Kitsune: The Flip Side

There were six of those woven bracelets—his memory notches—on Louis’s wrist when she told him she’d leave him. And nine when he finally decided to get rid of them. After those few miraculous days lived together on the tour bus, Lou missed Kit deathly. He lived from call to call, from text to text, from one emoji to the next on Skype. Everything else was just a blurry, irritating background. As soon as he had a moment of free time, he flew to her. The Kitsune met him at the airport. Lou nearly devoured her in the taxi on the way to her place. The driver kept glancing in the rearview mirror, smirking. Lou didn’t give a toss… he was inhaling her scent, shaking with passion. They barely made it to her door. Kitty’s shaggy red dog gave a surprised bark and was promptly exiled to the kitchen. The sex was fast, greedy, rough. Tenderness would come… later. For now—it was about drinking each other down in one gulp, choking on the rush. Kit scratched his back; the nail marks burned like fire. She bit his lip, and Louis could taste the copper tang of blood in his mouth. That pain sobered him up a little, kept him from sobbing with joy like a schoolgirl. Just in time. He was already carrying his heart in his palms for her, and Kit took advantage of that sometimes. She could be quite cruel. Subconsciously, Lou felt she was just sharpening her claws… but she had the power to cause him real pain. The kind of pain he couldn’t even imagine yet. Kit lived in a tiny one-room flat, cluttered with guitars, trinkets, and flowers. The kitchen was so small that Lou could almost touch opposite walls if he stretched out his arms. He didn’t even know houses like this existed. The flat he’d rented in Trafford—one of Manchester’s districts—was at least ten times larger. Lou added one more item to her collection of fan gifts: a designer toy. A sort of cross between a sheep and a dragon, with eyes like two dark forest lakes. He’d spent ages wondering what to give his love and decided she’d like this, given her specific tastes. He guessed right. Kit squealed and squeezed the creature with childlike delight. She named it. And then she started squeezing Louis himself. Kit lived with a large, shaggy mutt. The dog was cool, living up to his name—Rosvo, which means “bandit” in Finnish. He’d lived in rubbish tips before Kit rescued him and knew exactly how the world worked. And this fanged bastard hated Lou at first sight. He was jealous. He didn’t think this skinny, multi-colored man belonged in their home. Even with Kit there, he’d give a guttural growl if he thought the guest was stepping out of line. Without her, Louis was afraid to even twitch. Kit thought for a bit about how to make them bond, then handed Lou the leash. “Walk him, and you’ll get along. I’m sure.” Wish I had your confidence, sweetheart… shit! Lou thought, being towed down from the fifth floor, not daring to be alone with the monster in the cramped lift. However, the monster did soften up during the walk and even condescended to follow a couple of commands given in Lou’s broken Russian. They returned home, if not as friends, then at least in a state of mutual neutrality. Deep down, Lou hoped to win over the shaggy beast. It felt good to have such a massive creature obey you. And Kit loved him, which was the main thing. Living with Kitty was great… and educational. Life and people here were fundamentally different. On the streets, people sometimes pointed at them. But in the rock scene, where they spent most of their time, it was comfortable and familiar. Musicians were always hanging around Kit’s place: her band, friends, acquaintances. Lou got along with almost everyone quite quickly, much like Kit had with his gang. And so they lived… Planes, planes… just to wake up on the same pillow. To make coffee. Walk the dog. Sing a couple of new lines. To finally come not from virtual sex, but from the touch of the person you love. It was beautiful and agonizing. When they were apart, Louis was dying. He was jealous. He was wasting away. He was a mess. He moped like a dog abandoned on the hard shoulder. Tom would get pissed off and grumble: “For fuck’s sake, just marry her already, will you? How much longer can this go on?” Louis asked, distantly and casually, if Kit wanted to live in England. He got a firm “no.” She had her own life, her band, her music. She couldn’t and wouldn’t drop it all. Her band’s luck had turned; they’d been invited to some major festival. What could Lou promise her? He was only home maybe three months out of the year himself. He couldn’t think of anything better than to drown the pain in drugs. Nothing serious, just some light pills, something for the mood. Sometimes it helped; sometimes it did the opposite. Once, Kit flew to him during one of those depressive episodes. No warning, a surprise. She knew he was home, so she came. The flat was an absolute tip. If Lou had known she was coming, he would have cleaned up, obviously. But there it was—you open the door, and there stands the love of your life. She jumps on your neck, kisses, hugs… and then she looks past you, and her beautiful eyebrows shoot up. Kit surveyed the chaos with an icy stare. Then she looked at him, realized everything, and announced she’d help him out. If you think she rolled up her sleeves, whistled for birds and bunnies like Snow White, and turned the pigsty into Buckingham Palace—you’re wrong. She made Louis clean it. When he made the sensible counter-offer to call professional cleaners who’d have the place sparkling in an hour, she replied: “Okay! No problem. On one condition.” “What condition?” Lou asked, already smelling a trap. “I give a blowjob to the person who cleans up here.” And she gave him a massive, wicked grin. As he was thoughtfully scrubbing the toilet bowl, Louis noted that he actually felt better. Smart girl! Of course, she helped him, but the dirtiest work fell to him. Lou was scrubbing another plate in the kitchen when Kit, who had been tidying the bedroom and humming a song, suddenly went quiet. He didn’t think much of it… until she appeared in the doorway, holding a small baggy between her fingers, lifted into the air like a dead mouse. His heart dropped into his stomach. Idiot! How could he have forgotten?! He should have flushed that shit down the loo… now Kit was going to have a row… and if she told Tom, the two of them would make mincemeat of him. While he stood there blinking guiltily and scrambling for excuses, she asked calmly: “What is this?” “Kit… it was only once (a lie)… Jeff brought it (a lie)… I was going to bin it (half-truth).” She looked at him calmly, very calmly. And with disgust. Kitty, pleasebelieveme! He wanted the ground to swallow him whole just so he didn’t have to see that look in her eyes. And then she hit him. She slapped him so hard he barely stayed on his feet. Not even a slap—a perfectly placed strike with an open palm. The world exploded into white sparks. His cheek went numb. Louis ducked his head and closed his eyes, waiting for a second blow. But the execution was over. Kit threw the drugs into the sink, turned, and walked out. Lou felt his heart thumping in his chest; his cheek began to burn. A foul, leaden taste of fear spread in his mouth. He heard the front door slam. He bolted after her… Kit was sitting on the stairs, crying. Silently, only her shoulders shaking. He felt like absolute scum… It was so painful—causing her pain. He grabbed her hands, pulled them away from her face, and looked into her eyes, bright green with tears. He wiped her wet cheeks. “Kitty, kitten… My girl, let’s go home… Calm down and we’ll talk, okay? Please… please…” As if on cue, a neighbor—that arrogant fat pig—came walking by. Keep walking, you prick, what are you staring at?! Lou managed to convince Kit to return to the flat. Austin circled them, whimpering and trying to lick their faces. Louis sat Kit on the sofa, brought her water and tissues. She was still sobbing silently. He sat on the floor, pressing his forehead against her warm knees, clutching her damp hands. His heart was being shredded by a thousand claws. His throat was dry. Yes, he’d lied… No, when they started dating, he didn’t lie… This happened later… Because he felt like absolute shite without her… It wasn’t heroin or even coke… Of course, she was right not to give a toss, she didn’t know about this crap… Yes, he understood… Yes, he knew how she felt about this… No, never again… Sorry, sorry, sorry… She ran her fingers through his hair and tilted his face up. Looked into his eyes. And she said that if it happened again—just once—he would never see her again. EVER. She wasn’t joking, and she wasn’t exaggerating. Louis knew it. On his wrist, right across the pulse—six of her bracelets. Six.