Chapter 7: Black Knight: Chapter 6

“What the fuck are you doing, Kimberly?”

The voice coming from behind me might as well be a bomb. Otherwise, why would I feel like I’m being detonated to pieces?

My knees shake on the tile floor as my hands fall lifeless to my sides.

No, it’s him.

He can’t just figure me all out in one day. That’s not how it works in real life.

Besides, he could’ve only walked in on the heaving part and nothing else.

No matter how much I reassure myself, my lower lip trembles and I bite down on the tender flesh so I don’t give in to the need to run and hide.

Taking a deep breath, I rise to unsteady feet and take my sweet time flushing the toilet. Maybe if I stay here long enough, he’ll disappear and leave me in peace.

Maybe the whole thing is a play of my imagination because of being jumpy since earlier.

The prickling at the nape of my neck says otherwise, though. Razor-sharp attention is dissecting me slowly, as if cutting me open from the inside out.

It’s all because of those avocados – I should’ve refused Elsa’s offer, I should’ve not taken them. But if I had, she would have started to suspect me, and then maybe she’d regret being friends with me.

I can’t lose Elsa. She’s one of the few threads that keeps me hanging on to this existence.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I turn around, silently praying all this is a nasty nightmare.

The moment my gaze meets that ocean-deep one, I confirm it is a nightmare.

A real one.

The one I can never come back from.

“What are you doing here?” I speak lower than I intend to, but at least my voice doesn’t shake like a pathetic idiot.

“The question is, what are doing, Kimberly?”

Kimberly.

Kimberly?

I haven’t heard him call me that in…well, ever. When we were young, he used to call me Green, or Kim when he was mad at me. After I fell from his grace, I became Berly, that stupid bullying name.

The fact that he’s calling me by my full name is new and somehow…intimate.

“You never saw anyone vomiting?” I start past him towards the running tap, pretending he doesn’t exist.

The keyword being . There’s no way in hell I can erase his presence, especially in the small space of the bathroom. My arm brushes against his and I falter for a fraction of a second, fighting the urge to close my eyes and soak in that contact.

I’m like a starved animal, waiting for a mere brush of clothes against clothes. What the hell is wrong with me?

I wash my hands, rubbing them harsher than needed until they turn red, and then take a gulp of the mouthwash I always keep in my pocket.

Maybe I’ve overestimated what he saw. It’s just someone vomiting, after all. Upset stomach, wrong food, bad weather. I have a multitude of excuses. Hell, I can even blame it on his existence and say it disgusts me.

Though, I’m not as cruel as he is – or as heartless.

“Why, yes. Of course I’ve seen someone vomiting.” His voice is calm and steady, even though the undertone is sinister. “Nasty business, that is.”

I spit out the mouthwash and clean my mouth. “Yup. Very nasty.”

“Especially when you stick a finger in your throat and make yourself vomit. Nasty, indeed.”

I freeze midway of pocketing my mouthwash. Shit. He saw it.

He shouldn’t have seen it. Why the hell did he see it?

Or the better question is, why didn’t I close the door?

Oh, I know why. I was in a hurry to lose the calories I gained from those avocados and meet Mum’s requirements so she doesn’t ship Kir away.

And I may have been rattled since I met this same arsehole outside my house and was forced to ride in his car earlier.

Me, in Xander’s car. I might have been too stunned all the way to remember anything about the journey.

“I just had an upset stomach,” I speak with a confidence I don’t feel.

Last summer, I was hitting rock bottom and Dad suggested I go on a spiritual retreat; he said it helped him when he needed clarity. I didn’t want to go, because of Kir, but when he said we could go as a family, I agreed. The trip consisted of Kir, Dad, and me. Mum had work – as always.

While we were there, I got to meet a lot of spiritual people from all sorts of religions, and although their beliefs didn’t interest me a lot, their life philosophies did. So much, I’m actually planning to visit that mountain in Switzerland again.

Back then, a Buddhist said that even if I’m not confident, I have to think of my goals and if need be, fake that confidence.

I call it, fake it until you make it.

One day, I won’t look in the mirror and practice how to talk, walk, or smile. One day, confidence will come naturally to me.

That day sure as hell isn’t today, so all I can do is continue to fake it.

“Do you always have upset stomachs?” he asks with almost a sympathetic tone.

Almost, because he’s faking it, too.

Xander’s mirroring my fakery and using it as a weapon against me in his dickhead style.

“Yes.” I don’t dare stare back or in the mirror, where I’ll find his eyes trying to dig a path into my soul.

No one needs to find a path to there, especially not him.

I don’t want him of all people to see the mess hidden underneath all of this.

He broke me, and he doesn’t get to witness the chaos left behind.

“That must be why you always carry the mouthwash, then.”

“Yup.”

“Funny, because I almost think you do that to hide your vomiting habits.”

My fingers tremble, but I don’t stop to let his words get to me. Xander might not have fat-shamed me, but he’s a bully. He laughed in my face, he mocked me, and he turned my life to hell like everyone else.

When I decided to stop being a secondary character in my life, it also meant not letting him get under my skin or see me at my lowest.

“Funny, because that’s none of your business,” I mimic his tone.

“You think it makes you prettier? Skinnier?” He laughs, the sound hollow and harsh in the silence of the bathroom. “You can’t hide behind layers of makeup, no matter how much you try to. If you think otherwise, then you need some awareness pills.”

I hit the tap closed harder than needed as I try to control my breathing. His words are like tiny needles getting under my skin and puncturing the veins one by each bloody one.

“I told you,” I grind out through my teeth. “It’s none of your damn business.”

A strong hand wraps around my wrist and I yelp as I’m yanked back so hard, the mouthwash bottle clinks against the lavatory and settles at the bottom of it.

My heart thunders so loudly, I’m surprised it doesn’t follow the bottle and sink somewhere.

He’s…touching me.

Xander has his hands on me. Those same long, lean fingers that are always lost in his hair or wrapped around a joint are now on my wrist.

Oh, God.

Xander’s skin is on mine.

Whoa. What the hell? Is it supposed to feel this overwhelming? It’s only skin against skin. Flesh to flesh. Anatomy.

But it’s not just any skin. It’s skin.

Xander’s.

Before I can get my mind to concentrate on that fact, he yanks my pullover up my wrist. The same wrist he was staring at earlier.

wrist.

Shit.

I try to pull away from him, but he pins me against the marble edge of the lavatory, making the cold surface dig into me. He holds my other hand behind my back, disallowing me from moving as his punishing eyes study the marks on my skin.

My gaze strays away, not wanting to see how he looks at me, at that part of me no one should see. Even don’t like seeing it.

The cut marks are engraved in my head without having to glance at them. They’re messy, but not that deep. Severe, but not deadly.

I was a failure even at that. None of it is elegant and pretty. It’s all a big fucking mess.

“I suppose this is none of my business either.” His voice is light, calm, as if he’s not staring at the most shameful part of me.

How can he manage to make me hate myself by just looking at me? Why does he have that power?

He shouldn’t.

He left me.

He didn’t want to forgive me.

What right does he have to stare at me with those disapproving eyes as if we’re still friends? As if my wellbeing matters?

“It isn’t.” My tone is biting, translating all the frustration bubbling inside me. “You said it yourself that day, we’re strangers and should pretend we don’t know each other, even if we cross paths, right? So be a stranger and leave me the hell alone.”

I’m this close to melting in his touch. His soft touch, even though he’s a brutal, vicious person.

“I said that, didn’t I?” His gaze never leaves my wrist, like it’s the first time he’s seeing a cutting scar.

Or a scar altogether.

“You did,” I repeat.

“Strangers can become familiar with each other again.”

“Huh?”

“I changed my mind, Kimberly.”

“You changed your mind?”

His pale eyes meet mine with a determination that nearly knocks me off my feet. “I’m making it my business.”

My mouth falls open. I want to say something, but I can’t. When I finally speak, my voice is haunted, spooked even. “You…you can’t do that.”

“Watch. Me.”

“Are you forgiving me?” I curse the hope in my voice and all the jumbled emotions that come with it. I shouldn’t feel this way after I decided I’m erasing him from my life.

“Of course not,” he bites out. “That sin is unforgivable.”

My chin locks, but I manage to speak without emotions. “Then let me go. My life is none of your concern.”

“Told you, I’m making it mine.”

“But why? Fucking why?”

“That fucking attitude.” He narrows his right eye, but it quickly returns to normal. “You don’t get to take the easy way out just because you can. You don’t get to disappear just because you want to. I’m ruining all your plans, so you better be ready for me, Kimberly.”

He gently, so gently, pulls down my pullover to hide the scar, no idea if it disgusts him like the rest of me or if it’s another one of his cruel games. It’s so shocking how soft and gentle he can be. He simply chooses the other route with me – the rugged edge that’s meant to cut and hurt.

The one people reserve for their enemies.

“Hide while you can.” He pats my hand once, and although his skin is warm, it feels so cold. “When I find you, I’ll drag you out kicking and screaming.”