Page 28 of A World Apart (Between Worlds #1)

Finally, we pulled up outside the club and Becka’s friend was true to his word.

He was waiting for us at the curb and ushered us through the doors to the club, completely bypassing the line that was already half-way up the street.

I didn’t react to the calls of protests, but internally, I grinned and felt my spirits lift, just a little.

Immediately I was hit by a wall of sound as we went further into the club, past the foyer.

The lights strobed just above head height, a kaleidoscope of acidic greens, razor-sharp reds and effervescent purple cutting through the haze from the heat of hundreds of dancing bodies, all pulsing to a beat that vibrated up from the soles of my feet to my chest, pulling me into the throng as though by a tether .

“I’m going to get our drinks,” Becka shouted, leaning closer to me to be heard over the music. I gave her a thumbs up and then moved forward to stand against the railing of the raised platform we were on that overlooked the dancefloor below.

Bodies pressed firmly against each other, all moving to the pulse of the music, and I let it in to block out the noise of my phone and its deafening silence.

Becka returned with not just two drinks, but a whole tray of shooters and a grin on her face that suggested mischief.

“Whoa, what happened to one drink each?” I had to shout to make myself heard.

“Carlos is trying really hard to get in my good books.” She put the tray down on a tall table on my other side.

“Your good books, or your pants?” I eyed the tray of drinks sceptically.

Becka laughed, but I didn’t hear the sound. “He’s not interested in my pants!” She waved a hand at me, as if this suggestion were completely outrageous.

“He wants me to put in a good word for him with his ex-boyfriend.”

Ah. “What did he do?”

“You don’t want to know.” Becka shouted, shaking her head, eyes wide.

Becka arranged our drinks on the tray, half on the side closest to me, half on the other, the almost-luminous colour of the artificially flavoured drinks visible even in the dim light.

“Ready?” She grinned at me as she held the little cup of bright green liquid out to me. I took a fortifying breath. To hell with it all. I took the shot from her and together, we downed our first drink.

“Blech,” I stuck my tongue out as Becka visibly shuddered.

“Again!” she shouted picking up another and handing it to me before the taste of the last one had even fully registered on my tongue. Together, we threw the drinks back.

And so, it continued until the whole tray was gone and I’ve counted six shots, all in various colours and all now decidedly mixing in my stomach. It’s at that moment I realised I had forgotten to properly line my stomach before coming out, my last meal some hours ago.

“Oh, fuck me,” I groaned, holding a hand up to my forehead.

“What’s wrong?” Becka shouted close to my ear, “Are you feeling sick? ”

“Not yet,” I shouted back, and then giggled at her confused expression. “Let’s go fucking dance!” We might as well, I thought to myself.

The night passed in a pleasurable buzz of lights and thumping beats that were so loud they almost sounded muffled, but that might have been the buzz dulling my senses.

We danced, mostly together but sometimes with others, especially a group of girls we met in the bathroom who were on a work trip from Sacramento.

Our group expanded when, inevitably, a group of men wound their way in-between our number, posturing like exotic birds, with their gelled-up hair and patterned shirts.

I laughed so loud and so long that somewhere along the way, I forgot to be sad and confused and instead, I just had fun.

When Becka dragged me off the dance floor, I protested, only stopping my whining when she shouted, very loudly, that she didn’t want to, “queue with all the other peasants,” when the club closed in an hour.

So, I followed her out, grabbing my bag from the bag check in the foyer on the way out and together, we stood outside while she ordered an Uber.

I swayed on my feet, still feeling the music whizzing through my veins, along with the copious amount of alcohol. The chill night air felt nice on my over-heated skin, and I tipped back my head, enjoying the sensation of feeling so light and so at peace with the world.

Becka was grumpy, I could tell by the way she just stood there, head down and arms crossed, but then she always was a morose drunk, whilst I ? I was prone to joy and joyous things, like chips and ice cream.

“Can we get a takeaway?” I sing-songed at Becka, who only frowned at me like I’d said something really weird. “Take out? Now? Ky, it’s like, late.”

“Yeah, yeah I get you, but like, I’m super hungry. It was all the dancing,” I said, patting my tummy, like this proved my point.

“It was all the beer, more like,” she muttered, and I nodded sagely in agreement. There had been beer.

“Do we have crisps at home? Oh, oh and dip. Do we have crisps and dip?”

“Babes, it’s nearly 1:00am. You can’t eat chips and salsa at 1:00am.”

“Why not?” I demanded, outraged .

Becka just sighed, but then a silver Honda with an Uber sticker in the window pulled up to the kerbside, a middle-aged woman leant out of the window, “Rebecca?” After confirming the name of the driver, we piled into the back.

Becka was quiet the whole way home, but I didn’t mind the silence because my brain was still so nice and fuzzy, my skin tingling in that good way it did after a lot of dancing and drinks.

The bad times were still there, underneath my cozy buzz blanket, but I was not so inclined to lift it up and inspect it.

I was, however, very interested in snacks, and all I could think about the whole drive home was what was left in the cupboard.

Not too long later, I was rummaging through the cupboards when, with triumph, I pulled out a box of Ritz crackers.

“Ah-ha!” I cried out with joy, doing a happy hop from one foot to the other. It felt really nice to flex my feet, newly freed from their stiletto prisons.

Becka was still very grumpy, but as I spun around to share my spoils, I also saw her putting my phone back on the counter. Catching my eye, she looked guilty, but defiant.

“What are you doing with my phone?” I asked, putting down my box of crackers.

“Texting the idol.” She raised her chin.

“I ? you-WHAT?” I spluttered. “Why?”

“Because someone had to remind him you exist!” She bit out sharply.

I didn’t know how to respond, because I knew she wasn’t taking this out on me, not really.

She never talked about Ben, or what went down, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out she was still hurting and whatever she’d just sent to Jihoon was a reaction to that.

“Forget it, you’re right. I’m going to bed.” Becka sighed and got to her feet, heading towards her bedroom. I watched her, mouth agape as she shut the door quietly behind herself.

“But, I didn’t even say anything,” I said to myself.

The cracker triumph of a few minutes ago didn’t seem so…

triumphant now. I sighed as I put them back in the cupboard and instead, pulled my phone towards me.

Becka had left it open on the message app, my green, little text bubble almost glowing with accusation.

Me

If ur going 2 brush Ky off, at least have the decency 2 tell her. Ghosts r 4 movies.

Not her most eloquent work, but succinct, all the same. Quietly, I groaned, dropping my head into my hands. I was way too buzzed to deal with this and it was stealing my joy.

I shuffled over to my room and tossed my phone onto my bed, opting to kick the can down the road in favour of a shower.

I took my time, as well, even chucking a shower fizz in for good measure.

The eucalyptus scent worked wonders on my brain, and by the time I was done, wrapped in a fluffy towel and hair wrap, my head was much clearer.

I did note, however, that Jihoon still hadn’t replied by the time I closed my bedroom door behind me.

I had debated sending a follow-up message to assure him of…

what, I wasn’t sure but decided against it.

My own curiosity demanded some sort of yes or no confirmation and, as clear as my head felt, my stomach felt clenched in knots.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep like this, so instead I settled on going through a proper skincare routine ? the kind I’d seen on TikTok so often but never had the time or energy to properly emulate.

And because fate is a funny thing, my phone buzzed with an incoming call just as I was running leave-in conditioner through the ends of my hair.

I picked up my phone to see an incoming video call from Jihoon. In a burst of anxious energy, I tried to arrange myself to look as casual, but put-together as possible before nervously accepting the call.

Immediately, his almost-painfully handsome face filled the screen, like so many videos I had seen of him doing Lives and Insta Stories, that for just a second, I forgot where I was. He was leaning back on what looked like a sofa, so I guessed that he was at home, maybe.

“Hi,” his clear, accented voice now so familiar to me filled the space of my tiny room, only adding to the surreal feeling.

“Hi,” I breathed, finally able to respond .

“Are you ok? I know it’s very late there now,” he said, his eyes seeming to dart around his screen, taking in my surroundings.

I chanced a look at the smaller image from my camera in the bottom of the screen and took in the details he must be seeing; curtains closed, bedside lamp on, me sitting on my bed wearing a robe with wet hair.

“It’s fine,” I said quickly, “Becka and I went out, we only got back an hour ago.”

Jihoon made a noise of understanding before we both lapsed into silence again. I glanced up at the top of my phone screen where I have two time zones displayed. I saw that for him, it was just after 6:00pm.

“Are you done for the day?” I asked, trying to sound as casual as I was trying to look, even though my back was starting to hurt from the position I was holding.

He frowned and then puffed out his lips in a weary sigh, a hand rising up to run through his hair. That’s when I noticed how tired he looks.

“We had a lot of meetings; scheduling meetings, and project meetings, just meetings and meetings,” he grumbled, and I suddenly felt bad for thinking he was ghosting me, when he’d probably not had a moment to himself after being on a plane for half a day.

“Kaiya,” he said, snapping my attention back to him, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”

I tried to wave it away, but he continued. “I fell asleep on the plane, and I didn’t know my battery had died. We drove straight to the company. I didn’t have a chance to charge my phone.”

“Honestly, it’s fine,” I tried again to wave his explanation away, but he ploughed on, talking over me.

“And then I fell asleep at the company until it was too late to even call you, and today I’ve been ?”

“In meetings, I know.” I cut him off this time, and he fell silent. “Jihoon, it’s fine, really.”

He chewed on his lip for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Was it your friend who sent that message?”

I sighed, loudly. “Yes. I didn’t know she was going to do that, I’m sorry.”

Jihoon nodded. “But you were worried it was true?”

I wanted to brush it aside, but I was too tired to put up a front.

I was too tired, full stop. I fell back on pillows, finally comfortable, but as my head settled down against the soft pillows, I was reminded of how inebriated I still was, as the pleasant tingles swept over my face and down my arms.

“Worry isn’t the word,” I said, my mouth involuntarily smiling at the buzz, “I was just kind of expecting the brush off, and preparing myself for it.” Definitely still buzzed. Sober people are not this honest.

“Why would I brush you off?” His face grew larger in the screen, as if he had pulled it closer towards him.

I giggled. “Because you’re… you and I’m-” I gestured at myself.

“Are you drunk, Kaiya?” He smiled and I couldn’t help but smile back. God he’s pretty.

“Yes,” I sighed, “many drinks were drunk, and now, so am I.”

“I see. Perhaps we should talk about this later, once you’ve had some rest.”

Absurdly, I didn’t want our call to end, I just wanted to look at him and hear him speak, but my inner people-pleaser was also desperate to not ‘be that girl,’ which made inner-me cringe in outrage at the female stereotyping I was doing.

“Look,” I said, in what I thought was a perfectly reasonable tone, “you don’t have to. We don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” Uh oh, he’s frowning again, and even though it is absurdly sexy, the way that his dark hair falls across his furrowed brow, I feel I might not have made myself clear. It seemed the momentary clarity from the shower has ebbed away.

“You don’t have to call me. You must have so many more important people to talk to than me.”

He was silent for so long, I thought the phone might have frozen, but then when he did speak, I had to strain to hear him, because his voice sounded weirdly distorted.

“You don’t want me to call you?”

“No, I’m just saying you don’t have to. Don’t feel obligated to, y’know?”

But he didn’t know, because this time the phone really had frozen, which I only figured out because Jihoon took so long to reply that I squinted at the screen long enough to see the frozen pixels. At least I got to look at his beautiful face for a moment longer. Until the whole app shut down.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” I muttered, before angrily mashing the combination of buttons to shut my phone down for a restart.

Except, I had fallen asleep before I remembered to power it back on.