hugs me next and requests a photo with my date too.

“Don’t ask me.” I shrug and jerk my chin toward Kai, who’s currently talking to my boss. “Ask him.”

Shortly after, we’re handed two paper plates and Winona leads us to a table loaded with various foods.

She proceeds to explain what’s what and in which order we should try it as if we're in one of those uber authentic Japanese places where the chef will kick you out if you ask to customize your sushi order.

I’m pretty positive that baked potatoes and chicken wings don’t care how they are consumed, but Kai and I humor Winona anyway simply because she’s a huge fan of the band.

It’s charming–her attention. She’s probably a little heartbroken because her dreams of dating Iodine’s front man have just been brutally crushed into pieces, by her coworker no less, and by the fact that she doesn’t have what he likes (dick). I shit you not but every girl dreams of dating a celebrity—Ava’s obsession with Jared Leto and Leigh’s obsession with Shawn Mendes are good examples. Okay, I was obsessed with Jared Leto too at some point. It was brief. But you get the idea.

When Kai and I get separated again and Winona gets me alone behind the Christmas tree we set up in the corner, she offers a dramatic confession. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed he’s taken. He’s hella fine. A guy like that won’t stay single for long.” She pokes her small manicured finger at me. “But at least it’s you I lost to, and not some TikTok influencer with fake lips.”

“Thanks for the compliment, I guess.” I take a sip of the beer I’ve been nursing all evening.

“You know”–she lowers her voice–“you could have told us… that you’re into guys.”

“Does it matter?”

“Not in the slightest. What I’m trying to say is that you don’t ever need to hide things from us. I’m aware Val and I can be a handful. And I suppose it’s a way for us to deal with the shit that we’re facing day after day doing what we’re doing, but you can be yourself with us and talk relationships and all that stuff and it’s going to remain here, within these walls.”

“I wish it was that easy.” I take another swig and catch Kai’s gaze from across the room. He’s been ensnared into a round of Jenga. He’s taken off his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his black turtleneck and is now crouching in front of the wobbly wooden tower with a concentrated gaze, and I realize that he’s not hiding his skin, the ink we both got in Vegas now out on display.

“Ah, poor white boy,” Winona says with a cheeky smile. “You’re talking about difficulties with a Native gal. Let me tell you about real difficulties one of these days.” She reaches out and pats my face, but it’s not callous. It’s just a sad fact of life that she belongs to one of the most overlooked, discriminated-against, and marginalized groups in this country. And even that hasn’t turned her into a bitter, self-centered person. So who am I to complain about my own cowardice and being cut off from my father’s credit cards?

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