The grainy wallscreen took up a third of the size I remember Torven’s in his apartment. It splayed against the pockmarked wall, the screen warped with age, twisting and waving the shapes and figures. Ohelo laughed as Ha’ana sullenly gave up her winnings from their card game, Ohelo taking the pot.

“That’s why you should never bluff,” Ohelo said, still smiling.

Ha’ana just narrowed her eyes at her. “My poker face is usually better.”

“Not as good as mine,” she continued. Her eyes peeked down at the comically large pile of petty change. “As is evident.”

I did my best to ignore their banter, though I couldn’t help but allow a small smile to peek through when I saw Keoki’s uncomfortable face as he sat in between them. Those were two women who you didn’t want to get stuck in between if things got violent. A fact he knew rather intimately.

While I would usually much rather participate fully in the poker game going on behind me at my kitchen table, instead the horrific and gut wrenching scene on the wallscreen held my attention like vice grips. I had to remind myself to blink.

His smile on the screen shone bright, his hair perfectly coiffed, his suit tailored expertly. He looked so much older than I remembered, though it could’ve been the stiff way he held his stance; back straight, shoulders tight, the slicked back strands of blond hair tucked behind his ear.

My stomach turned and gripped when I saw the figure next to him. I’d ignored her all this time, trying to focus (and failing miserably) on the facts, the words that the newscaster spoke as she narrated the events. A glint momentarily blinded me as they both waved in turn, metal and stone on her hand. My insides twisted again, as if someone had their hands on my organs, squeezing, pulling, and poking. It was never supposed to be like this.

“Mea?” Ha’ana said, shuffling her deck as she prepared to deal. The cards yellowed from the sun, their well-used edges dirty and worn. Familiar. “I told you not to watch this shit. Come play.”

I could only manage to shake my head no, my eyes never leaving the cursed wallscreen.

“It’s a good thing, Mea,” Ohelo said quietly. “You are the reason he’s there. Take that for what it is.”

“I know I’m the reason,” I bit back. “That’s the fucking part that hurts. I paved the path to his success, and yet he’s married to her.”

“That was always the plan,” Keoki reminded me as he looked closely at the cards Ha’ana had just passed out. “You know that. You two were never meant to be more. It’s too dangerous, anyway.”

I sighed. This was something I knew, obviously. He was supposed to be just a tool, just a means to an end, a way to help right the injustices my people fight every day. I had always only meant to get inside his head just enough that he would help me, but watching the screen had me wondering if he was doing the same to me.

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, though,” I whispered.

“You know you have to keep him twisted around your finger for a bit longer,” Ohelo said softly, her words drifting over the noise of the wallscreen. “He might be in power now, but his battles have just begun. We still need him to fight for us.”

Ha’ana looked up at me. We shared eye contact, the communication between us never needing words. She knew what I was feeling from my expressions, my mannerisms. Her empathy felt what I felt, my anguish. She shot a glance over to the other couch where her daughter, Pa’ani, sat, and her face softened. Her return to my gaze told me what I had to do. For her. For them. For us. I nodded.

“I know the plan,” I said. “I came up with it, didn’t I?”

“Before long, we’ll be able to return to our islands, our ancestral home,” Ohelo said, laying down a card while she looked at me. “And then it won’t matter anyway.”

“That’s a long way off,” I said. “He would have to succeed and then some for that to happen. It won’t be for years, at least.” I swallowed hard, wondering if i had the stomach to continue. I had to. I twisted around on the couch, looking into the kitchen. “Fuck this,” I said, swiping the WaComm to turn off the wallscreen. “Deal me in.”

~

Everyone had left hours ago, ghosts of their presence playing in the rhythmic flickering light that illuminated the stovetop. I sat at the small table, just staring at it. The warm light dimmed every few seconds, then grew bright again, reliable and consistent, if not entirely there. It was silent, but I could still hear the flick of cards flat against the table, the flutter of hands being dealt, the soft and easy going banter of friends who had known each other for their entire lifetime. They had all gone home to their own lives, their own homes, their own realities, no longer sharing them with me. Leaving me alone in my thoughts, my brain, my knowledge. What do I do with this? What do I do with the information I’ve been forced to accept?

I have royally fucked up.

I’ve allowed him to become closer to me than I ever intended. It was always the goal for him to fall in love with our world, our people, through a love I hoped to kindle within him for me. Ever since I learned his name, that fateful night where Pa’ani had nicked his wallet, I had known it was the best course of action. The Nari’e aren’t treated like people, barely granted the right to exist in this country we had been forced to flee to.

My people ached, I ached, to have our own rights and our own ancestral lands once again, for sand I had never run my toes through. Is it possible to miss a place you’ve never been? It must be so, as I dreamt of it often. My grandmother’s vivid descriptions made it seem like a paradise, a welcoming fresh breath of salty air, thick with the scent of a thousand flowers, the breeze just enough to lift a few strands of hair from the neck. She had told me of how she and the others had escaped their little island, the adventure ingrained into my brain like a childhood fairy tale. While Arugan children went to bed hearing the story of princesses and magical forest creatures, I heard tales of island capers, lighthearted and heavy, the most powerful of all their desperate evacuation. Most Nari’e my age had similar experiences, as it was tradition to share our history in this way. I wondered how much knowledge we had lost, holed up in this congested city.

What the fuck was I doing? I jerked up off the cushion, stiff and startling. I brushed my finger over my thick braids, running the palms of my hands over the intricate knots. I’ll be damned if I sit here, sulking and mooning over a simple boy. Because he was nothing more than that. Despite the titles, the riches, the newfound political standing, he was just a boy.

I glanced at the clock, yellowed from the sun. the moon shone on it now, sparkling through the window. It was late, and there was nothing to do now except go to sleep, wake up, and show him - and everyone else - who Mea Kaika really was.