#i wish unhinged kai was real sometimes but hes just so normal

[jayninjago]

I like drawing my Kais with green eyes as a cute reference on how he never became the green ninja

[atlaswriting]

As he speaks my eyes fall to his hands, too afraid to look at his face, terrified at the horrors I’ll find waiting.  Slowly I force myself to. I drag my eyes up and lock with his—I can feel my own dark eyes begin filling with tears I would normally try and fight, but the struggle in my chest isn’t there and they hopelessly fall down my cheeks.

The lack of control tightens a knot in my chest, spreading to my throat. I cough and take a deep breath in.

His words fill my head and move around like smoke. I close my eyes trying to straighten them out, dissect them.

The stray comment glares back at me violently, I pop my eyes open and notice for the first time he’s looking at me, eyes filled with tears, wide and hopeful.

“But sometimes, I don’t even have her,” Abram admits, “I’m lonely Elise and you—you were the first person who gave me the time of day here—and yes you hurt me, but that doesn’t change anything.” I open my mouth to speak, but the words fall apart letter by letter and I’m stunned silent, “We have a connection, and I… think we need each other. I can forgive you, can you forgive me?”

He’s so close now. The tiny goose bumps that rise are on my skin give away that I’m not as calm as I’m trying to be. I clench and unclench my jaw. I glance down at his hands again which were wringing together, raw, and I reach out. Wrap my hands over his to stop him and hold on tightly.

“Of course I forgive you Abram,” I pause, “Should I call you Kai now?” I ask, brows crease in faux-puzzlement. I said his name so many times to myself the last few years that it feels foreign in my mouth, like it doesn’t quite fit. “You’re right, we need each other. I’m sorry I’m a brat.” I add, only half joking.

“You deserve better you know,” somehow how fingers have tangled together. Abram doesn’t bother pulling away and neither do I. This time, it’s my turn to move closer. His shoulder is pressed to mine and I imagine all the times I needed, desperately, to be this close to him, Kai. My Kai. “You deserve someone who loves you all the time. You are more than a sometimes, Abram, more than an afterthought.”

I lean my head closer to his, a dangerous mix of fire and a couple sips of bad beer were clouding my judgment. But before our lips could touch, a loud yell pulls my attention back toward the cabin.

“We should probably go back,” I tell him, standing up as the words rush out of my mouth. My cheeks are on fire and are incinerating everything they touch—I feel the heat rise to my ears and down my neck, “I think Sophie is going to eat your goalie boyfriend.”

As we close in on the distance to the cabin, I notice Sophie standing scary close to Brody, he keeps laughing nervously. She’s tall, incredibly beautiful and intimidating. A small blond cuts between them, her fingers curled tightly around a bottle of beer. She’s small, no taller than me, but I can feel her personality radiating all the way toward the door.

“Oh shit,” Abram  mutters, moving past me to be by his friends side.

“It isn’t nice to flirt with other girls boyfriends,” the blond says, “I don’t know what kind of prep school you came from—but I have no problem showing you what public school teaches you.”

“Ellie,” Brody and Abram chastise in unison.

“Prep school is for fake rich people,” Sophie says, non-chalantly, “but I guess you wouldn’t know that with your knock off coach bag and Target jeans?”

“Sophie,” I bite, slamming down my beer on the counter.

Ellie grins, “your master is calling, little girl, I’d go now.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Sophie rolls her eyes, “my manicure cost more than your entire outfit. If I wanted to ruin it, you’d be digging your own grave.”

“Sophie,” I say again, finally moving my feet and walking over to her. My arm curls around her waist and tugs her back, but the little blond follows.

Brody jumps down from the counter, arms out, like he knew what the girl was going to do even before she did. When she lunges at Sophie, her grabs her and pulls her back into his chest like it was nothing. She fights against his grasp but he’s a goalie, he’s all muscle and hatred.

“I’m sorry,” I mouth to Abram as I pull Sophie away from the commotion. “You know,” I say to her as we get into her car, “You don’t have to be a complete bitch to everyone we meet.”

She laughs, applying another layer of matte lipstick, “I learned from the best.” She replies lovingly fluttering her lashes at me.

When I get back to my dorm, I lay in bed. Pulling out my phone.

Kai: I had a rough night. All I wanted to do was talk to you.

Kai: Is that even possible anymore?

Kai: Are we even possible anymore?

I close my eyes, trying to remember that what Abram told me—he had never told Sylvia. The revelation started my heart beating something fierce—maybe that was a good thing, maybe he was starting to love Sylvia a little less.

Instead of replying, I open up Abram’s instagram and send him a direct message.

I’m going to bed and I can’t stop thinking about that blond girl. She was totally going to cut Sophie. Lol.

Abram: I wish we got a picture together. Commemorate the first night you weren’t mean to me J

Gross. You don’t want that. Trust me.

For tonight, I don’t let Sylvia text him back.

For tonight, I am all me. Ugly as that may is.

♡ ♡ ♡

I make a bee-line for the library, where I know Abram will be.

When I see him sitting beneath a pile of books, shirt sleeve rolled to his elbows I nearly stop in my tracks, but I make myself walk forward.

“Listen, I need you to not ask any questions, just go along with what I say, okay?”

He looks up and around, alert, “I don’t know if I like the sound of—,”

“Mama!” I say loudly as the clicking of her heels enters the room a few moments before she did. She walks over to me, places her hands gingerly on my shoulder and presses two kisses into the side of my cheeks. I pull Abram into a standing position, loop my arm through his and lean my head on his shoulder, “This is my boyfriend—Abram Kempe.”

Cerise sucks in her cheeks, hollowing out the already skinny area—she looked like a corpse. But she smelled expensive—so it evened out, “Tu ne m'as pas dit que tu avais un petit ami,” she says in French, “il sent bon marché.”

“Mama!” I snap, I look toward Abram and hoped his time in French hasn’t taught him to keep up with the speed of a native French speaker, “He’s going to come to dinner with us tonight, as my guest.”

She laughs, opens her mouth to say something awful but Abram cuts her off by holding out his hand, “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Allaire, I can see where Elise gets her charm.”

Apprehensively she shakes his hand in a dainty grip, but stares in disgust the whole time, like the slightest touch from him was going to make hers fall off.

“Eight o’clock, mon cher,” my mother says in broken english as she heads toward the door, “Don’t be late.”

When she’s out of ear shot, I fall into the seat across from where Abram was working.

“I’m your boyfriend now?”

“For tonight, please. That woman is awful, I can’t handle it alone.” I let my head fall into my hands, “I’ll make it worth your while?”

His lips tug into a half smirk, “You have to wear my home jersey at our next away game.”

I visibly cringe backwards, “Excuse me? I don’t think so. Those colors don’t match with anything I own.”

“It’s the schools colors,” Abram argues in a sing-song voice, “besides you’ll look cute.”

I feel myself blush, “Fine. But just once.”

“Four games.”

“Two.”

“Deal.” Abram holds out his hands and I shake it. The electricity of his touch rivals a thunderstorm. I could feel it radiating up my arm.

♡ ♡ ♡

The restaurant is fancy and with Abram by my side, I feel uncomfortable. He’s dressed nice, his sleeves are rolled down ( I wish they weren’t ) and he has a fitted blazer pulled over his shoulders. I looked around; completely unaware Middlebury even had a restaurant to my mother’s standards.

“Abram, what is it you do, at the school I mean?” I watch her carefully, waiting for her jaw to unhinge so she can swallow him whole. As they’re walking, I reach for a piece of bread in the middle of the table. Cerise is quick to slap at my head, softly tsk-ing my under her breath, “Pas ce soir. Cette robe est petite, no?”

I drop the roll and pull my hands into my lap, keeping my eyes on the table.

“I play hockey—actually, Elise has come to all my games so far, I’m glad I have my own personal cheerleader.”

The older Allaire laughs, leaning back in her chair and tearing a roll apart, letting every other piece pass her lips, “Hockey! My Elise watching hockey? I don’t think so,” she shakes her head, “that girl has hated hockey ever since her papa, haven’t you, chéri?” she looks at me expectantly.

“Mama is right,” I look at Abram, “I can’t stand hockey. I go because—,” I reach forward and cure the hunger pains with a large gulp of water, “I have nothing else to do. Sophie likes it.” I lie.

Cerise rolls her eyes, “That girl is no good; I told Elise that from the beginning. Bastard children, they’re not even real heirs, if you ask me,” she shrugs.

“Mama,” I whisper.

We order our food and I can’t help but stare at the salad in front of me, envious of the steak that sits on my mother’s plate—more than half of which will be thrown out.

“What does your father do?” Cerise begins cutting her steak into tiny pieces, “Your mother?”

Abram’s quick, “My mother is dead and my father owns Rose Publishing.”

Nearly dropping her silverware, my mother places a hand to her chest, “Rose Publishing? No kidding? So you must have good taste,” she glances toward me, “what in the world are you doing with my daughter then?” It sounds like a joke, but Cerise doesn’t know how to.

“I’m fond of your daughter—and not fond of my father,” Abram says between mouthfuls. He’s making it a point to talk with his steak pressed to the side of his cheek, “I grew up with my mother. We lived in an apartment in Boston, rent controlled. We shopped at Stop and Shop and got our clothes from the Sally’s—the Salvation Army, on good days.”

I take a bite of lettuce to hide the smile growing on my face. The look of horror on Cerise’s face was pure gold.

“De quelle charité as-tu choisi ce garçon?” My mother asks me.

“Je pense que celui en ville. Harriet’s Consignment,” Abram replies coolly before I can.

Both of us stop and stare at him. He’s still eating, still smiling.

He continues, “C'est de là que viennent tous les bâtards.”

The rest of our meal is in silent. I rebel the tiniest bit by reaching over and placing my hand above his knee, giving it a squeeze before pulling it back into my lap.

“Elise,” my mother says, placing her fork down, she’s hardly eaten anything, “That’s enough don’t you think?”

“I think she can say when she’s full,” Abram’s finished his plate and was leaning, both elbows, on the table.

I smile at him, then look toward her, gently laying my fork across my salad, which still looks untouched, “I’m full,” I tell the both of them, “I must’ve eaten a big lunch.”

She and her driver drops us off at the school, but she stays close to my side, making sure Abram returns toward his side of the dormitories. We’re standing at my door when she finally speaks, “That boy is an embarrassment. I trust you’ll do the right thing and end it?”

“I’ll do no such thing,” I argue, offended she would ask me to end my non-existent relationship with Abram.

“It’s for the best, darling; we don’t associate with people like him.”

“Hockey players? Or poor people.”

She laughs, an airy, light hearted laugh and kisses both of my cheeks, “Both.”

♡ ♡ ♡

In the bathroom of my single is where the real demons creep in. Once I shut the door, it’s fair game and I can feel the stare from the mirror. When I look up, the reflection looking back at me is distorted, disgusting and cruel.

I strip from my dress, jump into a burning shower and let the water baptize me. It does little to help because even after I’ve scrubbed and scrubbed until my skin was raw and tender, when I get out, I still feel the same: dirty.

I tug on a pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt, lean over the bathtub and use my toothbrush to slide down my throat. Again and again until the remnants of my stomach are emptied into a toilet.

There’s a sharp knock at the door which forced me to stop heaving, “Sophie go away, I’m not in the mood.”

Another knock. I stand, rinse off the handle of my toothbrush and my mouth, I swing the door wide open, surprised to see Abram standing there.

“Come with me.”

“It’s late—past curfew, my mother didn’t see you did she?”

He shakes his head, “I waited until I heard the gates of Hell open up. Then I knew it was safe.”

I laugh and repeats himself, “Come with me.”

“Do you see how I’m dressed? I look like a mess—I just got out of the shower.”

He reaches out, wraps his hand in mind and pulls my behind him, “You look fine. Beautiful even, now let’s go.

I follow him around the building, careful to dodge the teachers just itching to give us detentions—not that we needed anymore. Abram stops us when we’re in the courtyard behind the school. There is a half circle of trees and a clearly that he sits down in, patting the ground beside him.

“It’s not going to eat you,” he assures me, I wonder if my face is showing the uncertainty I’m feeling.

I sit down and then he pulls me so we’re laying down, “What are we doing?”

Abram points toward the sky, “My mother and I used to drive a few hours away from the city. We’d bring a blanket and dinner. We didn’t need to talk, we didn’t need to listen to the radio—we would just sit in each other’s company.” He explains, “She had a strange way of making everyone around her feel so… sure. I don’t know how she did it. That’s one of the things I miss most about her. How sure I felt.”

I lean my head against his shoulder and reach down to grab his hand. I don’t know if I should—or if he minds, but it makes me feel better.

“That’s how you make me feel, Abram.” I say softly, tasting the truth in my mouth. The admission feels uneasy and I begin wondering if Sylvia weren’t around—do I have a shot?

I lean my head back so I can look at him, the overwhelming desire to kiss him swells in my throat. Instead, I opt for a small kiss on his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth.

“How do you know French that well?” I ask, relaxing back into the ground, “I thought my mother’s head was going to explode.”