The McKay Boys

15| fabht•

"Because Meredith doesn't leave the wine cellar open."

On the old, ivory walls was a large portrait of Mr. Kai and Meredith, accoutered in formal attire with stiff, conservative smiles painted on their lips. I imagined how much more believable their contentment would have been if they'd cut out smiling lips from magazine models and held them up over theirs. Their eyes, the windows to their essences, seemed dull and tired.

A wave of guilt tided within me as their soulless gazes steadied on mine, seeming to follow me at every tilt of my head. If they knew what we were doing at that present moment; hosting a party, no doubt they would have been upset. I envisioned Mr. McKay saying he thought better of me and his wife somehow pinning the entire event as my doing.

I heard movements and refocused ahead to see Khalil climbing up the ladder to the black open box.

"Come on."

Carefully placing my foot on the bottom stair, I grabbed onto the one above and mounted my way up behind him, careful not to get booted in the face by his expensive loafer.

The loft was dark, hot, and dense, feeling like a small matches box. I took a step forward and bumped into Khalil's back. He smelled refreshing.

"Amelia." He chuckled at the collision as he reached up and pulled on a silver drop chain. The hanging bulb switched on, a pallid yellow now filtering through the gloom, but it was blinking nosily as though at any moment it would have gone back out.

The loft was the oldest room in the house, occupied with a small bed, several brown boxes, and a long, stained mirror on the brown, stripping walls. An arch-slider window stood on the left side, and we could see the night sky as the pale moonlight poured through the clear glass.

I sat on the old bed that creaked beneath my weight as Khalil went to fetch the party cups from one of the dusty boxes. I smiled and peered over at him, swinging my feet that failed to touch the ground.

"So, are you enjoying the party, Khalil?"

He glanced over his shoulders as he reached a hand around his back pocket to retrieve a silver pocket knife. I watched how he flicked it between his fingers. He then shrugged as he drew the blade across the tape. "It's alright."

The vibration, similar to a zipper dispatched in the air, and I got lost in the way he held the glistening weapon with so much competence and squeezed it back into his pocket. I flashed my head.

"You don't like it." I grinned, knowing my speculations were proven right. I knew he wouldn't have fancied it. Khalil hated 'people,' and the house, the lighting, was too red and dark for his preference. I wondered how he'd been coping with the setting. He preferred staying in the 'light' unless I was next to him.

He stood to his feet with a breath and plodded over to me, the floorboard squeaking under his shoes and the large package of red cups with white, skinny rims clutched into his hand. One pack. He came all the way up here for one pack. The mattress, draped with plain white sheets, sunk on his side as he lowered himself next to me, sighing.

"You know me too well." He pinched my cheek, and I smiled. I knew Cane was the one who had set the place up. Had it been Khalil, he'd have never chosen such sinister lighting. Maybe Kanan...but not Khalil.

"It's been a while since I've been down here." I sprawled back against the bed, sliding my feet out of my black flat shoes. I tapped the heel of my socks against the wooden base as I stared up at the ceiling. "My house back home was probably this size..."

"This small?" Khalil glanced over his shoulder, and I nodded.

"We only had a little stove, a small bed, and a Tv. My dad was working on getting a bigger place for us, but...he ended up having to use all his savings on his health..." My voice cracked at the end, my heart filling up with a thick draft of nostalgia. Talking about my father always gave me such bitterness. I wondered why I had to lose someone in such a cruel way.