I did a double—no, scratch that—triple take at the phone that I'm clutching in my hands and feeling the nonstop vibrations. The abruptness of the timing roots me to the ground as I struggle to think if this is happening for real or simply just my imagination.

But as the phone rings over five times, I realize that this isn't a dream.

He's really calling me.

Swallowing hard, I hit the green button and hold the phone to my ear. My voice is shaking and barely a whisper.

"H-hello?"

There's a monumental pause on the other end of the line. As seconds pass, the silence stretches and I can't help but wonder if this is a phone call he has made by accident. Or maybe he's trying to mess around with me again, like how he did back in school.

I decide to try again. "Kyle?"

I'm met with silence once more. Just as I'm about to hang up the call, I hear a faint intake of breath on the other end of the line.

"Riley."

A voice replies to me, one that's quiet and thoughtful. The way he utters my name, so gentle unlike the previous times, startles me and my heart skips a beat.

"Hey," I reply softly.

A couple of seconds pass before he speaks what's on his mind, revealing a part of the reason behind this sudden phone call.

"You finally pick up."

The way he emphasizes the word 'finally' catches my attention. No matter how hard he tries to conceal it with a sardonic tone, I sense an underlying sadness and hurt. With this knowledge, something tugs at my heart—guilt—and I can't stop myself from wanting to know more about him. About us.

"How often do you call me?"

At this, he lets out a hysterical laughter. "I don't remember."

I hear noises in the background and they grow louder. Music, voices and laughter. I imagine him sitting on the couch at somebody's house; drinking and hanging out with his friends. But instead of partying like he should, why did he suddenly decide to call me?

A tense silence sits between us until I'm the first one who breaks it. "What's wrong?"

My question earns me another wild laughter. He sounds out of it, and I realize he's completely wasted. "What's wrong?" he repeats my words, his voice thick with sarcasm. "You're really going to ask me that? I can think of several things that have been troubling me all day, but they all point back to you, Riley. You."

Anger edges into his words, but instead of feeling accused, worry fills my chest. "Kyle, are you...drunk?"

He ignores my question and continues rambling on angrily. "I still can't believe what you did to me. You disappeared a year ago with no explanation. I searched for you everywhere. Called you but you didn't pick up. Turned up at your house, only to find it vacant. Went to your aunt's place, and she didn't have a clue where you and your mother were."

I wince at the bitterness in his tone. I'm in a bind, and this conversation isn't something we should have over the phone, so I decide to ask his whereabouts. "Where are you?"

He doesn't seem to hear me again. "I tried everything within my means, Riley. Just when I thought I'm over you, you showed up at school and ruined everything."

"Kyle–"

His words are becoming spiteful and hurtful to the ear. "And then you pretended not to know me and had the audacity to ask what wrong did you do?" He snorts out in pure disgust. "You are hands-down the most selfish and heartless girl I've ever met. You can't expect to waltz in and out of my life like nobody's business."

"Kyle!" I exclaimed, raising my voice to get through him. "Where are you?"

And it works. He finally calms down and catches his breath. "Somewhere," he mumbles blankly. "Some dude's house on Sixth Street. I think his name is Brandon or Landon or something. I don't know and I don't care."

"Alright." I grab my keys, purse and whatever jacket I can find. Even though I'm dressed in just an oversized shirt and shorts, I rush down the stairs and slip on my shoes. "Wait right there."

"Why?" he snaps. "You want to come and see for yourself the shitty state I'm in?"

I sigh in exasperation. "Kyle," I speak carefully, "I'm coming to get you and bring you home."

"No thanks. I don't need your help."

"No," I insist, while trying to remain calm. He's angry with me and he has every right to be. "With or without your consent, I'm coming to get you."

There's a pause on the other end, and I assume he's trying to let my words sink into his mind. Knowing that nothing he says can persuade me otherwise.

At last, he answers me curtly.

"Whatever."

And the line goes dead.

Letting out another sigh, I leave my house and head to the roadside to flag down a cab. After getting the driver to drive down Sixth Street, I soon find the place I'm searching for in barely less than fifteen minutes. It isn't difficult to figure it out, especially when the music is blaring and the porch is teeming with people.

If Aunt Abbie finds out that I'm not at home but out on the streets, she will definitely have a heart attack.

But when I think of Kyle and how he has suffered for the past year because of me, I don't mind getting myself grounded over this. After all, it's incomparable to what he has gone through and we both need to talk things out.

Handing over some cash to the man, I leave the cab and edge closer to the two-storey house. I assume that most of the people are from school, but they don't seem to realize my existence as I comb the porch and backyard first for Kyle. Everybody either looks drunk or too caught up in whatever games they are playing.

Shortly afterwards, I locate Kyle sitting by the wall behind the house. He seems to look much worse than I expected. His face is dark and solemn, his blank eyes staring off into a distance. His hand is holding onto a beer can and I watch as he takes another mouthful, as if he's trying to drown himself.

Apparently, he isn't alone. A girl is by his side; nudging him, whispering into his ear and running her manicured fingers up his arm. It's the same pretty brunette I've seen hanging around by his side the last time.

The one whom I assume is his girlfriend.

"Come on, Kyle." I hear her whine and watch her red lips pout. "Let's go upstairs and find a room. It's too noisy here."

He scowls and pushes her away instead. "No."

Her face morphs into a look of hurt and disappointment. "Why? Aren't you here to have fun?"

He seems more pissed. He pulls his arm out of her hand and takes another gulp of beer. "I'm not in the mood. Get lost, Carly."

A whimper escapes her. She tries to pester him once more, but I'm already stepping in.

"Kyle?"

I stand in front of him, watching as his dazed eyes glance up at me slowly before recognition kicks in. His green orbs widen a fraction as he looks surprised to see that I've actually kept my promise to find him.

"Riley?"

Hearing him speak my name earns me a hard glare from Carly, but I ignore her. I kneel before him and take the beer can out of his hand to put aside. The action immediately draws a protest from him, but I cut him off quickly.

I take his arm and gently urge him to stand. "Come on. You're done here. I'm taking you home."

Of course, I'm already expecting Carly to intercept us. "Hey!" she snaps at me. "Who the heck are you? I got here first before you."

My brows knit into a frown, but before I can answer her, Kyle gets up to his feet and grasps my hand, pulling me away from the house.

"It's too loud," he mumbles incoherently. "My head hurts."

His steps are wobbly, but purposeful. He wants to get out of here as badly as I do.

Leaving Carly behind, we stand by the road and flag for another cab. I turn to him and notice how his dark hair is falling over his eyes. I want to reach out to brush them aside, but he stumbles and shifts more of his weight on me, letting out a small disgruntled noise.

I suppose that in his eyes, the world is spinning around him.

His arm is slung across my shoulders, and my hand wraps around his waist to support him. I peer up at him, his face inches away from mine. "Kyle."

His eyelids are drooping, and he's almost falling asleep on his feet. "Hm?"

A cab stops for us and I help him in. Once I fasten our seatbelts, I turn to him again. "Kyle, what's your address?"

He can't seem to answer me. His head lolls around before falling against my shoulder and resting it there. His hair tickles my cheek and one of his hands remains on my arm, clutching onto me so tightly, as if he's afraid I might leave again.

He grumbles. "Don't want to...go home."

I shake him again, but his eyes remain stubbornly close and he's drifting off to sleep. "Alright," I say in resignation, knowing that I'm left with no other option. "Let's go to my house then."