Something Solid

It’s Danny who ruins it, in the end, by seeing them when he isn’t supposed to and then not being able to keep it to himself. It isn’t malicious, Kris doesn’t think, although when it gets out properly, when everything goes wrong, he can’t help but feel angry. Danny must be proud now, he thinks, and Isn’t it what he wanted all along, to spoil everything for us? But the anger is just him trying to palm the blame off on someone else, really, because Danny has done nothing wrong. Kris is in desperate need of someone to blame. This morning he stumbled into the bathroom at six o’clock and threw up because of the guilt twisting his stomach into shreds, then got up to find Adam standing at the door watching him. He wanted to say something about, it’s not your fault that everything’s so bad now, I’m sorry, I’m not angry at you, but he couldn’t quite manage to speak and Adam turned and left before he could get around to it. He hasn’t talked to Adam, yet, and he knows how that must seem from Adam’s point of view and feels bad about it. He feels awful about it, actually. It’s just that there’s nothing he could say to make things better, anyway, so what’s the use in trying? He feels just as guilty about messing things up for Adam as he does about messing things up for Katy, but – unlike with Katy – he has nothing to offer him, no way of helping. Kris has been avoiding magazine and internet articles about either of them, for obvious reasons, but he can imagine the sorts of things they’ll be saying far too easily. Things which aren’t good for Adam’s career. Things which aren’t good for Adam’s life.

He wasn’t good for Adam’s life, either. He can see that, now that it’s all over and he can look at things clearly – because it was never going to be real, and Adam needs something real, something solid and there. Their friendship was solid, way back when, but of course that’s gone now too, and there’s no chance of getting it back. If he’s honest with himself (which, at the minute, he is in equal parts trying to be and trying not to be), he misses that more than he misses anything else which happened between them. It felt permanent, their friendship, in a way that them playing at being a couple (boyfriends with Kris’ wife at home in Arksansas, how ridiculous) never could. Maybe if things were different. That’s how it started: Kris saying it to Adam, slightly drunk, meaning it almost as a question. And Adam looking back at him and nodding, saying, “Yes, maybe” in a voice which Kris couldn’t really figure out.

He needs to call Katy. It isn’t that he hasn’t talked to her, since. He rang her as soon as he knew that the news had got out, almost on reflex, and confessed and apologised in the first breath. He was scared that she would shout at him or put the phone down but she didn’t, just asked him to explain and listened as he did. He’s trying to think about it positively: no, she didn’t forgive him, but she didn’t hang up on him either. That has to mean something. And he will make things better with her. He’s been thinking about that, how to make things okay between him and Katy, almost constantly – knowing that he’s working towards that is the only thing which can make him feel okay right now. The tour is almost over, and, when it is, he will make things alright again. He has to. Adam’s one of his best friends, and, despite everything, he loves him. But Katy is Katy, and he can’t help but put that first.

“Hey.”

It’s Anoop, who’s just walked in, wearing the concerned-sympathetic expression which Kris is sure that he doesn’t deserve. They’re all being ridiculously nice, the other Idols, and Kris hopes that it’s because they see that he’s punishing himself enough already and not because they’re blaming it all on Adam. Honestly, though, he’s glad for it.

“Hi.”

Anoop frowns – unsure of what to say, maybe, or just thinking – then asks, “You OK?” in a low, serious voice which Kris can hear the pity in.

“I’ve been better,” Kris says, dryly. Then, after a minute: “So has Adam, I imagine.”

Anoop looks uncomfortable at that. He shouldn’t have brought up Adam. He can’t help it, though. He keeps forgetting completely, which is worse, and talking about Adam like he used to: funny stories or Adam would love that, and it’s only people’s reactions which make him realise.

“Yeah, well.”

There’s an awkward pause. Kris should think of something to fill it, really, but he can’t be bothered. He has a headache, and the anger is coming back, and he wants to go back to sleep and wake up two months ago. If only.

“I should go call Katy. I told her I’d...”

“Right.”

Anoop gives him a small smile, which presumably means something like good luck with talking to your wife about how you cheated on her, and watches as Kris leaves the the room. He doesn’t want to be on the bus to make the call, in case someone hears, and once he’s off and walking he finds it hard to stop. He wishes that there was somewhere to get away to. He wishes that he could run all the way back to Arksansas, knock on the door and say I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I love you please don’t hate me I didn’t mean it until Katy knows that it’s the truth. But maybe that wouldn’t be enough. Maybe it shouldn’t be enough.

“I’m sorry,” he says, out loud. It’s cold and he’s shivering a bit, or shaking, it’s hard to tell. He pulls out his phone and calls the number. Katy’s voice, Katy’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and she listens.