Dearest Kit

Chapter Twelve

   “Okay?” I elongated my vowels, frowning, not quite understanding what he meant, or even if I did, not wanting to jump to conclusions. 

   “I want you with me, by my side,” he said earnestly, his eyes wide and scared. “I understand if you don’t want to be in the media, but I want to show off my beautiful girlfriend, to show I’m not falling apart, and to stick it to Isabel and, well, because,” he took another deep breath, “well, I like you a lot.” 

   “You want me to go to the premiere with you? In London I assume?” I said disbelievingly. 

   “I would love it, Lana, I really would. I would take you to New York, but your school, I don’t want you to get behind with stuff just because of me,” he explained. 

   “Of course I’ll come,” I grinned, biting my lip happily. 

   “Are you serious?” He beamed. 

   “Yes!” I giggled, “I don’t care about the media, I care about you, the media are manageable.” 

   “It will be fun,” Kit’s eyes lit up with excitement, “you can come up with me to see my stylist, and pick out a dress-” 

   “-Oh, Kit, you really don’t have to,” I moaned, hating it when he treated me. 

   “Lana, I genuinely want to get you a beautiful dress that you can wear and feel wonderful in. This is the first time people are going to be fully aware of you, and that’s important, because one day you’re going famous in your own right.” 

   “You mean, apart from being Christopher Ainsworth’s girlfriend?” I said mockingly. 

   “Of course,” he laughed, “for your music.” 

   “Kit,” I scrunched up my face, covering it in embarrassment.

   “You will! I know it, deep down in my bones,” he kissed my head desperately. 

   He had been round my house the previous week, lounging on my bed, telling me little details about his life which I wouldn’t have been able to find out any other way. I needed to use the bathroom and he wanted to look something up on my laptop, a youtube video. I returned and heard music echoing from the speakers, it took a few seconds for me to realize that the voice was in fact my own. Kit had seen my youtube profile, the icon at the top right hand corner of the webpage. He had followed the link, causing me to become lightheaded. I had never in a million years dreamed of anyone I knew seeing those videos, they were private, my own way of expressing myself. 

   I had asked him to forget all about it, begged him, but he refused; in fact, he brought it up regularly, almost daily. He was convinced that I was going to become a musician one way, because although I wouldn’t admit it, he saw through the facade, he knew it was what I truly wanted. I don’t think he realized just how unsure of myself I was. 

   “I’m not good enough,” I whispered, breaking my lips apart from his as we lay curled up on his sofa. “I’ll never be good enough to be like you, famous,” I bit my lip despairingly, anxious to show him just how much I did wish I were good enough. 

   “That’s not true,” he shook his head, lifting my hand up to his face and kissing my fingertips adoringly, “you’re wonderful, and you have the whole world ahead of you,” he reminded me. “And you have me.” 

   “That’s unfair,” I frowned exaggeratedly.  

   “How so?” His brow creased.  

   “Because, some people who have twice as much talent as me, may not have Christopher Ainsworth as a boyfriend,” I explained, my eyes perturbed. “Why should I get a shot when they deserve it more than I?” 

   “Lana,” his tone had become more serious, urgent, “there may be people out there who are more talented than you, who have a better voice, or can play guitar better,” he agreed, “but no one deserves it more than you. This is what you’ve dreamed of, I know it, I see it in your eyes.” I didn’t know how he was saying all this, saying the words I thought over and over again, and yet was never able to say. “I can’t explain it,” he chuckled, closing his eyes as he attempted to conjure up the words, “I know I’m your boyfriend and all, and therefore am not the most objective of listeners, but I think you’re talented in a way which is a rare find in this world.” 

   “Talent is more erotic when it’s wasted,” I responded, knowing he would realize it was a quote by Don DeLillo. 

   “Waste it if you wish, but I think the world deserves to hear you too,” he whispered, his voice resonating in my ears and causing shivers to run down my spine. “Of course that’s just my little old opinion.” 

   We sat in silence for a little while, the warmth of our bodies making me feel sleepy and comfortable in myself. I didn’t know how to describe it, but whenever I was with Kit I just felt safe, untouchable. An armed burglar could storm into his apartment right this moment, and I would not feel scared for his safety or mine. Maybe that’s stupid and complacent of me, but that was truly how I felt. 

   “Kit,” I uttered, my breath misting against his neck. He looked down at me with those wonderful green eyes.  

   “Yes, Lana?” He chuckled softly, stroking a piece of blonde hair from my eyes. 

   “Thank you for believing in me,” I smiled meekly; he just kissed the top of my head. 

   “Someone has to be the first,” he whispered, touching me with such care, as if I may break at any second, as if I was made of some fragile porcelain, prone to cracks. It was like he couldn’t believe I was sitting in front of him, that I was his girlfriend; a paradox really, seeing as he was the celebrity, and I, the nothing.