That’s it.
He’s doing this for me.
For us.
He’s trying to protect my life from impending doom. He’s trying to protect me from experiencing events that could scar me and irreparably change me.
It’s a selfless, loving act.
More tears cascade.
Kits.
He didn’t have to do this, but I know why he did. Just like Banks promised to never leave me, Akara promised to always protect me.
With a hoarse voice, I ask Banks, “What if I text him that he’s putting my safety above my happiness and that’s not a good idea?”
He nods. “Yeah, you should try.”
I do try with quaking hands. I send a text.
We wait a full hour.
Akara never responds. He leaves me on read.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “I guess…I guess he thinks I’ll forget about him.” I rub at my eyes. Akara knows the truth. I am happy with Banks, but he doesn’t realize I’m happiest with him and Banks.
“He won’t forget about us,” Banks tells me. “He’ll come around.”
“He’s not my bodyguard anymore,” I realize with a sharp inhale. “What about my friend? Did I lose that tonight too?”
“In his eyes, I think so. He wants a clean cut,” Banks says under his breath, and I hug him more. Before my brain can drive down a tormented rabbit hole of holy fucking shit, Kits is no longer in my life realizations, Banks adds, “He’s gonna come to his fuckin’ senses.”
Tears well up as I struggle to keep hope alive like Banks.
I want that torch to stay lit, and I know it always will. But there’s a part of me that wonders if this is it.
If Kits is just done.
And there will be no returning to what we once had. The sadness in that thought bowls me over again. And again.
And again.
Morning comes, and after another long-winded, anxiety-fueled ride avoiding paparazzi and camera flashes, Banks drops me off at the gated neighborhood in Philly.
My childhood home.
I can’t keep the break-up a secret. I could go back to the penthouse and field concerned questions from Moffy and Jane. Maybe they’d sigh in relief. Maybe they’d think, I told you so, Sulli. This triad was never going to last long.
I’m not afraid to confront them, but I’ve decided I’d rather be with my mom and dad first. They’re the ones I used to always retreat to when the rug was swept out from under me.
Banks assured me he’s fine, and he needs to check in with his mom and grandma anyway.
I text Kits again. Hey, hope you’re doing well. Maybe we could talk again?
No response.
Banks is right. Akara is just looking for a clean cut. A breakaway. But he can’t sever our relationship and our years-long friendship with one single slice. Jagged edges and debris lie in the wake of his painful departure—there’s nothing clean about this.
I stare solemnly at the marshmallows floating in my hot chocolate. Goldilocks rubs up against my ankles while I sit at the window nook. Snow blankets the yard and cul-de-sac outside, and every now and then, I catch brief glimpses of my dad shifting a ladder against the roof. He’s been removing Christmas lights.
My mom left to grab something upstairs. She didn’t say what, but after she added extra marshmallows to my hot chocolate, I can tell she’s pulling out the best for me. I know it’s because she thinks I’m shaken from last night’s theatre chaos.
The sheer dread and terror in her eyes still haunts me.
“I’m okay, Goldi,” I breathe, stroking her soft, golden fur.
She sits politely, tail swishing back and forth.
“She misses you,” my mom says, returning to me with an assortment of chocolates, a little doll, and a wrapped package. A flower crown of dried daisies is nestled on her blonde hair.
“I try not to miss her,” I admit. “It makes me miss Coconut.” The white Husky I grew up around, and I almost wince at Goldi. “Fuck, I’m sorry, girl. You know I love you.” I kiss the top of her head. She nuzzles against my cheek.
Sadness lets up for a single second.
My mom slides into the window nook beside me. “I miss Coconut too.” She scratches Goldi’s ears with a softer smile. “But I think she’d be happy we have Goldi now.”
Yeah.
I sip hot chocolate, trying to unknot the pretzel in my stomach. And then I immediately reach for the little Peruvian doll in surprise. “Rue? Where’d you find her?”
“The back of your closet.” Mom peels the foil off a chocolate.
I touch the doll’s soft red dress, faded from the sun and all the picnics we had in the backyard together. I haven’t seen Rue since I was eleven or twelve.
“Do you want her back?” Mom wonders.
My eyes still feel swollen from crying last night. They hurt with each blink. “I shouldn’t…I guess I’m too old for dolls…”
“Who said that?” She crinkles her nose, then puts a hand to her heart as her feet rise and legs cross like mine. “In this glorious world, I decree young and old shall carry dolls if they want to.” She gasps. “And the immortal. We can’t forget about your Uncle Connor.”