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, she'd pushed Kind further and further, glass after glass of wine, until her best friend had turned into a tempest of drunken, uninhibited lust. Wale knew she was exploiting Kind's gullibility to fill the emptiness gnawing at her, but the alternative; imagining life without him was something even Cherry didn't know the full extent of.

Her childhood had taught her that. After losing her 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 her a birthday card were suddenly knocking on her door, eager to "take care" of her, which, of course, had more to do with the hefty inheritance he'd received. But the will had been ironclad: everything was her's, and no one could touch it unless they cared for her, properly. Some had tried to get her to sign over her rights, others treated her like an annoying task, and many just faded away when they realized hurting her meant the fortune would go to charity. In a way, they couldn't get rid of her fast enough.

By the time she was eleven, Wale had lived with no fewer than seventeen relatives and family friends. Everyone wanted a piece of the cake her parents had left behind, but no one wanted the actual responsibility. She 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 her to his nephew, Kind.

At first, Kind had been friendly, as his name suggested, but whenever it was just the two of them, he was ruthless. Wale hadn't known how to handle it, and after one too many awkward interactions, she'd resigned herself to sitting in the corner, waiting for Frank to take her back to whatever hotel was her 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 her though, week after week. Kind's outbursts didn't help, but deep down, Wale knew Kind was right. She felt like a robot, going through the motions because it was what people expected of her. The truth was, she hated being alone, and she hated even more how the silence left room for her mind to wander into dark places, dark memories of her parents' death, of being chased and hurt in her nightmares. Silence was her greatest fear.

"I despise you," she'd whispered to herself in a mirror one night. The words had slipped out before she even realized it, but the sound of footsteps startled her, and she turned to find Frank standing behind her.

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

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

"Never say such things to yourself again," Frank had told her, her 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 so far was Kind. He had no interest in playing the polite charade everyone else seemed so fond of. He was authentic.

After all, everyone else's smiles were hollow, their concern a thinly veiled attempt to cozy up to her parent'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 has been asking to see where you live, since you always visit him at their home."

Kind had been static that day, jaw dropped and running around all over the place. "Can I live here, Uncle? I love it!" But then he saw Wale. "What's she doing here? You brought her to your house of all places?"

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 her. Be a good friend you hear? "

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

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

"She is 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 her head. "This is how you should be, young mistress. Be a child. Live like a the little child you are."

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, the real ones. For the first time, she hared pieces of herself, her fears. She 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 for you show it so well. Just don't ever love me. If you do, I'd hate you for it."