But then I think about the fact that Chasm just picked up a drunk girl from the side of the lake and brought her … here. Wherever here is.
I step into the house and pause, noticing a row of photos along the wall beside me. There’s a small boy with jet-black hair posed with a smile in front of an old woman with silver hair. She’s sitting on a wood porch with one leg propped up, her elbow thrown across her knee. In front of the pair of them is a basket filled with vegetables.
With a squint, I lean in and take note of the boy’s face, of the familiar shape of his mouth and eyes, the amber color of his irises. Oh. Oh. This is Chasm’s house?
I pause, feeling suddenly more awkward than if it were the drunk girl’s house, or some other random person that’s still hanging out down by the lake. My left hand drops to my side as I notice the shoes kicked off near the back staircase. I kick my own off—I’ll try to respect Chasm’s dad, even if Chas is an idiot—and make my way up the stairs.
That’s when I hear his voice, low and cool and calm. The sound of it gives me chills, but not in the way I was expecting. I’m pleased to hear it. And that bothers me. I move forward across the hardwood floors, ready to throw open the first door I see, when I hear something that surprises me.
“You can sleep here as long as you need and go home when you feel better,” Chasm is saying, and I find myself leaning forward so I can peak through the crack in the door. The drunk girl is sitting on the edge of a bed, a blanket wrapped around her, and a glass of water and some pills on the nightstand.
“Thank you,” she breathes, slurring her words slightly.
Chasm sighs and puts his hands in his pockets.
“You should always watch how much you drink at parties,” he says, pushing the water glass closer to her. “Even at small hangouts like this. Boys can be monsters sometimes. Trust me: I am one and I know how they are.”
“You’re the best, Kwang-seon,” she hiccups, and I frown again. That asshole! He lets other people—other girls, for that matter—call him by his real name? What a hypocrite. A pang of hurt rings in my belly, but I ignore it, watching as he urges the girl to drink the water and take what I’m assuming are painkillers. As soon as he’s sure that she’s had enough to drink, he plugs in her phone to charge, and hands her a remote to the wall-mounted TV.
When the girl reaches out a hand to touch his arm, Chasm very gently pushes her away.
“You don’t think I’m pretty?” she pouts, like she’s on the verge of a drunken meltdown.
“You’re gorgeous, babe, but I’m not a predator; you’re plastered.” He goes to stand up and she grabs onto the bottom of his shirt, clinging to him with tears sliding down her face. How Chasm handles this situation will determine whether I kill him or not.
Metaphorically speaking. I’m no serial killer.
“You slept with like, three of my friends, but I’m not good enough? I’m not hot enough?”
“You mean three of your friends lied and told you they slept with me because they didn’t want to admit to puking all over my carpet and leaving me to clean it up. I told each and every one of them what I’m going to tell you: I don’t fuck drunk chicks.” He untangles the girl’s fingers from his shirt as she cries. “Jesus, you won’t even remember this in the morning.” He swipes a hand over his face like he’s suddenly exhausted. “Leave whenever you want, even if it’s tomorrow. I can give you a ride home.” He turns around and heads for the door so quickly that I’m caught off-guard. My attempts to scurry away are foiled by a potted plant that I end up knocking over, spilling dirt and small rocks all over the floor.
I cringe as I hear Chasm step into the hallway. I’m kneeling down by the plant, holding onto the edges of the pot and wishing I could disappear into the floor.
“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” he asks with a long-suffering sigh, moving over to help me right the plant. We squat side by side, scooping up dirt with our hands and putting it back into the pot. Sorry, plant.
“I wanted to see what you were doing with a drunk and vulnerable girl,” I say, lifting my chin and knowing that my cause was worthwhile, even if I was wrong. More often than not, I’d probably be right to make the same assumption again.
Chasm goes very still beside me, and it becomes immediately obvious that I’ve offended him somehow. I turn back to look at him, remembering the drunk girl from the party that threw her arms around him, the one he disappeared with. Does he do this a lot, rescue drunk girls from parties?
