Confounded: Part II - 24. Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24 --==Kit’s POV==--

I took a couple of deep breaths before I softly knocked on the guestroom door. When I did, it opened a little further; it hadn’t fallen into the lock. It made him look up, scowling from where he was, sitting on his bed with his knees drawn up, his arms around them. He was rocking himself back and forth.

“Go away, Kit. I meant it; leave me alone.”
Instead, I closed the door and leaned against it, watching him.

“You really expect me to go after admitting I was right, that you’re into me, and planting one on me like that?” I asked, softly.

“Too bad that I could care less what you think.”

“Liar,” I said, calmly. “You care.”
He didn’t answer.

Pushing myself away from the door, I went over to the desk and sat down, turning the wheelchair so I was facing him. Then I bent forward, resting my elbows on my knees and stared at him.

“What!?” he snapped, after about a minute of silence. “What do you want from me…”

“You said I was right, about all of it...”

“I lied.”

“No. You didn’t.”
He hadn’t. I knew it, he knew it, and I wasn’t going anywhere until I he said it. In his anger, he’d spoken the truth. About Miguel. He was afraid I would replace him, in his heart. He had to say it. Out loud. I needed it. I needed to be sure.
“What was I right about?”

“Will you stop,” he then asked, softly, staring past me at a spot on the wall behind me. “Please?”

“No.”

“Why not?” He suddenly yelled.
He could yell all he wanted. If he couldn’t get past Miguel…

“Because I’m…”
I halted there, choosing my words carefully, calmly.
“..in love with you.”

“Your problem.”

“What was I right about, Tom?” I answered, ignoring it, even though that one hurt.

“Fuck. You.”

“Yes. Fuck you too, Tom. What was I right about?”

“Dammit…will. You. Stop!? Jesus!”

“No. Tell me.”
His eyes shifted then, from the wall to me. Straight at me. And all I saw was pain in there. Eyes black as night, pools of pain. So much pain that it actually hurt to look at it. Straight into my own heart.

“Please…” he whispered, his voice breaking, “stop. Please…please…”
I swallowed a lump the size of California. Damn, this was tough. Maybe I chewed off more that I’d bargained for, here. Maybe Tay and dad were right, and a professional had to take this over.

“I can’t do that,” I heard myself answering.

“I hate you.”

“That’s ok…”
He just might, although I hoped to God he didn’t.

“I really hate you...”
He said it with such venom, it just…hurt.

“Why, Tom?” I asked instead, my own voice equaling his into the softest whisper, barely audible. “Why do you hate me?”

“You’re not supposed to be there…”
Huh? I frowned but he didn’t even notice. Then I got it, just as he said it.
“You’re making me forget him.”

“I wish I was sorry about that,” I whispered. “But I’m not.”
I actually meant it. I wasn’t sorry.

“You…you think you’re better than him?“

“No. Of course not.”

“You don’t?”
I shook my head.

“No one can compete with the dead. They make no mistakes.”(1)
And for the first time since I entered the room, it seemed like he was seeing me.

He smiled, ruefully.

“Perceptive…”

“Maybe,” I answered, equally rueful. “It’s still true. I can’t compete with him. So I’m not gonna. I’m me. And if that makes you forget him, than he wasn’t much to begin with.”
For a minute there, his eyes flashed, and I thought I just might’ve lost everything here. Then he seemed to mull it over.

“Smart.”

“Thank you.”

“I still hate you.”

“Do you…do you really?”
He didn’t answer that.
“Tom?”

I got my answer when, instead of saying that he did, he lowered his head to his knees and shook his head. Then his shoulders started to shake. Once, first…then several times, as he silently cried.

As fast as I could, I got over there and as soon as I sat down and dragged him into a fierce hug, he let go of his knees and choked the life out of me as he wrapped his arms around my neck. And for the second time in as many days, I ended up with a soaked shirt.