The Last Time We Met - #Completed

Chapter Thirteen

"I think you should go to bed," he proposed. He ran a hand through his dark hair and turned away from me so I could no longer see the hurt displayed on his face so clearly, like water colors.

"But," I began, but can't find any more words to speak. Then, "I understand."

He helped me to my feet and before I could thank him he was gone.

Maybe I'm wrong, I think, holding myself, suddenly cold and covered in goose bumps. Maybe I'm the only one who feels it.

--***--

The next day I feel stupid for ever believing that maybe Kingsley, the King of all players, and the devil himself, might feel even a little something for me. I mean, it's not like I'm sexually active and have all sorts of experience, so he wouldn't like me for that. I'm not extraordinarily beautiful, I'm only average in the smarts department, and I where dorky glasses. Who could ever like me more than a fling?

The entire day I didn't see Kingsley at work, but Chemical girl was back again, chomping loudly on her grape flavored gum. I called his cell and looked all over the house to make sure he wasn't hiding anywhere, but I didn't even find him in the studio.

"Do you know where Mr. Thomas is?" I ask Chemical girl after about an hour of searching for him. I was tired of running up and down all of the stairs in this place and it didn't seem too appealing anymore.

"He's out on a date, or something," she says, not even taking her eyes off of the magazine sitting on her crossed legs. "You've been here long enough to know that."

I resist the urge to bang her head into the desk and walk away, going down into the studio so I could finish my painting. For a second I wondered again what Kingsley had drawn and even thought about peeking inside the supply room where he stashed it, but for what? What does it even matter anymore?

I'm too late. My whole life I've hated Kingsley, and when I realize I actually love him, he doesn't love me. And how could he with me ranting and raving about how he ruined my life all of the time?

And it's not like he really meant to, I think, added a few strokes of yellow on the painting. That's right. He was probably just looking out for me and then I turned him into the bad guy when really I've been one this entire time.

I let myself sink into my memories, falling into the one of my twelfth birthday. Yes, Kingsley was being his usual self that day after the pool incident, making a record for how long he could make me cry before I sought revenge on him--how could either of us have known he was going to stumble upon my dad with another woman, screwing her brains out in our bathroom, of all places? How did either of us know my father was cheating on my mother for all of those years they had been together?

So when Kingsley told my mother that night, neither of us could have expected what happened next. My father and she went at it for hours in the house, trying to hide from practically the entire family who was in the backyard, but everyone could hear what they were saying.

My mom wanted a divorce.

Dad accused Kingsley of being a liar (which he is famous for, but why would he lie about something like this?)

Mom made the first move, striking my dad across the face. Everyone could hear the contact.

Then dad, filled with rage, dove for mom, trying to strangle her, but before he could hurt her uncle Ben stopped him, shoving him out of the house and threatening to call the police.

My mother, with bruises in the shape of long fingers around her throat, did call the police, but they never did find my dad. He was long gone, and I never seen him again after that.

I spent the rest of my birthday packing my belongings and watching my mother pace the backyard. Everyone had left the party, it was just her and me and the stars. We've never been very close, but after that night we hardly ever spoke to each other.

Later I had searched for Kingsley before going to bed, sneaking out of the house and going to his window, but he didn't answer my calls. Didn't hear the rocks I threw at his window. And the next day he left without so much as a good bye, leaving me feeling nothing but resentment towards him.

I never understood why he told my mother about my dad, and I hated him for it. I never wanted to be one of those kids who had a low-life father and divorced parents. I never wanted to move to Colorado, away from everything and everyone I knew just so my mother could wake up without crying.

But now I realize why Kingsley did what he did. Better to feel the pain then, than to feel it a hundred times worse today right? Better to find out dad's dirty ways sooner than later. And when I think about, Kingsley saved me years of grief and misery. Years of yelling and domestic abuse and having to hear my father sneak out of the house every night.

Kingsley gave me a life that could have been much worse if he hadn't "ruined" that day for me. At the time I felt so betrayed and heartbroken, but now I am grateful. I know now that my father really is a skeeze, and that it's not Kingsley's fault. None of it ever was. He was just doing the right thing, right, so why am I so mad at him all of the time? Why do I feel like he did the worst betrayal a friend could ever do? And most importantly, why do I love him so much?