Page 4 of Faithful

I didn’t finish watching the interview. I can only take him in small quantities these days. And the feeling is mutual. He doesn’t bother to talk to me either.

The call comes when the virtual version of me is being surrounded by a bunch of enemy soldiers. As soon as I see a capitalKlight up my phone, I toss the controller on the floor and let the fuckers kill me.

“Hey,” I say, lowering the volume. My heart is skipping beats and tripping in my chest.

“Hey yourself,” Kai rasps out. His voice has that deep, broken quality to it.

I pull the phone away from my ear and check the digital clock. It’s later than I thought, way past midnight. Somehow, the video game distracted me enough to lose track of time, and I realize that Kai probably just got done with the set. He sounds tired.

“Are we talking now?” I ask bluntly.

“Maybe.”

“So… is that a yes or a no?”

“It’s a maybe.”

Right. He’s back to his thorny self.

Silence.

“Are you–”

“Don’t talk,” he says.

“Oka–”

“Don’t… Let’s just sit like this for a while… Unless you’re not sitting.”

“I am.”

“Don’t talk.”

We’re mute for the next few minutes. The only sounds that fill the void around us are occasional breaths and the hum of the crickets outside my window.

“Thanks,” Kai says eventually.

I can’t remember him ever expressing gratitude willingly and being this vulnerable while doing so, and my gut tells me he’s not as calm as he wants to appear.

“Are you alright?” I ask carefully, fully aware that he can just hang up if my question isn’t up to his liking. Not like he hasn’t done this sort of thing before.

“I don’t know.” His whisper is incredibly soft, almost as if I’d imagined it.

And it hits me then–this is probably the realest thing he’s said to me ever since we spoke for the very first time that night backstage after the show years ago. When Ava was still alive.

“Is there anything I can do?” I offer, my voice low and wary, my entire body on guard. His existence alone–even if he’s thousands of miles away at this very moment–puts me on edge. Simultaneously drives me insane and makes me ecstatic.

“Not sure.”

I scoot back on my bed, lean against the wall, and survey the mess in my room. There’s a huge suitcase in the corner and my closet is pretty much upside down. A variety of crooked origami shapes line two-thirds of my desk. I’ve been trying to make them tidier but they still look awful. All but the tulip–that I’ve perfected. I have at least a dozen of those in different colors and sizes on my shelf.

“I’d offer to sing you a song,” I say jokingly, “but I think we both know who’s the real talent here.”

Kai laughs wryly. “A talent or a curse.”

“Fuck you. Do you have any idea how many people would kill to have your voice?”

“Just as many people who want to killme.”

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