[10] Breakfast Buddies

(Kyle)

I was twelve when the cruel reality of Ace’s power had finally hit me.

Stumbling into an abandoned gas station not too far a distance off from the active airport, a knapsack hanging over my shoulders and the seconds ticking down to midnight, my eyes are peeled open for the man in black. Beads of sweat trickle down my face. My anxious, sweaty hand closes into a tight fist. I search the location. Nightfall has covered the sky, making my weary eyes faulty.

Three tall men lean against the side of a black van near a dilapidated wall in the station –their faces entirely concealed. One man spots me and alerts his accomplice. The accomplice approaches me, heavy on his heel, towering over my short, frail body.

I feel a clump form in my throat. I’m too afraid to move.

The other men follow behind the first until I’m nothing but a shadow beneath them.

“A-Ace sent me,” I say.

One man inhales sharply. “Of course he did. Where’s my stuff?”

I shuffle quickly into my knapsack to find the small black bag weighing half a pound. I don’t know what it holds, and I don’t want to find out.

I extend my skinny, long arm with the bag and he takes it, a despicable grin creeping over his face resembling that of a mischievous cat. Then, not moments later, the smile fades.

“Where is the rest of it?”

The... rest?

My heart stops for a moment as the man pours his glare over me.

“I... I don’t know anything about it...” I say, lowly. “I swear! I’m just the delivery boy!”

“Well then, delivery boy,” he says, “You’ll be my messenger to Ace, too.”

A hard fist to my face knocks me to the ground. I stumble towards the broken fence near to me, desperately trying to move away from the men. Without hesitation, the other men attack me. I feel a hard kick strike my lower back –and with that, a sharp, electric pain runs up my spine.

I cry out, weakly, but there is no one to save me.

“Please!” I beg, crying. More punches. More kicks. “I don’t know anything.”

Eventually I’m motionless on the hard ground, feeling more and more numb with each impact, until eventually reality becomes too blurry to notice anything at all.

Whoever the leader is, he steps forward, bending towards my limp body. “Tell Ace that sending a child won’t change our agreement. I want all of what he promised me. He has three days.”

With that, he knocks me unconscious.

I wake up.

I’m sweating through my T-shirt, trying to catch my breath. I sit up, looking down at my trembling hands. I hit the tight knot aching in my chest , preventing me from breathing. The room is dark. There’s no sunlight shining in. It must be really late at night, or really early in the morning.

My message tone goes off once, twice, again... again... I grab the phone as the ringing continues, until I find myself having six unread messages, and eleven missed calls.

For a moment, I’m terrified, wondering if all of these notifications are from Ace. I’m thankful and pissed when I realise that it’s Lloyd.

Lloyd: Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey

Lloyd: Davidson

Lloyd: I have been trying to call you since five o’clock this morning do NOT ignore me

Lloyd: I know you’re up

Lloyd: you can’t seriously be asleep... it’s like half five

Lloyd: HELLOOOOOOOOO???????

I check the time.

My eyes go wide.

Lloyd.

Do you not have more important things to do than bother me at half five in the morning?

I sigh. Who am I kidding? This is exactly the Malory Lloyd I know. I inhale deeply and exhale sharply, calming myself. I call her.

She picks up after the second ring. “FINALLY! You’re up,” she says.

“IT’S FIVE THIRTY IN THE MORNING, LLOYD! What are you doing up this early? Don’t you live like... fifteen minutes away from school?”

“It is not early, Kyle,” she insists. “If I sleep in a minute over four o’clock I’m going to be late. I have to do everything myself, remember? I thought you were a busy person. You should know this. And you’re one to talk. Look at the distance away you’re living. It’s way further from school my house. You can’t make a valid argument about this.”

Smartass.

I roll my eyes.

“Why is your house so dark?” she asks. “You know, even though you live in a gated community you should still keep a light on outside at night. What if someone tries to rob you?”

You’re one to talk considering you live alone and you didn’t plan on staying out so late so you took a long shot and didn’t leave the lights on after we stayed out late at the medical–WAIT A MINUTE!

My eyes go wide. I jump off my bed. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUTSIDE MY HOUSE?”

“Oh my god, Kyle. It’s too early to be yelling, you possessed howler monkey. You’re going to give us both a headache.” She inhales deeply and sighs. “And come downstairs... I have something for you.”

Something for me? I wonder what it could be-

-Okay no. That’s not the point.

“Malory. If something happens to you because of your ignorance, I am not going to take responsibility for it. I’ve warned you about how dangerous it is, coming here. Multiple times.”

“I know,” she says. A short silence falls as I re-evaluate my existence wonder why Malory is a part of my life. “Sooooo....” she says, breaking me away from my thoughts, “you gonna leave me sitting here out at the front gate looking like a psychotic stalker all day?”

I scoff. “I probably should.”

“Hey!” she says, annoyed.

I hang up. I groan and turn towards my closed curtains. I stroll over to the window and move the fabric slightly to peek outside. The sun is just beginning to rise. The morning pastels are dull, but just enough to see where Malory is sitting. She stands after a few moments, pacing at the gate. She’s wearing a bright, closed-mouth smile on her face –a symbol of hope- and swinging her schoolbag back and forth, over her shoulder.

Look at her.

I catch myself smiling at her sappy, happy glow.

I can’t even find it in me to say that she’s pathetic right now.

But stupid. She’s still stupid.

Stupid for wanting to be here. Stupid for trying. Stupid for not taking heed of my warnings.

A golf cart drives by and stops in front of her. I look a little closer to find two senior men and a woman greeting her. She smiles at them brightly as they engage in a conversation.

I can’t help but watch. My arms relax into a fold over my chest as I look on. She interacts so well with others.

I guess I never would have known even half that sort of kindness were it not for her discoveries about me. I wouldn’t know it if we hadn’t been paired for that ridiculous play that still needs rehearsing.

The elders drive off. She waves as they leave. She turns to the house, studying it.

Her smile fades.

I find myself feeling guilty.

I open a new apple-scented body wash and new bottles of shampoo and conditioner. I undress and head into my shower.

If I’m actually going to be listening to Lloyd, I’m not going to let her think she’s winning. I’ll take my time. She’ll see me whenever I show up.

When I’m done in the shower, I brush my teeth until I can smell the spearmint scent all around me. I look at my face in the mirror above the sink.

The ointment that I’d gotten at the medical centre has been working. The bruise has changed from purple to yellow-green. It’s still awful to look at, but it’s better now than the way it was.

I get dressed. I pull out a neatly pressed white hoodie that was folded in my drawer, and a black pair of jeans. I slip into my favourite pair of black boots.

I return to the bathroom mirror to put on a fresh coat of the ointment on the bruise. I fix my hair over my face to hide it. I leave the bathroom, switching off the light.

I spot the doctor’s note on my desk. I pick it up and read it over again.

I scoff as I remember how Malory had helped me to get it. I turn to the window again, slowing my way over to peek outside. Malory is still there; standing, pacing, frowning. I wonder if she knows she looks crazy.

I shake my head and head down to meet her.

***

(Malory)

I reach into my jeans’ pocket to grab my phone and check the time. I frown.

Are you really... not coming?

The gate opens behind me and I hear two footsteps fall into a comfortable position. At first, I don’t turn to look at him.

He showed up.

I smile to myself.

I turn to find Kyle with his hands in his pockets, his hair damp over his face.

I look at him pointedly. “When this is all over, you seriously need a haircut.”

He glares at me with tired eyes.

I smile brightly. Something about him being sleepy but up and outside to meet me makes me feel pretty good inside.

We don’t speak as he takes me into the house.

Finally, in the living room, he turns to me.

“Why are you here? Do you know how hard it is to have to erase footage from the security cameras? I know I’m good at it, but you wear me out, Lloyd. And again, what if Ace-” he stops himself abruptly.

Ace?

“What if Clark tells my uncle that you were here,” he says instead. “Even with a fake name, my uncle could ask Clark to describe you. To hunt you down.”

To hunt me down?

I try to appear unbothered. I shrug. “What’s he going to do? Kill me?”

He scoffs. “You say that like you’re so brave.”

I squint up at him and speak confidently; determined. “I’ve learnt to be. And saying it out loud makes it real.”

His expression tells me he’s somewhat surprised to hear me say something like that.

Fake it til’ you make it, Davidson.

“So, again,” he says, his voice neutral, “why are you here?”

I reach into my schoolbag and pull out a white plastic bag with a container inside it. I extend it to him.

“The hell is that?” He asks, confused.

Poison. It’s poison, Davidson.

I push the container towards his nose. “What does it smell like, you unbothered buffoon...”

He raises a curious brow and sniffs at it. “Chocolate?”

“I made pancakes for breakfast this morning, so I did some extras for you. Thought you might appreciate not having to make your own breakfast for once.”

He visually shows his surprise for a few moments. “This is so strange of you. Are you sure you didn’t poison it or spit in it?”

“Spit? That’s disgusting. I wouldn’t do that,” I say, smirking. Then I notice a clear, slightly greasy substance on his face. “Did you use the ointment?”

He pushes some of the hair off his cheek to expose the bruise. “Used it over the weekend. It’s working really well. The bruise is healing nicely.”

I observe it. “You’re right. Your lip isn’t swollen badly anymore, either. It’s not noticeable. Guess there’s no need for the makeup –at least not today. You can hide it well enough with your hair... though if your hair moves you’ll see the marks like blinding sunshine.” Yikes. I shudder as I think about it. Better safe than sorry. “On second thought, I’ll still put on the makeup.” I realise I’m still holding the pancakes. I shake the container gently in front of him. “Take the pancakes, Davidson, I made an effort.” I lean in to whisper, “And they’re chocolate.”

With a bored expression, Kyle responds saying, “I don’t like chocolate.”

I’m baffled.

“Who the hell doesn’t like chocolate? See? You’re a deplorably pathetic excuse of an alien who’s terrible at keeping a cover and this is why they dropped you off on Earth and reneged you.”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t make my own breakfast, either, Lloyd.”

“So, then, my theory of you being an alien is correct?”

“I eat breakfast at the cafe down the street,” he assures me.

“Gosh,” I say, frustrated with myself. “My gut was telling me you couldn’t cook and I didn’t want to listen to it. I really should listen to my gut more.” I knock my head with the container in my hand once.

He grabs my wrist to stop me from doing it a second time, taking the container in the process. He sets it on the couch.

“Have you ever been to the Maury Cafe?”

“No...” I say, suspicious.

He puts a hand on my shoulder and uses his other hand to spin me into the direction of the front door. He starts pushing me towards it. I point to the pancakes as I’m forced outside, “But-”

“-don’t argue,” he says.

I don’t speak as we leave the house.

***

(Kyle)

At six-fifteen, the Maury Cafe is almost entirely empty. Malory and I sit at a table in the pastel green dining room, waiting for our orders to be taken. The golden sun starts to fill the sky, and the more it rises, the more the ground turns liquid gold.

Malory taps on the table with her fingers, looking around. She seems nervous –uncomfortable. It makes me uneasy.

Okay, fine.

So I lied.

I actually love chocolate.

If I could only eat one thing for the rest of my life, I’d choose chocolate.

And I know pancakes don’t take that long to make, and I know she made the effort...

But I couldn’t just... take it. Not like that.

Malory has been... kind of nice to me. I think about how happy she looked this morning. How she put even a little thought and effort into making something for me –which isn’t going to waste, by the way.

I guess maybe bringing her here was equally my way of showing some kind of effort. I don’t know how well that’s going to work out.

I just wish she wasn’t looking so anxious.

Natalie, the waitress, approaches us.

“Morning, Natalie,” I greet her.

She smiles back. “Morning, Kyle,” she looks around before she whispers, “What’s so good about it, though, right? How come I haven’t seen you around as much recently?”

“Been sick. I look a little pale, don’t I?” The lie rolls off my tongue easily.

She considers it and nods, laughing. She turns to Malory and so do I.

“And good morning to you,” she says, offering Malory a warm smile.

“Good morning,” she replies, looking up and returning a smile.

She subtly looks away and her cheeks slightly flush.

“So, what can I get you both?”

“The usual for me,” I say, before turning to Malory. She turns to me. “You like fruits, right?” I ask.

“Oh... yea,” she says, a little more brightly now, and with a genuine smile, “fruits are... my life.” She finally seems to be more at ease. I smile.

“The same for her, then,” I tell Natalie.

She walks away without writing anything on her little notepad. I turn to Malory. She looks down and puckers her lips with a casual nod as she resumes tapping on the table.

An awkward silence falls between us.

I realise that there are only two other customers beside us in the cafe, and then there is the cook and Natalie.

Malory must think this to be rather intimate.

No.

No, no, no, I’m not trying to suggest anything, Lloyd.

Jeez, how does one make Malory Lloyd feel comfortable?

I never thought I’d have this problem.

Then I remember what she said about me not being able to cook.

“I know how to cook.”

Her head pops towards me. “What?”

“I know how to cook. I just choose not to –most days. Getting out of the house is always a nicer experience.”

Staying out of the house willingly is always a better option.

She bites her bottom lip, and my bottom lip twitches because I think that I can still feel the disgusting mushiness and indescribable horror of it, and watching her teeth connect with her lip makes a chill run up my spine and I almost shudder.

“...I suppose I understand why, too,” she says, slowly.

I nod my head and drop it to look at my shoes under the table.

Shit.

Why am I looking at her like that?

Am I going crazy?

Her madness is contaminating me.

Stop yourself, Kyle...

She’s infecting you!

She’s infecting you!

My face would flush from embarrassment if I wasn’t looking so sick and pale –and if the bruise wasn’t covering my cheeks the way that it is. “It... It usually doesn’t get this bad...” I tell her.

After a moment of silence, she realises what I’m referring to. “Oh? Then why-”

“-Please don’t ask about it. I... really... can’t tell you.”

I can’t tell you.

I don’t talk about it. I’ve never talked about it.

I don’t know why I feel like I can trust her right now... but I do... but I’m still not going to tell her everything.

It really doesn’t get this bad so often that I get bruises on my face that are the size of Jupiter, but I know that anything less than this is still unacceptable.

I can’t tell you, Malory Lloyd.

It has nothing to do with us.

It has nothing to do with you.

It’s my problem to deal with... and I just don’t want to drag you –or anyone else for that matter- into it.

She doesn’t even fight back. She drops the topic altogether. She looks away from me again and her foot starts to shake under the table.

“So...” she says, searching for something to talk about, “Olivia saved notes for you. You’ll get those when we get to school.”

I’m taken aback. I probably don’t even need the notes. I’m way head of my classes. I’m glad to know someone even thought to do that simple thing for me.

“Oh,” I say, awkwardly. “...Okay.”

I forget, sometimes, that there are people who look out for me when I least expect it. I’m always doing things myself –much like Lloyd. I guess pushing people away is just my way of controlling disappointment; of dulling it. It’s my way of controlling how quickly or how slowly the small, good, happy parts of my life go way.

Natalie returns with a tray holding two bowls of assorted fruits, and two tall smoothies.

“Bon appetite!” she beams.

“Thanks, Natalie,” Malory and I say. We turn to each other and laugh at our synced voices.

Natalie curtsies slightly saying, “You’re welcome,” with a smile, and she walks away.

Malory and I share a smug expression. We begin eating.