Kylie Bray (Love, Hate and Billions)

Chapter 42 (Kylie)

Week One

Seven days are gone since the night Beggar came into my life looking for help. Once I got over my

anger that Vincent sedated me, I called the University the next morning and said I needed time off due

to family problems. I ignored Vincent's protests and arguments, telling me I had to continue to act

normal. I am tired of acting, done pretending. Nothing is normal.

Vincent and Deno is practically living in my house. The doctor who I learned is Marcel comes every

evening at ten to check on her and change her dressings.

The three of us take turns watching Beggar.

She has seizures four or five times a day. Locked in her mind, her nightmares make her hurt herself.

Yesterday they tied her hands to the bed using a few of my scarves.

It doesn't help, her wrist is bruised with the futile attempts of breaking free of the restraints.

The doctor is giving her pain medication through an IV line, but no morphine, nothing too strong. It is

always a long day, but the nights are the worst.

Week Two

“Want to watch a movie?” Vincent asks me as I get into the house.

Today was my first day back at university, and more than two weeks since Beggar arrived.

Vincent has practically moved into my home even after Deno left. Bringing clothes and his laptop. I

haven't said anything about it. And neither has he.

“No, how’s the patient doing?” I query as I drop my bag on the leather couch opposite where he is

sitting.

“Better, she had a shower today, spoke a bit, then just got quiet when I started asking questions.”

He sits up from his slouching position, runs his hand through his unkempt hair.

I have never seen Vincent like this, it is all new to me, him wearing shorts and t-shirts.

I don't look at him as an imposing figure any longer.

I see him as a man.

“Has she eaten?” My question is the one I’m most curious about. She is so thin, her body looks as if

she could die of starvation.

“No, she says her throat pains, I spoke to Marcel he said it should heal up in a couple of days then we

can start feeding her soup. Any news from Kevin?”

I sit down on the edge of the lone sofa where I just threw my bag, “Yup, he doesn't want to draw

attention to himself and leave Kanla just yet. He should be here in a week or two.”

“Makes sense, you sure you don't want to watch a movie?” He smiles at me and it is a gentle one,

something close to affection.

Right now I don't want to think about that.

Not when I have Beggar upstairs in my house and a mark branded on her by this very man's people.

So as much as I want to forget that this is happening, that Beggar is now in my life, here in my house

because she trusts me, a stranger, I can't, I won't forget.

Getting up I give him a small smile of my own,

“Yes, I'm sure,” And I walk out of the room, up the stairs, and head straight to Beggar.

Week Three

Old feelings die hard, they have a way of resurfacing, luring you into that familiar space.

Vincent is still here, in my home. We talk a lot, mostly he does, I just listen.

I find that every day I refuse him, and every day little by little my love for my stepbrother slowly

surfaces, a bit every day, an inch more with every smile he gives me.

My love for him, my addiction. I guess it has always been there, waiting to show itself.

But I am older now, wiser, so I don't give into him, even though I want to.

There are times when I forget why he is here until she walks in than I remember. Beggar is my strength

against Vincent and even though he is in my house, he isn't in my life.

Beggar and I are sitting in the kitchen, eating the Taco’s I ordered from this new place that opened not

too far from B-Street. She let me do her hair today and while it isn't perfect it looks much better,

“So, what would you like to do today?”

We have developed a don't ask, don't tell policy when it comes to what happened to her, and I am okay

with that.

She talks to me, about life and all the crazy things she's seen growing up on the streets, it makes me

laugh. Her sense of humor is welcomed and natural.

Other times she makes me cry, but I don't let her see it.

I ignore most of my calls now, my siblings and friends calling to check up on me. I don't want to lie but I

can't really tell them the truth. It is not me that comes first now, it is Beggar, and she has voiced in

detail that she doesn't want anyone knowing where she is.

“What do you think we should do.” her dry, damaged voice answers with a question of her own.

I shove a taco in my mouth, looking at her.

Her skin was more pale than I remember.

She has lost weight that she couldn't afford to make her look anorexic. Her bruised face is still healing.

But it isn't as bad as the rest of her body.

A few days ago I walked in on her while she was showering, her entire body covered in whiplashes,

stab wounds, old and new bruising, her neck is damaged to the point of almost looking burned from the

shock collar. It was that day I cried the worst.

“Ever played archery?” I question with a devilish smirk, remembering my brother Kevin’s amusing story

of how Beggar took down their entire Clubhouse with darts. This material belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

Her eyes widen and she smiles for the first time since she's been in my space and it is beautiful, and a

glowing one at that.

Beggar is hardened by life and I am not sure how long she will remain here or where she might end up,

but I hope she stays a part of my life.

Week four

“You should give my cousin a break, go out with him.”

We're sitting by the outside pool, Beggar in one of my full-length costumes. I'm in my white bikini. We

are both sipping margaritas, while Vincent stares at us from across the pool, talking on his phone.

“I don't know. We have a bad history. I wanted him at one time but now I'm not so sure if that is a good

idea, we are just too different,” I say this honestly, looking right back at him through my sunglasses.

“But you love him, I can see it in your eyes. I used to think you loved Storm. The first time I met him he

couldn't shut up about Kylie Bray.”

I chuckle at her words.

“Storm loves the bottle now, I broke it off months ago, didn't see us working out.”

She becomes quiet and I think of what I said, and maybe I offended her.

“Did I say something?” I slip my glasses on my head and look at her splayed comfortably on the

sunbed,

“No, just thinking how's Zero.”

“He is good.”

The lie doesn't come easy, but sometimes lies are necessary even if the person you’re telling it to

knows the lie for what it is. I guess hearing it helps them even if it is just a false reassurance.