CHAPTER 35
I return to where I parked the car. I can't say I've had my fill, but I've quite enjoyed this Ocean drive neighborhood. Well, eventually I realized where I am during my promenading. I even had a pleasure to relax and grab a big bite of cheeseburger so cheer myself.
And I usually eat a lot when I'm stressed.
I'm about to hop in the car when the incoming call on my cellphone stops me halfway. I slam the door sharply before rummaging inside my bag. I clutch my phone and a hard scowl appears on my face when I find it's a new number. I swipe the receiver hesitantly.
"Hello?" I croak.
"Where are you? We need to talk.” A male voice snaps quickly, causing a shiver throughout my skin.
And I could recognize this voice even in my deep sleep.
”Liam,” I breathe softly.
"It's good that you know my voice by heart," Liam remarks. "Where are you, Kira?" he practically snaps at me again.
"Liam, please, not again." I sigh, running a hand through my curls, my energy inadequate.
"Will you stop being stubborn, Kira? Tell me where you are and I'll come for you right now.” He sounds desperate.
"Don't bother, Liam. It’s over." I enter the car and settle behind the wheel.
"Okay, listen," says Liam, his voice painfully echoing through the speakers of my phone. I cringe. "I can't take this anymore, Kira . . . I can't get you out of my head and . . . and it's driving me crazy." He sighs, and my eyes prick with tears at his devastated voice. "I've tried, okay? I've really tried but—“ He sighs again, and I hiccup. "But it's just so impossible. Let's talk, please. We can still fix this, baby, trust me."
I'm still quiet, my lips pressed together, and my eyes watery. Liam sounds despaired and I hate the fact that I'm the reason why.
"I'm scared, Liam," I utter, tears streaming down unbridled.
Liam sighs heavily. "Kira—“
"I'm so scared that if I hold your hand I'll have to lose Sam's." I sniff, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "She's a family to me. The only one I have."
"I'll be the one to tell her," Liam says. "I'll take the entire blame, Kira, because I'm the one who started it all. Maybe I fell in love with you from the first moment I saw you getting from the car. Something changed right away, and I knew you wouldn't be just a woman I met by chance."
Oh God.
"Liam . . . " I hold the steering tightly as though my survival depends on it.
"I had no idea that your friend had other intentions coming to Montana, so I'll tell her about my clear intention now. I'm going to do it whether you like it or not, Kira," he says stubbornly.
"No, Liam." I rub my fists, nervous.
"Yes, baby. Unless, let's leave this place. Tell me where you are and I'll get you right away." Liam's voice is gentle, imploring me to change my mind. But all it does is adding more pain to me. "Kira—“
"Where will you take me? To England?" I laugh amid the tears, the situation a bit funny regardless the odds.
"Yes, to England. Don't you love it there?" I can picture his sad smile.
"I do."
"So, can you tell me where you are, please?"
"No, I'm going back home," I say, taking a deep breath while pulling the seatbelt.
"Okay. But I'm serious about telling Samantha of how I feel. I'll do it as soon as I return to the house,” Liam tells me quietly.
"Liam, I won't forgive you if you do!” My voice is harsh.
"My feelings are mine, Kira, I don't need your permission on this one, I'm sorry." He sounds determined and it freaks me. What if he does as he says? My heart tightens. “
"Liam, I know but—“
"Good. I'll see you later."
"Wait!" I snap and he obliges. "I have something else to say, Liam." My voice shakes from fright.
"Later. You can tell me later tonight," he says and hangs up.
"I'm leaving tomorrow," I whisper, more to myself.
I reach home around seven-thirty and slowly pull the car into the lot. My heart is pounding rapidly against my chest and I can't tell why exactly. The lights inside the house are on, but the party is long dead and gone. I don't see the black SUV, either, which means one of the boys has left.
Both emotionally and physically I'm a wreck. Maybe a shower will help, I decide. When I get inside, it's Malik's voice that welcomes me. He's pacing around the living room, seeming on an important call, his tablet in hand as though discussing the contents on its screen.
He looks at me expressionlessly, and I do the same while pacing over. I slowly put his car keys on top of the coffee table, right beside the ashtray in which a piece of cigarette smokes out. He walks over and grinds until the flame dies. His eyes are on mine and I wither under his scrutiny.
Oblivious of Malik's worried look and facial pleads for me to stay, I decide to leave. I'm so ashamed to even face him. He cares a lot for his best friend, and I've hurt him too much already. What can I possibly tell them now? That I'm sorry? I don't think anyone can understand my reasons, so I'm not going to even try explaining.
"Professor, wait," Malik stops me just as I'm about to leave. "Hey, I'll call you in an hour," he now tells the person on the phone and hangs. "What happened?" he asks me gently.
"I don't understand," I reply. Malik beckons me to sit down, his big grey eyes so earnest than I've ever seen them before. Am I in trouble again? I sigh.
We both get seated.
"What do you think you're doing, huh?" he finally snaps out, his voice unfriendly.
"Malik, will you just go straight to the point?" I urge, feeling too exhausted to make a guess.
"You're being so unfair with Liam, and I don't think I agree with the games you're playing, either," he deadpans. "If you love him as you say, then why are pushing him away?" His gaze is defensive, protective of his best friend.
I sigh heavily, fiddling with my fingers on the lap while staring intently at them as though I've had an expensive French manicure from the famous nail shop in Paris. I finally raise my gaze up at Malik.
"What if you and Liam were to fall for the same girl?" I ask out of nowhere, and Malik swallows hard.
He looks uncomfortable.
"What are you saying now?" he mutters softly, something unexpected on my part considering how lashing he was a moment ago. "Why are you asking me that?" His face looks guarded.
"Just a simple question, Malik," I return with a weak smile. "What would you do if you find yourself in that situation?" I ask again, but unfortunately our conversation gets cut off by another phone call that seems to be important, judging from the sorry look he gives me.
"I need to take this," Malik says.
"Sure." I can't even wait to continue this conversation as I get up to leave, and I'm glad he no longer stops me.
He only says, "This conversation isn't over, professor." He moves on with his call, our eyes locked fleetingly.
"I don't think so," I breathe, fully aware that I'll be gone in a few hours.
As I pass by Sam's door, I find myself on a halt. I suddenly recall the first time she told me about Liam and the plans for me to join the trip to somewhere I didn't even know at the time. I was her best friend then, but I'm no longer sure if I am. Are we really best friends? Can we seriously go back to how things used to be? I honestly don’t know.
Reaching at my door, I frown to find it slightly open. I halt a bit, refreshing my memory on whether I left it unclosed or not. But well, does it even matter? I simply push it and draw myself in. After flicking the switch on, my gaze falls on Sam who's sitting motionless on the couch at the corner.
I almost drop a life at her creepy silence. "You scared me, Sam! Was it hard to turn the lights on?" I nearly yell while holding my chest, my heart pounding hard against it; a feeling of something bad waiting for me.
I hope not.
"Sorry," Sam says, deadpan.
Hmm! My subconscious stays alarmed and it feels eerie.
"What are you doing in the dark, anyway?" I ask while closing the door behind me.
Sam glares at me in some unusual way that I haven't seen before; a deathly cold kind of glare served to an enemy. I must admit it scares the hell out of me. She slowly gets up, and when she does, I stumble back at the sight of my diary in her hand.
Oh no! This can't be real, can it? The world seems to have stopped revolving, my heartbeat accelerating incessantly. I'm done for . . . I'm so busted . . . I'm so screwed. Has she opened it? Did she read my diary? I can't help wondering, rubbing my sweaty palms, anger and fear combined.