Addicted To You .L.S.

Thirty.

Now (June)

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, but my voice shakes. I can feel the panic rise inside me: Kylie knows.
"Shit, Louis, give me a little credit," Kylie huffs. "He told me."

My stomach lurches. Saliva floods my mouth, a hot, slick rush I can't contain. I gag, moving past the dumpsters and manage to get to an empty trash can before I start to throw up, coughing and spitting. Small hands grab clumsily at my hair, pushing it out of my face as the rest of my breakfast comes up. I jerk away from her, my skin flashes hot and cold, goosebumps breaking out everywhere. Finally I straighten up, wiping my mouth with my hand, my eyes damp with tears, my throat raw. She steps away from me again, leaning against the chain-linked fence, hands in her pockets.
"Kylie..." I start, and then I stop, because I don't know what to say. I hate she knows. It's different with Rachel, with someone safe, someone who didn't know Harry.
The smell of vomit curls inside my nose making me queasy all over again. I back away from the trash until my shoulders are pressed against the fence by Kylie.

"I was so pissed. I yelled at him. I shouldn't have, but I did. I made him cry, I... I said some really shitty things. And then he wouldn't take my calls the next day, he wouldn't listen to me, so I left him that note. I just wanted to tell him I was sorry. But he wouldn't pick up, next thing I know, Gem's on the phone telling me that he'd been killed." She takes a step back, like she needs the distance as much as I do. "I fucking hate you sometimes," Kylie says. "Every time I see you, I get so pissed at you. Whenever you're around, I think about him telling me, the look on his face..." She lets out a shuddering breath, wrapping her arms around himself. "He was so relieved. Like he'd wanted to say it forever. And I just—I was shitty. All I did was make him cry."
"That's why you lied to the police." That's crazy and I'm furious that all of this, the months spent trapped at rehab, was because of this. Because he trusted her, of all people, with his—our—biggest secret. Because she was mad at being tossed over for another guy.

"You screwed everything up!" I burst out. "I spent three months in rehab for a drug problem I already kicked. My parents think I'm a hopeless junkie and a lair! Everyone in this town thinks I'm the reason Harry was at the Point! Gem won't even look at me. Not to mention that by giving the police false information, you probably helped the murder get away with it." 
"There were drugs," he insists. "I didn't make it up. I heard the police had found pills. Who else would they belong to? I didn't want to explain to the detective why I was calling Harry so much that day, so I said Harry said you two were going out there to score and I tried to stop him. I thought it'd get you in trouble." I wanted to hit her again, push her further away from me, but I hold back this time. "Yeah, well, you thought right. The problem is the drugs weren't mine. Whoever killed him planted them."
Her eyes narrow. "You've really been clean this whole time?"
"Do you want me to swear on his grave?" I ask. "Because I will. We can go there right now."
"No," she says, too quick, and I realize I'm not the only person who has a problem visiting Harry's grave. "I—I believe you."
"Oh great," I snarl. "That makes me feel so much better. Thanks a lot."

She stand there, and now more than ever, she's like a puppy. She sticks her little paws inside her shorts, bitting her lower lip, staring at her feet. "Look, I'm sorry for lying... even though I didn't think I was totally lying," she says, guilty. "But you did sleep with my boyfriend."
"I didn't sleep with him while he was your boyfriend!" I shot back.
"Whatever."

"Seriously," I say. "Look at me." She scuffs her foot on the pavement and I snap my fingers in front of her face until she meets my eyes. "You don't get to be pissy about this." I tell her. "Whatever she told you..." I let out a breath. I can't think about what he told her, about himself, or about the two of us. Every time I do, I feel everything slipping out of my control, my footing in the grey area precarious.
Nine months. Three weeks. Six days.
I tap the number against the skin of my wrist, a heartbeat to build on.
"He like boys," I continue when I've got a hold on myself. "She only likes guys. The girls were a cover. I'm sorry, but that's just the way is."
"I know that," she says quietly. "I know," she says again, her face crumpling.

The back door of the restaurant bangs open. "Kylie," calls a man in a spattered apron. "We need you." Kylie ducks her head so the guy can't see how undone she is. "Just a sec," she mumbles. The guy nods and heads back inside.

Kylie stares up at the sky and I give her a moment of silence to gather herself.
"I've got to go inside," she says. She wipes her checks and clears her throat before pushing past me.  "Kylie, Ms. Styles can't find out about this." I hate how small my voice gets, that I'm practically begging. What looks like sympathy flickers across her face before she looks away. "She won't find out from me. I promise."
She's doing it for Harry and for herself, not for me, but I don't care, as long as it stays a secret.

Harry had constructed his cage a long time ago, built by shame form the beliefs he was brought up with. He may have told Kylie. But he never wanted anyone else to know.
I plan on keeping it that way.