A short chapter this time, a small peek into Kit's side of the events, a bit of ground work for future chapers. This is turning out to be a lot longer than I originally intended. I'm looking for 45 reviews before the next update.
"Nita?" Kit knocked. "Nita, I brought you some dinner. Some of Mom's frijoles refritos."
No answer.
Kit sighed. Where was she? She had to be home. Where else would she be? Maybe she was asleep. He knocked once more. "Nita, I'm coming in, okay?" Kit spoke softly to the doorknob, just as he had the night before. And, just like the previous night, the tumblers of the lock gladly fell out of place for him.
"Nita, it's just me," he called out to the house. He made his way upstairs, to see if she had simply gone to bed early. He quietly opened her door and peeked inside. Empty. Just like last night.
She was supposed to call the Rodriguez's before she went out anywhere. But it seemed she hadn't called as she had been instructed to—just like last night.
In fact, for Kit, the entire evening was turning into a repeat of last night. After waiting up until the wee hours of the morning for Nita's call, worrying about her safety, he had called her house, thinking that perhaps she had returned home and forgotten to call. Receiving no answer, he had tried to contact her mentally. He reached her, of course, but she dodged several of his questions. After replaying her vague answers in his mind, Kit made a quick visit to her house—to confirm his suspicions that Nita had not come home at all. Then he had spent the rest of the evening staring at his ceiling and wondering what he was going to do. He must have lived through a thousand conversations with Nita in his mind, which ranged from her laughing off the erroneous conclusions he had jumped to to angry exchanges to heart-felt confessions, eventually deciding that he would confront her the next morning, hoping for the first scenario. But he didn't even have to confront her. She had confessed everything, and he played his part of dutiful, consoling best friend, biting back all his angry retorts.
And here was how she reacted—running off after Brandon again without so much as notifying the Rodriguezes she was leaving, as she had promised her father she would.
You're jumping to conclusions again! He scolded himself, hoping it was true.
Well, they turned out to be true last night.
That doesn't mean they always will.
Then he noticed the kitchen table—or rather the empty vase, the small note, and the single fallen rose petal.
"Croquetas de pescados," Kit swore.
She had gone back to him. Already. Kit let out another string of curses, having used up all his patient understanding earlier in the day. When he'd told her no one but her could decide whether to continue the relationship with Brandon, he'd done so with complete confidence that she would come to her senses and end the relationship. What in the Powers' names was wrong with her?
Kit picked up the note, knowing he had no right to read it, but curious all the same. His brow furrowed as he read the short, unsigned note.
"Why save a world that gives you nothing but guilt from someone who gives you nothing but love?" he repeated it aloud slowly, wondering if he was missing something.
What the hell?