Chapter 8 – Goldilocks.
Kyle is unsure of how he awoke to realise he was in a house other than his own, his fingers card through his hair with uncertainty as a thick layer of uneasiness settles within him. Yellowing walls tower over him, dwarfing him into his vulnerability and anxiety. He's wearing nothing more than a large, white button-down shirt which he knows is not his own, his stomach churns and it causes him to scramble manically in search for his phone. Where is he? Where are his clothes? For Fuck Sake. Where is his phone?
Turning on the screen reveals 15 miss calls from Stan alone, he unlocks his phone to find a total of 41 messages and he blinks away the last of the sleep glued in his eye at the content of them. It's already half two in the afternoon, how had he slept so late? Kenny has sent a monologue of flocculating messages, he had begun with paragraphs of rage, and they soon dwindled down into hurt, defeated invectives.
'I didn't think you were the type of person, I've been wrong about a lot of things apparently.'
'How long?'
'Why bother coming back? Why don't you just die instead.'
Kyle stares. He bores at the messages and tries to fathom if they're real, if they're legitimate. He tries to understand how they fit, how they join together and create this. He had met Kip at the bar, offered him the final hour of their friendship, ignored Kip's adamant gushes of 'just one drink' and had wilfully stayed sober. Yet he remembers little more than feeling so tired and overwhelmed that his limbs gave out and Kip had to carry him. 'We're going home, Kyle. I'm taking you home.'
This is definitely not his home, and that's what scares him the most. Kenny's proclaimed rage could have made him do something serious, everything had begun over Kenny not wanting to take his pills, had begun with him practically admitting he'd wanted to kill himself. Kyle feels like the biggest fool to have ever plagued the Earth, why had he ever left the house? Why had he left when Kenny was desperate and unstable and lonely? Why had he let Kip sweet talk him into staying? He didn't need any persuasion before agreeing, he feels now like he could've willingly accepted anything Kip threw at him last night, and he can't fathom as to why. He just needs to get back to Kenny. Needs to check if he's stable and breathing, if he took his morning pills, if he can forgive Kyle at some point.
He's done with reading through the messages, when Kenny ignores Kyle's insistent ringing, he hurriedly calls Stan, begging that he'll be able to make his way over to Kyle's home to ensure everything's OK before Kyle's arrival.
"Stan!" He jeers when the call connects, Kyle's already on the stairs, hovering for a sign of life. "Can you go to-"
"Kyle." He interrupts, and Kyle pauses on the stairs, "You can't come home right now."
"W-why?"
"I won't let you in, you realise the severity of this. Why did you do it? To prove a point?"
"I didn't know what I was doing – it just happened, everything went on too quickly I couldn't think." He whispers, clinging to the banister with his entire strength.
"It doesn't look like you didn't know what you were doing from this side of the line. You're my best friend, please just tell me the truth."
"Stan, I am, I was drunk when I left, and Kip was at the bar and–"
"–and you thought that it be the perfect time to deliver the final blow?"
"No! He convinced me to stay, just for an hour – I don't know, I can't remember- Please, is Kenny there? Is he ok?"
"I mean – he is physically, but after all that, do you think he's ok?"
Kyle sucks up his breath, gnawing on his bottom lip. "Did- Did he take his medicine?"
"Yes." Stan sighs, "Look – me and Ken are going to go someplace for a little while, Kenny needs to get better, and I need to look after him, it'll give you both enough time to think everything through, and when we come back – We can talk then."
"Stan, I-" He chokes, he's crying so badly that he can't breathe.
"Good luck, Kyle." He hears an engine start up, "I'll see you soon."
"Stan, please, I don't know how I've ended up here, truly. Can you just tell him I love him?" He interjects, sobbing grossly into the speaker, a hand pressed firmly over his eyes.
"I won't lie." And the call ends and Kyle is stood hovering on the stairs brokenly, he's blank from the mind down. The hand holding his phone shakes with hurt and he finds himself dropping, curling in on himself to cry and sob and hate himself, he scratches at his forearms in a way of blaming himself. He doesn't remember talking to Kenny at all last night, when he scrolled through the messages Kyle had sent none. He looks again, and when he scrolls high enough, he realises that his messages have been deleted, that this one-sided conversation Kenny is having is not out of hysteria.
"Kyle?" Kip coos from the bottom of the stairs. It makes Kyle flinch. "Oh, baby." He smothers as he walks up the stairs to sit next to Kyle, placing a hand over Kyle's knee "Everything happens for a reason, you'll find happiness soon."
"I need to call Kenny; I need to find him."
"Hm." Kip hums absently, "Maybe you shouldn't. Don't want to damage him more."
"I need to know what happened."
"It's best if you let him go."
The comment has Kyle flinching away from Kip's side, turning to him in disgust as he rears himself ready to leave the house barefoot in a long, oversized, thin shirt. "What?"
"You need time to simmer, so does he. You need to let him go so you can both sort out your anger." He stands, linking his hand around Kyle's arm, "I'll make breakfast, even Stan said not to go back home yet."
"I need to call him." Kip lets him.
.
Brr brr.
Kyle's breath is frozen in his throat, shallow and resting against his gag reflex. He wants to cough it free but can't work himself to disrupt the silence. He waits anxiously, his fingers tapping against his lips, in a display of apprehension and unease. He juggles the phone in his hand quickly, "Pick up, please." He hums fretfully to himself.
Brr brr.
"Yo, it's Kenny." A voice appears and Kyle groans, displeased. He recognises this tone and line. "Sorry I can't get to the phone at the moment, drop me a line later or I'll call you back, peace!" He signs off and Kyle exhales gloomily, Kenny is officially ignoring him. He could understand – the messages he'd awoken too and his prior conversation with Stan, their argument had been so dire that Kenny had lost all faith, especially after Kyle hadn't returned home, only to have passed out within Kip's care. Kyle just needs to hear his voice, and not the same answer machine message over and over. He wants answers to questions he can't phrase. He wants Kenny well and walking and happy. He wants to apologise, to wrap his arms around Kenny's shoulders and whisper how things can only get better. He wants Kenny back and his, smiling giddily at his own puns and cackling at Kyle's wittiness. He wants Kenny to sing to him whilst brushing his teeth and rest his hand on Kyle's waist protectively. He needs Kenny back whether consumed by illness or not.
Kyle sighs into his phone, pressing it against his lips in a frustrated, feeble manor. His eyes flicker downwards and the back of his mouth stings, raw and dry. He wants to cry and scream at the same time; he wants to fight and break stuff and weep all at once. Kyle ponders everything, feeling misplaced and perplexed, something beyond this argument is wrong. Yet, Kyle knows nothing of what it could be. He feels lost and dazed – as if stranded alone with only the deep, endless, void of night to accompany him. His initial shock and anger have simmered into a sharp pain of wariness. What had he done to defile Kenny's trust? Why won't he answer?
Kyle contemplates calling again, yet something inside of him cries out against it. A part of him hasn't forgiven Kenny for his sudden and unexplained anger, yelling at Kyle for destroying their relationship and lying to him. Kyle knows he shouldn't be begging for Kenny's forgiveness for something he isn't sure about, that would be a bigger insult and more reason to justify Kenny's fury. He curses woefully to himself and unlocks his phone, finger hovering wickedly over the call icon. He hates the emptiness he feels, and the guilt of something he doesn't know. Kenny had called Kyle a slut. His finger twitches and he opens the app, starring at his most recent call. He clicks his tongue then sighs angrily. Pressing Kenny's name to activate the call.
He presses his phone to his ear, looking up to see Kip returning from the kitchen, holding two glasses of orange juice and a sad, pitiful look. 'Drink' he mouths. Kyle reaches for the glass whilst the second brr brr resonates. He takes a small sip; a tangy, bitter after taste makes him slap his lips.
"Kyle." A voice starts from the phone and Kyle jolts, "Do not call me." Kenny continues, fuming. His sharp, quick tone tells Kyle that he's beyond livid.
"Ken please–" He tries to start, "Where are you? Please, we need to talk about thi-"
"No."
"Ken– I love you. Please, I love you so much. Please don't do this to me." Kyle sobs, suddenly aware of Kenny's resentment and disgust. Aware that Kenny isn't just angry or jealous or maybe even both. But betrayed and humiliated.
"That's rich, Ky, especially coming from someone like you – if you think it's really about just your comments then I guess you really aren't better than scum. I guess drunk words are sober thoughts, huh, Kyle. Sober thoughts are drunk actions more like." He spits "Call again and I'll block your number." As his parting words, before the line drops dead and a long beep plays to signify it. Kyle drops his hand down from his face into his lap, letting the beep play for an extended moment before turning the phone off too. His throat is arid and his head aches, a pulsing pain pounds against the front of his skull and despite its tangy aftertaste, Kyle chugs the orange juice hoping it'll sort out either of these problems. When he pulls the empty glass away from his face, he's crying and considering calling again to see if Kenny will really block him. He knows he won't try however; he doesn't want to risk it. He's got what he wanted – to hear Kenny's voice. But, he thinks, not like this, he doesn't want the raw, harsh tone of his voice or his succinct words. It feels surreal, like a nightmare you awake to, unable to deter if it just happened.
Beside him, Kip holds out a tissue and Kyle paws it from him with a wet, shaking hand. He presses it to his eyes, pushing harshly into the sockets to compensate for the emotional aching he feels. He does it multiple times, turning the tissue to mop up as much outflow as possible. Instead of calming down like he wants too, his body jerks and he wails louder.
"Kip, I don't understand!" He sobs, pressing the crumpled, frail tissue to his cheek. He lays curled and rigid on Kip's tough, grey sofa – an unwelcome, mysterious still-wet stain adorns the fabric, and it dips profoundly in the middle. Kyle's toes curl as he cries, he's shivering and even Kip's blanket draped over his shoulders doesn't seem to warm him. "What happened last night?" He asks the brunet, looking up from his knees and peering at Kip, who sits dumbstruck before him. His mouth opens then closes again, letting out a strained noise but nothing else.
"Kip?" He questions in a quiet, broken tone. His voice tremors and his eyes gleam; fresh with tears and caution that triggers Kip's weariness. It's clear that Kip is hiding information from him, yet he's unsure as to what it could be. Kenny had briefly mentioned Kip's name in one of the many texts – 'Stay at Kip's, don't bother showing me your face.'
"What do you know?" He presses, firmer this time – more desperate for answers and knowledge. "What did I– we do?"
"Kyle-" He starts, reserved and foreboding. "Can I just show you something first?" he tries, prompting Kyle's emotions and rousing his ire.
"No! Can't you show me after?" He tries, not ready for anything but an explanation.
"It's just – you won't understand until after…" Kip buzzes mournfully, eyes turned downwards and fingers rubbing against each other coyly in a display of timorousness.
Kyle scoffs internally, his body trembling with rage as Kyle begins to stomach Kip's words. His emotions stir within him, conflicting and reacting with each other. He feels sick and weak – Kenny's anger, his rage. It was beginning to become comprehensible now; he and Kip could not continue to remain acquaintances. Even now, after months of knowing Kip intimately, of them bonding through traumas and hardships and simple adolescence – it was no longer viable. Did they catch the guy who hit him? What? His mind spirals with possibilities, he has no recollection of last night at all. It scares him, and now with Kip saying things like this to him – he cannot shake the lingering ominous and sinister atmosphere surrounding them – his senses spike and Kyle finds himself reacting to everything theatrically.
He has to get this over with if he wants to wholehearted amend Kenny's trust. "Ok, lead the way." He sighs in agreement, standing.
Kip peaks down at his watch before responding, clicking his head upwards before meeting Kyle's eyes again. "Watch this." He demands after a moment of stillness, stalking towards the TV and bending to latch onto the red, tasselled rug that it sits on. Kyle does, clinging to the blanket round his shoulders in perplexity as Kip makes a tedious effort to yank the rug to reveal a trapdoor. Only evident due to the blatant cut in the woodwork. Kyle tippers forwards softly, cautious of the hidden doorway.
"You have a trap door?"
"Yep, hidden under the TV. You wouldn't expect that, right? The trick is to balance it more off the trapdoor than on it, it's the main reason why the TV doesn't sit in the middle of the carpet."
Kyle 'ah's in bored acknowledgment, nodding his head as he does so. All the anxieties brewing within him barb ready, what is Kip hiding underground? He decides he doesn't have time to care, needs to get this over with, he needs to run to Kenny, use up his last phone call and cry out an apology fitted with new information. He needs Kenny to accept him back, take him in. He needs to know what he did wrong, and he needs to find out from Kip.
Kip peals back the door and stands aside for Kyle to enter, "There should be a light switch when you get to the bottom." Kip mentions as Kyle approaches the dark abyss waiting for him. On the first step in, he pauses to collect the blanket that pools behind him like a cape. His hand trails across the wall as he descends, his shadow blocking out most of his surroundings facing him. He hears Kip begin to follow him down the stairs and he's at the bottom of the staircase when the trapdoor closes, and Kyle is thrown into darkness. His hands run across the walls, clipping against what feels like decaying wallpaper that curls out away from the wall. Kip's footsteps stop and Kyle realises that he has reached the bottom of the staircase too.
The lights are thrown on and Kyle hisses at the sudden flux of light, shielding his eyes as they adjust to the yellow, lambent light that hangs without a chandelier. When Kyle peers at what is covering the walls, he sees thousands of photographs, pressed firmly against all walls, overlapping and odd. He catches one that holds a group of boys, yet all but once face has been burnt out, as he edges closer, he notices odd familiarities and distinguishes the photo entirely.
The surrounding photos catch him with the same unease and threat, it builds and Kyle's mouth hangs agape - terrified. He drops the blanket, fingers finding their way to run across the photographs, catching edges and burnt corners. His breathing spikes and suddenly he's not thinking of Kenny and his anger, or the coldness on his feet, or his mother's special 'Getting Better' matzah soup or Stan's birthday or Ike's graduation. But these photographs and Kip's sudden closeness.
They are all and only of him.
"Do you like them?" He whispers, his breath lingering against Kyle's skin. It sickens him. Kyle just grasps onto the beginning of words, barely able to articulate anything whilst he stares at the wall in front of him. Kip presses further, nearly resting against Kyle's back.
"This- This is-"
"-Is my love for you. Do you see it? Painted on every wall, presented in every photograph. I love you, Kyle."
Kyle almost screams, he turns around in a frenzy, desperate to create space between him and Kip, desperate to escape. He can't be down here, starring at a photographic version of an oblivious Kyle. He needs to get out of here, get the Kenny- the police. He darts around Kip, sprinting towards the door in a panicked scamper. His limbs quiver, body racking in alarm. He cannot pin an emotion to the horror he is feeling. His breathing strangles him and his mind empty of nothing by warnings.
Kip lunges for Kyle, knocking him over and onto the concrete flooring. His head ricochets against the floor and blistering whine enters his hearing, causing a temporarily limpness that Kip uses in his favour, effectively manoeuvring Kyle onto his back before Kyle begins to work the strength to fight back, pushing his arms against Kip's chest and punching him wherever their skin meets. He shifts his body, trying to free himself from Kip's weight.
"Get the fuck off of me, you fucking- crazy piece of shit." He wheezes, his head throbbing unconditionally. The dizziness doesn't begin to fade – but heighten instead. Slowly his vision begins to tunnel before doubling and soon Kyle is unable to locate where his hands need to be to hit Kip. They swing crookedly above him, fanning any space that Kip might be in and hoping to make contact. However, soon his body begins to dawdle and his movements seem strained and meagre. In his current state, Kip easily overpowers Kyle, both Kip and his double smiling wickedly down at Kyle, groping at his wrists and holding them firm either side of Kyle's head.
Through the jumble in his mind, Kyle recognises that hitting his head should not stimulate this sort or reaction. That beyond his temporary blindness and partial loss of hearing he should not be feeling so misplaced? His mind blurs and he squirms, fidgeting his arms to try and pull them free of Kip's merciless grip. Kenny's eyes flash across his mind and Ike's trembling grip as he opens the letter to see if the university he applied for has accepted him. The memory of a faceless person hovers above him, bare shoulders and heavy chest. A slight hang in their stomach and a droop to their hair, Kyle finds that when he stares and focuses, he sees this faceless person transform into Kip; hair hung in wet ringlets that tangle in front of his face and lips that are trapped between his teeth, he gnaws on it unconsciously as he wrestles against Kyle's swaying body.
"What have you done to me?" Kyle gargles, slurring incoherent words at Kip, who marvels him triumphantly. The glass of orange juice he drank blazes before him and he gasps to life, "Did you drug me?" He sharply spits, a surge of fight flourishes through his sleeping limps. He needs to fight this. He needs to get out of here.
Kip hovers coyly, smirking down at a fazed, spluttering Kyle. When Kyle finally manages to rip his arm free of Kip's confinement, Kip's smirk broadens and his hand retreats by running down his side, groping at the sides of his torso. Kyle tries to anticipate it, drops his arms to push Kip's evading hands away from him. He's waiting for him to pinch at him like how Kenny does, but instead Kip punches him sturdily in the jaw. He feels his nose gush, tasting metal as everything becomes more distanced; his world spiralling into nothingness.
"I've done more than just that." He whispers, Kyle gasping and trying his hardest to stay conscious and fight, and although the panic in his head is unwavering, Kyle doubts he is moving physically. "Everything I've done. I've done because I love you."
"What did you do, Kip?" Kyle repeats in a raspy whisper, his eyes flutter open but only to close again, his body lays limp and the faintest tickle of Kip's lips touch against his cheek.
"You already know." He taunts. Kyle groans: Kip smirks. And soon, under a florescent, yellow light, Kip stands, solid and prosperous. Sharing his victory with Kyle; laying blooded, disabled and unresponsive. Kip's smiles broadens as he bends forward to marvel at Kyle's comatose form, he knows he's on for a win.