★ | I, Rhys Kakyoin | Jotakak

39 ★ Breakdown

When the two of us arrive at his bedroom after dashing across the veranda outside, Jo runs hither and thither around the area, gathering sheets of paper from the drawer in his desk and a crisp pre-folded envelope from the drawer in the beside table before sitting himself down to write. I perch myself on the edge of the bed, one leg on top of the other, with my chin propped up on a palm, watching him speedily scribble on the paper with a black pen.

  "How'd you even meet this guy?" I ask.

  He says nothing at first, still completely focused on writing the letter.

  "Jo," I say, my voice raising this time; nearly an exclamation to get his attention.

  "I met him in Singapore when I was ten. My grandpa and his grandpa are old friends, so we were introduced to each other. Now shut up and let me write."

  I huff. "I was just asking, jeez." Suddenly the name "Alix" begins to irritate me every moment I reiterate it in my head.

  He doesn't reply again, more concentrated on filling the letter with his pen till there's no space left to write in anymore, scribbling away for some guy who I doubt really cares about him to read much of it. I lean backwards and flop onto the bed, my arms stretched out on the soft mattress, rolling my eyes and stifling a groan because Jo will complain about me making the littlest of noise. I wish he doesn't have to waste time writing that stupid letter so he can be with me instead. If I were able to express my fair opinion, he should postpone any letter-writing for Alix to far later. Alix probably only wrote to Jo because his grandfather forcefully encouraged him to.

  A few seconds pass where everything is still and everything is quiet.

  Jealousy. It's an expression of insecurity. I have no excuse. I bet Jo doesn't feel this way at all. There's never a reason for him to feel jealous; that should be the same for me, and yet here I am. I'm aware of my own emotions and I'm perfectly aware of the fact that I shouldn't be feeling them, but I still do, right down to the bottom of my heart. I've never ever had someone write a letter to me; dedicate their time to something so seemingly boring and insignificant. Maybe that's why I feel this way.

  "I've never had anyone write anything to me," I say, sitting up. "So maybe it seems kinda boring and annoying to me. But not to you."

  "Never?" Jo asks.

  "What can you expect from a loner like me?" I joke.

  "That's sad." His tone is pretty serious. He finishes up the letter, scrawling the closing and his name before slipping it inside the envelope. He flips it around and writes other stuff on the paper. I lie down again, rolling over to the centre of the bed and loll prone, uttering a muffled moan of agonising boredom, trying not to think of Alix Lim and upset myself again. I clamp my eyes shut.

  Then the sight of two oncoming car headlights fill in the darkness where there was nothing before. My eyes open and I forcibly flip my body around in bed with a thud, quickly trying to think of almost anything else other than that.

  You killed him.

  No! I didn't!

  Yes, you did! You could've saved him and yet you let him die!

  My hands clasp onto the mattress, clutching at it as tightly as I can, and now I feel the abrupt, overwhelming urge to start sobbing, my heart paining harder with each beat. My hand searches for the covers now and draws them over my face, wiping at my eyes to ensure nothing can be visible. I tilt my head up to look at Jo again only to lay my eyes on an empty chair where he once sat. I turn to the door opposite his desk - he'd left it ajar on the way out when he froze time to leave. I drop my head onto the mattress again, having to feel tears drip from my nose, staring at the entirety of the room from where I am before bursting into an uncontrollable passion of tears, and within moments Jo pushes the door open and enters the room again, his hands empty.