Page 17

But maybe that’s okay.

Maybe being unfinished

is what makes me real.

There’s a moment after where no one claps. The kind of silence that means people felt it.

Then the room erupts.

Even Seb looks stunned. Emmie is beaming, and I catch myself smiling too. Not the polite kind, but the full-body kind, the kind that happens when someone surprises you in the best way.

Zara walks back like she didn’t just rip open a piece of her chest in front of strangers. Seb wraps an arm around her as she sits and mutters something into her hair. She goes red but doesn’t stop smiling.

“That was,” Emmie says, turning to her. “You’re incredible.”

Zara shrugs, suddenly shy. “Thanks. I think I might throw up now.”

I laugh. “Totally worth it. Well done.”

Zara’s still glowing when the host calls the next name. There’s a pause. A murmur.

“Landon Price?”

My blood ices. Emmie stiffens beside me, her fingers tightening around her cup.

“No way,” Seb mutters.

Then he appears, limping slightly, his jaw swollen, one eye an angry mess of purple and yellow. Even from here, I can see dried blood from a cut at the edge of his mouth.

I stand up halfway, instinctively. I don’t even know what for. He ignores the gasps, the murmurs, the complete disbelief rippling through the room, and takes the mic with a slight wince.

“I wrote something,” he says, his voice rasped and raw. “Something real.”

No one moves. No one speaks. I look at Emmie, she’s gone pale, her body rigid. She won’t look at me. Or him.

Then Landon begins, “It’s called, Fake.” And his eyes connect with mine.

I pretend to be something I’m not.

I hide behind popularity.

It’s my superhero costume,

protecting me from failure.

All my life I’ve been told I’m nothing.

Not important.

Not clever.

Not loved.

My dad did a real number on me.

Mum leaving, that was where it all went wrong.

It’s the first time I saw Dad truly lose it.

He didn’t leave his room for days,

except for whiskey.

He was bitter and loud

and the only role model I had.

I became like him without meaning to.

What kind of mother leaves her kid like that?

When Dad was drunk,

he’d lecture me on women,

said never let them get close enough to con you.

He said Mum hated us both.

So much, she wouldn’t even tell us where she went.

Maybe rejection,

or just the thought of it,

is why I always fuck up.

The silence that follows is heavier than anything I’ve ever felt. The words hang in the air like smoke after a fire. I can’t move. Because those are my words. My texts. Messages I sent to Emmie when I cracked myself open and trusted her. And now, he’s read them out loud, here, in front of everyone.

Emmie turns to me, her eyes wide. “Kai, I – shit .”

I feel winded. “I—” I can’t finish.

Zara’s mouth is open, eyes flicking between me and Emmie.

I’m still stuck in my chair, pulse hammering in my ears, and Landon doesn’t walk away. He stays by the mic, steadying himself with one hand on the stand. He’s enjoying this. Feeding on the silence. Feeding on me.

“I should probably say,” he starts, glancing around the room like this is some casual open mic night and not a live grenade, “the inspiration for that poem was someone I really admire.”

No.

“I mean, he’s kind of a Uni celebrity,” Landon continues, gaze sliding straight to mine again. “You know the type, parties hard, never fails to get the girl, always acts like nothing touches him.”

People start glancing toward me now. I feel their eyes land on me, one by one.

“Turns out,” he says, tilting his head, “it’s all fake. A mask. You’d never guess it by looking at him, but deep down? He’s a scared little boy who never healed. Who thinks being loved makes him weak, yet he’s screaming out for the love of his parents. A lost boy. Fake.”

“Landon,” Emmie warns, voice low. She’s finally looking up.

He ignores her. “I found those words by accident,” he lies.

“But when I read them, something clicked. I realised, people like that, people who act like they’re untouchable – they’re just hiding behind bullshit and bravado, using women as playthings to hide mummy issues.

” He looks at me directly now, calm, almost smug.

“So, thank you, Kai Banks. For your vulnerability. It was . . . inspiring. ”

I’m not sure what breaks first, my pride, or my rage.

I shoot to my feet. My chair scrapes loud against the floor. “You done?” I ask, my voice sharper than I mean it to be.

Landon raises his hands like I’m overreacting. “It’s just art, mate. Relax.”

“Maybe whilst you’re up there, you can tell them why you have those bruises?”

He sniggers. “Is that a confession?” He looks around the room at the sea of silence. “I got jumped by four cowards,” he adds, shaking his head. “Pathetic really, but you seem to know a lot, Kai. Maybe we should ask Emmie?”

Just him saying her name infuriates me, and I clench my fists by my sides. Emmie stands quickly, her face unreadable. I can’t tell if she’s hurt or furious or both. “I need air,” she mutters, and then she’s moving through the crowd, toward the door.

I hesitate. Do I follow her? Do I rip Landon off that stage? Do I try to explain myself to a room full of strangers?

Landon steps down from the mic with a twisted sort of smirk. Not proud, more satisfied.

Like this was revenge.