Talk To Me

6. I hate you

Wale hadn't slept a wink that night. It was already 2:00 PM, and Kind was still blissfully asleep, blissfully unaware of the chaos he'd caused the night before.

Getting him to sleep had been like wrangling a hyperactive child on a sugar rush—except, instead of sweets, it was wine, and instead of running wild, Kind had gotten... well, rather frisky.

For Wale, life had always been about "use or be used." Yet, even knowing that, he'd pushed Kind further and further, glass after glass of wine, until his best friend had turned into a tempest of drunken, uninhibited lust. Wale knew he was exploiting Kind's gullibility to fill the emptiness gnawing at him, but the alternative—imagining life without him—was something even Cherry didn't know the full extent of.

His childhood had taught him that. After losing his wealthy parents at the tender age of seven, Wale had become a prize everyone wanted to claim. Relatives who'd never so much as sent him a birthday card were suddenly knocking on his door, eager to "take care" of him, which, of course, had more to do with the hefty inheritance he'd received. But the will had been ironclad: everything was his, and no one could touch it unless they cared for him—properly. Some had tried to get him to sign over his rights, others treated him like an annoying task, and many just faded away when they realized hurting him meant the fortune would go to charity. In a way, they couldn't get rid of him fast enough.

By the time he was eleven, Wale had lived with no fewer than seventeen relatives and family friends. Everyone wanted a piece of the cake his parents had left behind, but no one wanted the actual responsibility. Wale had learned early that money often meant being alone.

Then there was Frank—the family lawyer who had, over time, morphed into something of a father figure. Wale didn't trust him at first. After all, everyone else had proven themselves untrustworthy, so why should Frank be any different? Still, Frank persisted, even introducing Wale to his nephew—Kind. At first, Kind had been friendly, as his name suggested. But when it was just the two of them, Kind was ruthless. Wale hadn't known how to handle it, and after one too many awkward interactions, he'd resigned himself to sitting in the corner, waiting for Frank to take him back to whatever hotel was his temporary home for the week.

"I don't understand why you're even here," Kind had snapped one day. "Even my robots talk more than you do. Why come here if you're just going to act like a statue? Go back to your house!"

Wale hadn't wanted to come over. Frank had kept bringing him, though, week after week. Kind's outbursts didn't help, but deep down, Wale knew Kind was right. He felt like a robot, going through the motions because it was what people expected of him. The truth was, he hated being alone, and he hated even more how the silence left room for his mind to wander into dark places—dark memories of his parents' death, of being chased and hurt in his nightmares. Silence was his greatest fear.

"I hate you," he'd whispered to himself in a mirror one night. The words slipped out before he even realized it. But the sound of footsteps startled him, and he turned to find Frank standing behind him.

"Two years of silence, and those are your first words? You wound me, young master," Frank had said, half-joking, though his eyes showed concern.

Wale hadn't known how long Frank had been standing there. He didn't know how to respond, so he just stood, feeling the weight of Frank's hands on his shoulders as the older man knelt beside him.

"Never say such things to yourself again," Frank had told him, his voice soft but firm. "Your parents wouldn't want to see you like this. They'd want you to live. Be thankful for the life you have, and let them rest in peace."

It had all sounded nice, but Wale couldn't help but wonder if Frank was just another one wearing a mask, pretending to care. The only person who didn't pretend was Kind. He had no interest in playing the polite charade everyone else seemed so fond of.

After all, everyone else's smiles were hollow, their concern a thinly veiled attempt to cozy up to Wale's inheritance. But Kind? Kind was direct. Brutally so.

"I brought someone to play with you, young master," Frank had said one day. "Would you like to play with my nephew again? He's been asking to see where you live, since you always visit him."

And in had burst Kind, full of energy. "Can I live here, Uncle? I love it!" But then he saw Wale. "What's he doing here? You brought him to your house?"

Frank had smiled and taken Wale's hand. "I've got a soft spot for you both. That's why I want you to get along, Bunny. You need to stop being so mean to him."

The silence that followed had been heavy, but then Wale did something unexpected. He laughed. Loudly. It startled both Kind and Frank.

"My goodness, young master, I haven't heard you laugh in years!" Frank had exclaimed, beaming. "This is a refreshing change!"

"He's not mute?" Kind had asked, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Frank had ignored the question, kneeling down to Wale's level. "Was it something I said?" Wale had simply shaken his head. "This is how you should be, young master. Be a child. Live like a child."

Frank had left them with snacks and a stern warning for Kind to "live up to his name." But as soon as the door closed, Kind had turned on Wale, eyes blazing.

"So, your other name is Bunny the rabbit," Wale had teased.

"Hey! You can't call me that! Only Uncle does, and I hate it!"

"Acting all tough, but you must be soft inside if they call you Bunny," Wale had quipped, laughing again.

"You haven't said a word to me since we met, and now all you want to do is make me angry," Kind had snapped, glancing at the door where Frank had exited. "Still, I don't like you. And don't call me Bunny again. You're not my uncle."

But something had shifted. After that, Kind began asking Wale questions—real ones. For the first time, Wale shared pieces of himself, his fears. He felt exposed, but it also felt good.

"How old are you, anyway?" Kind had asked one day, his tone accusatory. "Uncle Frank says you're eleven. You shouldn't be acting like a spoiled brat and making him worry about you all the time. I never get to spend time with my uncle because of you."

Wale had smiled at Kind's bluntness. It was refreshing to hear someone say exactly what was on their mind. "I can handle your hate. You show it so well. Just don't ever love me. I'd hate you for it."