STELLA
Seven Years Ago
"You OK?" Killian asked, coming to stand in front of me and cage me in. His head dipped down, forehead against mine, his hands on either side of my hips as they rested against the edge of the kitchen sink.
"Mmm hmm." His presence helped to take some of the edge off the encounter with his mother not a few seconds ago. Her coldness and outward disapproval of me, once again, had made me retreat to the kitchen in search of some composure.
"When are you going to take this off?" He plucked at my hip, at the black fabric of the graduation gown I still wore.
"Enjoying the moment," I told him. My arms wrapped around his waist, hugging his body against mine and finding so much comfort in every solid inch of him. With him, near him, like this- everything felt so much better. "I'll only be graduating once."
He snorted at that. "You get another ceremony next year for your postgrad."
"I won't be attending that, Kills. I'll be too far away in the city and hopefully working."
He didn't say anything to that. Instead, he shifted away and smiled down at me. "Come on, Stels. You can't hide away in the kitchen all day. Let's go have a drink with mum and dad."
My mood plummeted, but I hid it from him with a smile. I didn't want to ruin the day for him, knowing how important it was to Killian to have his parents with him right then, especially after graduating. "I'll get changed first and then join you in the lounge."
Later, after removing the gown and the more formal attire I had under it, I padded into the lounge wearing a pair of torn black jeans and a grungy t-shirt that had seen better days. It earned a fleeting glance of distaste from his mother, but thankfully the three occupants were well into a conversation when I entered and placed myself beside Killian on the other end of the sofa where his mother sat.
"Killian tells us that you are hoping to travel after this year," Mr Beckett enquired politely of me once the topic had dwindled to nothingness.
I turned to him with a polite smile. I held nothing against Killian's father, our relationship bordering on aloof, but I did find the man a bit intimidating. There was power, obviously, that came with his money, and the Beckett's seemed to enjoy lauding this influence- especially over me. "Well, I would like to- yes. But I have also been looking at working up in Johannesburg for a few years to gain experience first," I answered. "Moving overseas is something Killian and I have both spoken about and seem to agree that we both want to do... at some point."
"Not with your affliction, darling, surely," Pauline said, affronted, as she leaned over to put a hand on Killian's forearm. "You haven't been able to step foot on the plane since the accident-"
"It wasn't an accident," I interjected, "and with some counselling-"
"Counselling?" Pauline's head snapped back, as if I had lobbed a piece of shit at her. Ah, yes, the concept of seeing a therapist to tend to one's mental health- how absurd! Perish the thought! "There is nothing wrong with Killian's mind!"
"That's not what counselling is for," I protested, feeling my cheeks grow hot. This was why I hated conversing with Pauline- we would never see eye to eye, no matter how much I curbed my tongue, no matter how much I tried...
"He doesn't need it," she said, resolute, as if the matter was put to rest.
I looked at Killian, hoping for affirmation, hoping that he would interject with words that he had spoken to me when his parents weren't present. That he'd admitted he needed to speak to a therapist, especially one who was adept at dealing with post traumatic stress disorder.
That moving overseas with me is something he wanted as well.
"Moving to Asia," Mr Beckett mused, as if oblivious to the other half of the conversation. "Can't imagine that there would be many political opportunities for you there, Killian."
"I would be teaching ESL with Stella for a year or two," he explained.
Silence.
Then, with a frown puckering the wrinkled skin between his brows and receding hairline, Mr Beckett said, "Seems like an awful waste of your degree, son."
I couldn't sit there and listen to the conversation a moment longer. I feigned an excuse to top up a wine glass, hoping to down at least half a bottle of tequila in the kitchen instead. I don't think I had ever felt so miserable in my life before.
In the kitchen, strains of their conversation were easily detectable, especially when Killian's parents' voice became raised- clearly of the perception that they couldn't be heard in the kitchen.
I yanked open the freezer and pulled out the tequila bottle- the communal liquor, for emergencies only. And this constituted an emergency.
"All I'm saying is," Mr Becket was speaking, his voice firm and commandeering as he addressed Killian, "there are several reputable institutes- in Pretoria and Cape Town- that have a vested interest in selecting you specifically for an internship. You'd be wasting your time and your qualifications. Once you finish your honours, you should be investing your time in your masters."
"Listen to your father, Killian," Pauline added. "Two years with that girl in some far off country? Surely you've had your fun with Stella now. You need to be more serious. "
I twisted the lid off the bottle and tossed back a substantial amount of the tequila, relishing the deep burn of the alcohol as it settled in my empty stomach. "Come on, Kills," I whispered, a desperate prayer.
Stand-up for me.
"I don't intend to waste my degree," Killian said, and I felt myself deflate.
Hollow.
"Consider it like a gap year," he added.
"What the hell did I pay for three years ago then?" Mr Beckett grumbled. "You had two years after you turned eighteen to figure yourself out. Not many students have been given the opportunities that you have. Your career is practically laid out before you, boy."
"And I am grateful for it," Killian said.
"I'm sorry, Killian, but if you galavant off somewhere else with that girl after this year," Pauline said, "then your father and I won't contribute a cent towards your masters."
Another swig of the tequila, my knuckles clutching the bottle so tightly I watched them turn white. I wondered if they would still pay for his postgraduate studies were I anybody else other than Stella Huxley, but I would never know.
I wondered if Killian would have been more inclined to fight for me, for him, were I anybody else, too...
But he didn't.
He never really did, not when it came to his mother and father.
And he didn't right then, either.
"I understand," was all he said.
***
"Everything OK, mum?" Killian said, directing his voice towards the phone he had placed atop the stone balustrade beside us.
His smile was reassuring, but I felt anything but. Why the hell had he put the call on speaker? When his fingers spanned my waist and pulled me against his body, his head dipping so that his lips could wreak havoc on my neck, I think I could marginally see why... but it didn't allay the tension seeping through every nerve of my body.
I really didn't want to have to think of Pauline Beckett right then, not when I had just resolved to give this thing between Killian and I another shot.
Without the dominating surge of memories that coaxed every insecurity to the fore, that made me doubt that this could work- especially if I brought Pauline back into the picture.
"Yes, darling, everything is alright," the tinny sound of his mother's voice exemplified my unease and I pulled away from Killian, just enough so that he was forced to stop kissing my neck. A frustrated huff of a sound left him. "I hope you are enjoying visiting the old haunts again. Do send my best to Sadie and your friend, Sipho."
"Will do." Killian leaned back to give me a perplexed look, and then mouthed a silent sorry.
"I also wanted to find out when you would be popping in," Pauline continued. "I know you mentioned the day before Christmas, but I thought maybe that was cutting it rather fine and you would change your mind to come earlier- tomorrow perhaps."
Killian rolled his eyes, as if we shared the same exasperation with his mother. I found myself not enjoying this interchange, that niggling unease settling and rooting deeper into the aching cavern of my chest. I didn't like to think that he was entirely oblivious to my feelings regarding Pauline, that he would still be unable to stand his ground when it came to our relationship. Was I going to be thrown straight back into the same old problems that dominated our past?
A bitterness lingered on the edges of my tongue and burned my throat at the thought.
"Still Christmas eve, mum," Killian told her on a sigh. "I can check, perhaps we can come up a day earlier. Stella and I will be driving up the day after next-"
Leave a day earlier? My heart was doing chaotic flips behind my sternum, my skin prickling with tension, and my jaw clenched as I fought off the urge to yell something furious at him right then.
"Stella?" The voice at the other end of the call sounded incredulous. "Stella Huxley?"
I stiffened in his arms. The utter distaste in her tone was so clear to discern I was sure that Killian would say something, would at least notice it.
If he did, his expression revealed nothing of it. In fact, he continued in the same vein as before, in the same tone as before. "Yeah," he said, "we hired a car, since my wallet was stolen-"
"Oh, please, darling, not this again," Pauline said, her voice a lamentable whine. "Honestly, Killian, I have no idea why you had to go and end things with Amber. That girl was just lovely and suited you so much better. Imagine my dismay at hearing you are sharing a car with Stella Huxley- and I do hope that is all you are doing with that one. She wasn't good for you, my child. Look at how much damage she caused you! You almost left us because of her!"
And just like that, I was slapped with every hurt from the past. New holes ripped through my heart, burying deeper into the ones that already existed, expanding outwards until they stretched and thinned every defensive barrier I had erected to deflect just these sorts of slurs.
I felt his hands slip away from me while he grappled with the phone, finally locating some of his common sense to take his mother off speaker so I wouldn't have to listen to the venomous words that made me want to crawl into myself and hide away for good.
I stepped away from Kilian, edging more space between our bodies. Coldness seeped into my limbs, sending a dull shiver under my skin, but it was nothing compared to the ice coating my heart.
"I did leave," Killian said into the phone, his gaze averted from me. "I moved to Ireland, but not because of Stella."
My jaw clenched. Did I expect him to tell her off? To defend the woman he wanted something serious with?
Yes. I didn't care if I was being selfish- nor did I care that this was new, that I shouldn't have really expected him to tackle these issues so soon after we had decided things... but would he ever? It was the same damn predicament as before, and I just knew I would be arguing myself in circles, stuck in an endless loop of feeling like shit for making demands while his father battled cancer and his mother struggled to come to terms with it, holding onto the futile hope that one day it would all work out.
That one day his parents would accept me.
"Anyway, if everything is okay with dad, I really need to go, mom," Killian said, his tone level and betraying nothing, which made me bristle even more. Surely he didn't expect me to be fine with what I had overheard?
I hugged my waist, my gut churning. The viciousness of Pauline's words ran through my mind over and over again–a continuous loop on a broken record. She wasn't good for you.
After a few mumbled words, Killian finally concluded the call with his mother, and when he turned to me, I read the concern in his gaze.
"Stella."
My heart spasmed so painfully I struggled to breathe. That pain was so acute I knew instantly I had begun to love him again, but was it enough?
Was it enough to sustain me through years of contention, of mental and verbal battles against the people that were closest to him?
My skin crawled and suddenly I felt the need to scrub my body with a roughened sponge. I wanted to turn on my heel and run, leave, and put Pauline's words so far behind me that they couldn't affect me anymore.
"Stella, I'm sorry about my mother," Killian said, holding out his hands. The way he was approaching me reminded me of someone moving towards a cornered, feral dog- with caution. Afraid I would attack? Or bolt.
But I wouldn't run... not this time. I clutched my body, anchoring myself, bracing for the hurt that would come and tear me to shreds yet again.
"I can't do this again."