The Days Of Kelsea's

(35) Demi - Evening

(35) Demi - Evening

Kelsea didn't mention it in her diary yet, but I was the first person she came to about Lucy. I didn't know anything about this Luke person and the note, though, because she didn't tell me.

She just said that she was worried about Lucy. Gram, too. And as usual - of course - I was lost in my work because we were in the art room. God, I thought I was Van Gogh or something - at least I'm probably as mad as that poor guy was.

So I was painting and I was only half listening to Kelsea. And I've regretted it ever since I knew what ended up happening.

I hate how I could have helped. I was the one who she confided in. Even though I have no idea what that note that Kelsea caught and glued in was about, I feel like it was something important.

I'll probably find out soon enough, anyway.

To be honest, I don't remember much of Lucy when she was fully fine. She was always shy - but then it turned into something more by the time Kelsea began that diary. When Kelsea began that diary, everything was starting to fall apart, or was about to.

And I'm glad - I'm overjoyed - that she wrote it all down for me.

-

It's April now, but it's crisp and cold when I'm walking to Costa's in the evening. It's going dark, and it could be one of those evenings when I'm coming over to visit Kelsea while she's at work.

I would stand at the counter and talk with her because it would always be quiet at this time, as she made the occasional latte or toasted the occasional panini. The lights from cars on the streets would flash through the windows and blur into the background as we talked the night away and when Kelsea's shift was done, we got the bus home together.

Sometimes we stayed overnight at eachother's house, but most of the time we got off at the bus stop and walked our separate ways. It was as I walked home alone every time that I missed her the most, right after only just having been talking to her, breathing the same air as her.

But it was nothing compared with now.

The coffee shop smells of the bitter, warm, rich smell of coffee mixed with newspapers and people. Sienna Rawle's behind the counter serving a guy, and that's when I realise this would be Kelsea's shift if she were here. She used to complain endlessly about having the same shifts almost all the time as Sienna - when Sienna was there.

Sienna would always think she was joking, but she really wasn't.

The guy leaves to sit down and now it's just me standing there, staring at everything on the board overhead although I know everything that they serve off by heart, even the things that I would never eat or drink in a million years.

"Small hot chocolate, please," I finally get out. I can't decide what I sound like but I sound like a completely different person, and it's in a way that scares me. 

Sienna says nothing - she doesn't even ask if I want marshmallows or whipped cream with it, just sets about making the thing while I root around in my bag for the money.

She doesn't meet my eye when she asks for the money, and I notice how positively shiny her red hair is and I miss her, miss being friends with someone - anyone. Just another girl to talk to.

So when I hand over the money and she resumes texting on her phone after giving me the receipt, I stand there and try and think of something to say.

"Hi, Sienna," I settle on.

She glances up. This time her blue eyes pierce into mine, and I'm just waiting for her to grin in that immature, little-girl way that she used to, the only thing she ever did that her twin Maycee didn't. But she just looks like a rabbit caught in headlights.

That's when I realised she's been scared to talk to me, too. Just like I've been scared to talk to her. And maybe she wants to talk to me, like I want to talk to her.

"Hi, Demi."

"Who are you texting?"

Sienna takes in a deep breath. Then, "Does it really matter?"

I try to smile. "Not some guy, is it?"

"No. It's my mum. She's sick." Her tone is harsh.

I recoil. "Oh. What is it? Is it serious?"

"No. Look, it doesn't even matter." She rolls her eyes and makes a big deal of shoving her phone into her back pocket. "What you doing? Looking for Kelsea? I'm pretty sure the last place her spirit would go would be this place. I mean, I'm here. Unless she wants to haunt me or something."

Sienna always had a better sense of humour than Maycee. She was always more laid-back, too. I guess if now, I tried to strike up a conversation with Maycee, it wouldn't have gotten this far.

"What do you mean, her spirit?" I snap.

"Look." Sienna leans forwards on the counter, her chin pointed down. And she sighs softly before staring over at the window. "I heard you flipped out in Art on Rihannon Murphy because she said Kelsea was dead. Well, don't attack me or anything. But . . . The whole school believes it. I believe it. Because it's true, Demi. Kelsea's gone. She's not coming back, okay?"

I stare at her long and hard before glancing down at my tray. She's put whipped cream on top of my hot chocolate with some marshmallows on the side - more than usual, too.

But it doesn't help her case now.

"You don't know anything," I hiss. "None of you."

"Well what do you know that we don't?" Sienna counters. "I'm sorry it happened, and I don't know why . . . "

I stop listening. What do I know that you lot don't, Sienna? Loads. I know that Kelsea wouldn't leave without an explanation. I know Kelsea had a diary; to try and explain life to herself, and life to whoever tried to look for her - she left it on her bed for a reason she she left.

She loved life. She loved every little thing about it, right from how the autumn leaves float down to how amazing the food section is in Selfridges. She cared about Gram, and Lucy, and Kale, and her mother too; she cared about me. She wouldn't die. She loved life too much, even when I saw her break down and say she wanted to die.

"Fuck you, Sienna," I say over her as she goes on talking about Kelsea like that. So I grab my hot chocolate and take off towards the other side of the room, sitting right near the window and staring out.

"Demi?"

The voice causes goosebumps to rise on my cheeks and the hairs on the back of my neck to stick up immediately. I slowly turn my head to see him; Wes Strand, a few tables away, staring at me like a lost puppy.

"What the fuck, Wes? Since when did you come in here?"

He gets up with his mug of whatever and then comes to sit down opposite me, nudging my feet off the chair. "Since when did you start to swear like a trooper?"

"That's how my grandma talks."

"What?" Wes laughs. "Your grandma says 'fuck you' and ' what the fuck' left right and centre?"

"No! I mean my grandma use that expression; 'swear like a trooper'." I roll my eyes and smile a little.

Wes has that kind of effect on you. Even though his golden hair looks a little duller at night his dark eyes still have those blinding reflections in them and the few freckles on his cheeks and nose like stars are beautiful and make him look tropical.

I know that Sienna is watching, but she at least can't hear from all the way over there. I sip my hot chocolate as Wes drinks from his cup, his eyes fixed on me.

"I haven't spoken to you in a few days," he begins. "How you doing?"

"Neither well nor badly," I reply. "Just the same as before. I can't wait to get out of this place. Meanwhile, I need to look for Kale Atticus."

Wes gives me a suspicious frown. "Huh? What, do you have a thing for him now?"

I wonder if he's jealous. I look out the window and then shake my head, thinking of that red head I saw him with, kissing. "No," I grunt. "But I think he knew something about Kelsea's disappearance."

"You mean- you think he did something bad?"

I can't be bothered going into the whole thing of Kelsea and Kale being together, so I just nod and shrug at him. I think Kelsea would be grateful.

We sit in silence for a while as I dip my marshmallows in the hot chocolate and eat the cream. I drink half the chocolate and glance up at him to see him running his eyes over my face and hair.

"What?"

"Nothin'. You finished yet?"

"No. Why?"

Wes looks sheepish. "I was wondering If you wanted to come over. I mean- I just thought . . . I mean, my parents are out and . . ." he trails off and turns his head to stare out the window at the main road.

I wonder if Kale is out there somewhere, roaming the streets and trying to come to terms with Kelsea's disappearance - like me. Or maybe he's just the type that stays in his room all day and night feeling sorry for himself.

He seems like a bit of both - I saw him in the dense vegetation of the park, but then when I went round to his house, he was hiding up in his room.

I don't know what that boy is.

"I'll come over," I say softly to Wes with a little shrug.

-

"So, where's the girl with the red hair?"

Wes has his arm around my shoulders as he pushes the front door open and then flicks on the hall light. When the hall is flooded with yellow light I see that he looks tormented when he turns to look at me.

"Who, Kelsea?"

"No. I saw you with a girl with red hair," I mumble, slamming the door shut behind me and then walking ahead of him, into the sitting room.

He follows me clumsily, and I hear him tripping over the umbrella stand as I sit down on the sofa.

"In January. You were walking near the park, holding hands and . . . and kissing," I murmur lowly. I tuck my knees up to my chest and Wes stands there in the doorway.

"Oh. Rachel," he says simply, as if we didn't have a thing before that and he didn't start another thing with another girl. "That's why you didn't come near me until Flora's party at the beginning of spring break?"

"Of course it is." I look down and shrug. "Look, I know we weren't official- and I shouldn't care . . . I just . . ."

He starts to cross the room towards me, and then slowly sits down beside me on the sofa. "She was an ex-girlfriend. I missed her, that's why I kissed her, but- it doesn't mean anything because she has a new guy and she's a bitch, too. So I don't really want her back. And we aren't together at all. I'm sorry. It was a spur of the moment thing."

"You don't have to say sorry. You can do what you want." I frown and look away.

Wes grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger, and slowly makes me look at him. "Maybe I need someone to put restraints on me, though."

I pull away from his hand and get up. "Obviously not me."

"I only did that with Rachel because I didn't think you'd be upset if you knew," Wes explains, his eyes wide. He pulls me back down onto the sofa and I fall on top of him, grabbing his shoulders to steady myself.

"I wasn't upset!" I argue hotly.

"You were," he counters calmly, wrapping his arms around my waist. "And . . . So would I be, if I saw you with another guy."

I just stare at him, wanting to get out, but wanting to stay locked in his strong arms forever. Eventually I relax under his gaze and rest my head against his shoulder.

"I love you, Demi."

My heart starts thumping heavily, making my chest tighten up and an itchy feeling works it's way up and down my arms and my back. I shudder and stare at him.

"What did you just say?"

"I love you," he mumbles urgently, before clumsily crashing his lips against mine, his nose bumping my nose until I turn my head and return his kiss.

Stars explode beneath my eyelids and it feels like the room and Wes and the world are pressing closer in on me, just because of those three stupid, exhilarating words.

I thread my fingers through his hair as Wes bends his head to pepper kisses along my jawline and then down to the base of my neck. He pulls the zip of my coat down then slides it off my shoulders, and suddenly his movements are rough.

I don't care - I'm absorbed in it, running my shaking hands up the back of his shirt as he buries his face in the crook of my neck, his face hot, his breath heavy and warm.