ALL THE WORDS WE COULDN'T SAY

T W E N T Y O N E

Not even the snow was hitting right. The scene was perfect. I'd even had a few girls give me their numbers. But it didn't matter. I thought Persy not being here would be a good thing, that I could maybe relax a bit. But it turned out to be worse. Every ten minutes I was looking around, monitoring the entrance of the living room to see if she'd come. But from what Sofia said, it looked like I wouldn't be seeing her tonight. Maybe that was a blessing too. That I could stretch out the time before we have to address what happened the last time we met. Maybe she won't ever mention it. Is that a good thing or bad? Maybe both.

"Killian? You good?" I looked up, slightly dazed from my overthinking, and saw Nathan. "You've been staring at your drink for a while now."

"Fuck," I let slip out of my mouth. Nathan gives in a long look before sighing.

"Just go, man."

"What?"

"You heard me. There's no point in you being here if all you're going to do is think about her. Go on, then."

Nathan's words were like the trigger that set my legs into motion. I wasn't even thinking before I found myself on the cold streets outside the university. I didn't even know where she'd be, but my first choice was to go back to The Barrel. And if she wasn't there, her accommodation would be next.

But it didn't take long to find her. She was outside one of the university's theatre buildings. Straight black hair dancing in the wind. One foot against the wall. Shaky fingers bringing a cigarette up to a pair of chapped lips that were the basis of an unhealthy amount of memories in my mind.

It also didn't take long for her to notice my presence. I braced for the impact of an army of insults, maybe even a shove or a slap. Instead, she just stared straight ahead. And yet somehow, I found this indifference even worse to bear than if she'd just punched me square in the jaw.

"Persy?" Her name came out weak and brittle. I internally kicked myself for being so useless.

"Yes, Killian?"

I paused. What the fuck was I supposed to say now? I really should have thought this through.

"Uhh... How are you?"

Idiot.

Persy still didn't look at me.

"I'm not fine. But at least I'm not getting raped every day," she answered, making my skin sizzle like I'd just been slapped.

"Sorry. Stupid question."

"Can you do something for me?"

I was unsure what she would want me to do, but nonetheless, I answered. "Yes, of course."

"I've got like three essays due this week and I haven't even started one. Can you do them for me?"

"But I thought I was tutoring you-"

"Not enough time."

"Sure. I'll do them."

"Good."

She threw the cigarette butt and turned to leave. She didn't even spare me one, even a small, glance.

"Persy," I called after her before she crossed the road.

"Yeah?" She didn't look back.

"Do you hate me?"

I saw her pause before finally turning around. When her eyes met mine, it was enough to knock me to the ground.

"I just wish you came after me, Killian."

And then she was gone. And all I wanted to do was to drive myself off a cliff.

As I started to walk to my accom, my phone buzzed. My mind too busy with regret assumed it was Nathan as I answered it without looking at the number.

"Hello? Killian?"

It was my father.

I sighed. "What do you want?"

"Killian, your mother's got cancer."

I drew in a sharp breath. My mother was nowhere near the nomination list for best mum in the world, but she was still better than my father. They definitely weren't the picture-perfect couple they appeared to be in public, but to them, appearance was nine-tenths of the law. They were arranged to be married for allegiance purposes between their families. Mum pulled the short straw when it came to reaping the benefits of their marriage. See, she was in love with another man. Some tennis player that went to the same country club as her family. When she found out she was to wed my father, she tried desperately to get out of it. Threats, begs, the whole book of attempts to change someone's mind. But none of them worked. Out of anger she snuck out of her house and spent the night with the nameless lover (she probably knew his name but I certainly don't. Oh, and no way did I hear this shit from my parents. I managed to get the story out of Layla, who'd been serving my mum since she was a teen herself).

Well... she ended up pregnant. Don't worry, it wasn't me. Although, there are times I wish it was. But we'll never know who that child would be because once she told everyone (quite the spectacle since it kind of was on my parents' wedding day), her parents forced her to get an abortion. On one of Layla's days off, she'd drunk a little too much and accidentally let it slip out that my dad still has a small suspicion that I might be the bastard conceived the night before he claimed my mother as his. Kind of fucked. But replace the 'kind of' with 'absolutely and completely'. I was born ten months after the wedding. But despite my father's suspicions, I don't believe it. Several times I've seen my mother look at me with waves of sorrow behind her eyes. I've seen how much she wishes she kept the baby. And I've seen the bitter sadness of the revelation that she couldn't. And that no matter what, I could never be the boy who could connect her broken heartstrings to the tennis player she fell in love with years ago (and probably still is).