Defining Normal | EMBRY CALL

Confessions

"Hey, you've reached Lex. I can't get to the phone right now, so leave a message and I'll call you back sometime."

BEEP

"Alexandria, it's your father. Again. This is the third time I've called you this month. Call me back."

"Alexandria. I don't know what's going on with you. I haven't heard from you in three weeks. Call me, immediately, or I will be coming to find you."

"This isn't amusing, Alexandria. I can't find your address, but if I don't hear from you by Sunday, I will drive straight to the police station and file a missing person report. Call me. Now ."

Kim isn't typically one to pry - okay , she totally is - but she can only tolerate Lex's phone vibrating so much before she loses her cool. She eyes the battered iPhone on the coffee table, slowly wiggling its way towards the edge. Silently, she contemplates the odds - which will come first, the phone's descent to the linoleum, or Lex answering the call?

She tips her head back to scrutinise her friend from across the room. "You planning on getting that? It hasn't stopped since you got here," Kim comments, frowning a little.

Lex pauses, mid-pour. She slowly lowers the coffee pot onto the counter. "I'll turn it off. Sorry."

She starts towards the table, but Kim's quicker than that. She snatches the device out of Lex's reach, glancing at the caller ID. Does she have a secret boyfriend? A double life? According to the contact info - Father - it's nothing overly scandalous, but still fascinating. Aside from a few scant comments to Embry, she never speaks of her family, and they can't help but wonder about her past. Between the witness protection program (Seth) and orphan (Leah), they haven't managed to come up with any reasonable explanation for her secretiveness. It is Lex, though - secretiveness is a way of life, something that Kim just can't wrap her head around.

"Why are you avoiding your dad?" she asks, cocking her head to the side. She sees her dad every weekend, when she and Jared visit to spend time with her younger sister. She can't imagine avoiding a phone call from him for more than an hour or two.

"Give me my phone. Now ," she growls, stalking over to the couch with her palm outstretched.

Hesitantly, she hands over the cell, watching as Lex switches it off with a brutal press of the power button.

"Do not ask me about him. Do not bring my family up. Don't do this." Her voice is strained, words forced out through gritted teeth, and for one awful moment, Kim actually feels scared of her best friend. The moment passes as quickly as it comes, though, her fear dashed by the tears forming in Lex's eyes.

"What's going on? You know you can talk to me about anything."

Lex levels her with a cool stare. "See, you say that, but then you try and question me every time I don't feel like talking. I don't talk about family. Just drop it, okay?"

"Okay. I won't ask about it again," she promises, reaching out to grasp Lex's hand in a gesture of goodwill. She means it, too - she won't ask about Lex's family again, and so she feels no guilt in texting Embry about Lex's weirdness.

Sure, she'd promised Lex to keep it hush-hush. Before that, though, she'd promised Embry that she'd always be on his side, that she would look out for him like a brother. If Kim is anything, she's loyal to her boys, and so the text practically types itself. It's what's good for Lex, after all. She needs them.

The worry lives in him long after he's read Kim's abrupt messages, the tension sitting low in his gut like an iron weight. Worrying about Lex and her dad feels all wrong - everything else with her is so right ; it's finally her and him against the world and the last thing he wants to do is send her spiralling again. Sometimes, when she thinks he isn't looking, he catches little glimpses of her sadness, a stony edge in her eye that cools his blood. There's so much about her he doesn't know - her family at the top of the list - and though she eagerly absorbs information about him, she offers up little of her own story. It took him an entire week to cajole her into sharing her freaking birthdate, a secret she'd held close to her chest like a winning hand. He'd penned it onto his calendar in a careful hand, circling November 1 in crisp black ink. At this rate, it would be an eternity until he'd learn anything substantial about her life, something that had become a major sore spot. One ill-timed comment from Brady had resulted in a spat so severe that Sam had needed to order him to release the younger boy.