Dearest Kit

Chapter Five

I woke up when my alarm starting going off, vibrating from where I’d placed it beneath my pillow the previous evening. Rolling over on my bed, I flicked on a light and rubbed at my eyes, tired from this broken sleep. The face on my bedside clock read five minutes to three; it was still dark outside but I could hear the birds, just starting to wake. 

I grabbed a baggy sweatshirt from the back of a chair in my room and shrugged it on, pulling the two sides closer to my chest and shivering. I could hear the quiet movement of cars outside my window, of busses passing by every couple of minutes, driving through puddles of water and sending spray over the sidewalks. Dull light was seeping through the breaks in my blinds, a subtle glow from the street lamps which lined the street. 

I tip toed across the room, my toes pressing against the carpet, being cautious not to make the floorboards creak beneath my weight. I stepped out into the landing, listening for the persistent, heavy breathing of my parents before proceeding down the staircase. I ran my fingertips along the varnished bannisters and, on reaching the ground floor, peered out of the front window, onto the dark porch. My breath misted up the glass, clouds of condensation billowing out into the dark night. 

I slipped into the front living room and pushed the door to, switching on one of the smaller side lights and collapsing onto the sofa. I stretched my legs against the warm upholstery and turned on the TV, lowering the volume until I was positive I was the only one who would be able to hear it. 

It was exactly three o’clock when I switched over channels, waiting expectantly for Kit to walk onto the screen. As soon as the title sequence was over, Jon Stewart sat at his desk and spun around in his seat. He introduced his guest and the whole audience erupted into loud, raucous applause, as Kit slowly stepped onto the set. 

My heart fluttered involuntarily and I sat up quickly, hugging my knees to my chest and leaning my chin against them. Kit waved meekly to the TV studio spectators and was led over to the seat besides Jon, chuckling at something he must have uttered under his breath. He was wearing a charcoal grey suit jacket and trousers, with a navy blue shirt which fitted his slim figure perfectly. 

“Kit, it’s great to have you on the show,” Jon welcomed him, smoothing his long, tanned fingers across the desktop. 

“Well, it’s great to be here, thanks for having me,” Kit replied, grinning happily. 

“Listen,” the presenter’s tone suddenly became serious, “Is everything alright? How have you been doing?” Kit looked down at his lap and laughed ruefully, shaking his head from side to side. His dirty blonde hair had been slicked back against his skull and he had grown heavy stubble, which suited his square jaw. 

“I’m fine, really,” he rubbed his palms up and down the smooth material of his suit trousers. I watched his eyes move towards the camera and it suddenly felt like he was looking directly at me, right through the TV screen. I felt myself begin to blush, and I pulled at the neckline of my t-shirt, brushing my fingers along the protruding collarbones. 

“Well, you know, I know about bad breakups, I can help, man, coffee, cigarettes and beer.”

“Like I haven’t been through enough of that the past few weeks,” Christopher laughed, taking a sip of water and licking his lips slowly. 

“But you’ve been looking happier recently, isn’t that right?” He had obviously been told exactly what issues he should press, and he wasn’t wasting any time. I almost caught Kit rolling his eyes, but he refrained from any outward sign of sarcasm. 

“Well,” Kit started, pressing his fingers to the creases in his brow, “with the new movie, Americana, I’ve been-” 

“-Of course, of course,” Jon Stewart interrupted him impatiently, “but there have been some other rumors, haven’t there, Kit,” he chuckled slyly and I suddenly became anxious to what Christopher would say, whether he truly would reveal our relationship to the world, whatever was going on between us.