Kane Richards Must Die (15 page)

I
groaned as a sharp pain shot through my shoulder. “Shit,” I muttered, my voice still thick and groggy from sleep as I rubbed my face roughly. I blinked as I tried to come to terms with my whereabouts.

Crap. No wonder I felt so damn stiff. I’d slept on the fucking floor.

I frowned, trying to remember doing that, but came up blank. My mind was hazy and kinda numb. It took a while for me to even remember what day it was . . . or the date.

The date.

I grimaced and racked my brain for the information, but it felt like I had been drugged, and I couldn’t remember a damn thing. And I only ever got that shitty feeling once a year, as if my memory of the last twenty-four hours had been completely swiped, leaving only a huge, gaping dark hole which, even with my strained efforts, would only come back to me in stages over the next few hours.

That only happened on April 12th, so it was pretty damn apparent that this was April 13th.

With a groan I lifted myself off the hard floor, wincing as I stretched my cramped muscles, stumbling slightly as I tried to regain my balance. My head was hurting and my mouth tasted like a cocktail of sourness that made me feel sick to my stomach. I continued rubbing my face roughly with my hand, trying to get my bearings when something crunched loudly under the weight of my feet and I felt my skin tear sharply.

“Son of a
bitch
!” I yelled out, gripping my bleeding foot and inspecting it, only to be completely shocked to discover a splintered glass on the floor.

Like a slap in the face, various images assaulted my mind, whirling recklessly in my skull and leaving me breathless.

A pale soft face, cheeks wet, and wide gray eyes shining with tears and unadulterated fear. Wavy mahogany hair falling about gently around her shoulders, which were slumped in what looked to be apprehension.

My fist curled tightly around a clear crystal glass, my tendons screaming out in protest as I smashed the glass against the wall. The shrill shattering of the crystal reverberating through my ears along with a small, fearful whimper from across the room.

A dark panic trickled down my spine as recognition sparked within me at the images of that same face, that same skin, those same eyes, that same thick soft hair.

Suranne.

“No, no,
no
,” I murmured to myself, hopping around feverishly, ripping clothes out of closets and dressers, trying to get dressed quickly as my heart beat an uncontrollable staccato in my chest. My head continued to throb along with my bleeding foot but I just gritted my teeth and dealt with it. I couldn’t push out the image of Suranne’s face from my mind. I remember asking her to come over when we were at school, thinking that she would help. But maybe that hadn’t been a good idea. And worst of all, I still couldn’t remember everything.

Did I shout at her?

Did I say shit that I didn’t mean?

Did I
hurt
her?

My mood was impossibly sour on that day, which is why I always locked myself in my room, but this was more than that. I felt like I had completely lost myself, without a trace of any humanity whatsoever, like I was just coming out of a damn coma.

I absently snatched a Band-Aid from the first aid box in my bathroom, put it on my foot, and continued to get dressed. Slipping on my Nikes, I headed down the stairs. My mom was standing in the kitchen, in a pressed white suit, her hair up in a tight bun.

“Mom?”

She turned and my jaw dropped at how refreshed she looked. I hardly recognized her. She was young,
alive
. Which was something I was not expecting the day after the anniversary of the worst day of our lives.

“Hey honey!” she breathed happily, walking up to me and placing her hand on my cheek briefly before going up the stairs.

“Where the hell were you yesterday?” I called out to her, ’cause if she’d been here, surely she would’ve stopped me from acting like a crazy prick to Suranne. Surely she would’ve heard something.

Mom turned around once she reached the top of the stairs and smiled sadly at me.

“Aimee suggested that I have dinner with her last night. I knew that I would need to get out of this house if I was to carry on . . . healing myself. I needed to get away from the . . . memories.”

I narrowed my eyes at the mention of Aimee. I was sure that it wasn’t routine for therapists to associate with their patients like that. But I couldn’t help but be thankful. At least my mom kept herself on track.

God knows why I didn’t do the same thing.

“I have to go,” I mumbled as the urgency to see Suranne and apologize for whatever I may have done came back to me again.

***

My chest was beating wildly as I pulled up into Suranne’s drive. I took a deep breath and threw my car door open, jogging to her front door and banging on it wildly. I knew I wouldn’t be in control until I saw her face. I knew these nerves and this ache in my chest wouldn’t dissipate until my eyes came into contact with hers, but when the door finally snapped open, it wasn’t Suranne standing there. Glaring daggers at me with a ferocious expression was her aunt.

“What the
hell
do you want?” she spat menacingly and I backed up from the venom in her voice.

“Uhh . . . is Suranne here?” I asked in my most polite voice, throwing in a smile just for good measure.

“Not for you she isn’t,” she replied tersely and folded her arms over her chest.

My eyes widened in shock as I gaped at her.

“Uhh . . . Cou─”

“Ever since yesterday that niece of mine has been a wreck; crying, not eating, and just refusing to leave her room for anything. And I
know
that she was with
you
yesterday, so don’t try pulling that innocent crap with me, son. You may be able to get girls to fall for your charming smile, but it sure as hell isn’t gonna
work
with me.” She was pointing her finger at me viciously now, stepping closer and closer to me with each word.

I held my hands up, palms outward in defense. Her words about Suranne made a knot twist in my stomach and caused the ache in my chest to only get stronger. I was so close to her, I could
feel
it, but I couldn’t see her.

I had to see her.

“Mrs. Williams I─”

“
MISS!
” She interrupted me, “I’m not bloody
married
!”

Well damn.
My bad
.

“
Miss
Williams,” I corrected, taking on a soft tone, “I honestly didn’t realize Suranne was upset, but I really do need to talk to her. It’s important.”

She opened her mouth to reply when a soft voice carried out from behind her and made my insides swirl with relief.

“It’s OK, Aunt Clacy,” I heard her whisper softly. I still couldn’t see her because her aunt was blocking the goddamn way. “I doubt he’ll be staying anyway.”

I frowned at that. Why the hell wouldn’t I be?

As soon as her aunt moved to the side and revealed Suranne’s face, I nearly fell to my knees as several images flashed in my head.

Me, in my bedroom. It was dark and I could hear the rain tapping against the window. I barely registered the raspy sobs in the background. I knew they were close to me but for some reason I couldn’t see her. I had my head in my hands. And then I felt my voice ring out in the air. Cold and toneless.

“Don’t even touch me.”

Christ.
How could I say that to her?

I winced as I caught my breath and glanced at Suranne’s face. She seemed drained; her eyes were red—she had obviously been crying. Her shoulders were slumped and her hands hung limply by her sides. She was wearing a large, baggy white T-shirt and jeans. Her hair was in a messy ponytail on her shoulder, a few strands sticking to the side of her face.

“Jesus,” I breathed. I still couldn’t deny the uncontrollable pull I had towards her─even if she did look like shit. Her aunt leaned over and whispered in her ear, at which Suranne stiffly nodded, her sunken gray eyes piercing through mine the whole time. Obviously happy with her response, her aunt walked back inside and softly shut the door, but not without giving me an evil glare beforehand.

I took a deep breath and stuffed my hands in my pockets as I gazed at Suranne in remorse.

“Baby . . . I’m
sorry
,” I murmured to her, my insides coiled intensely hoping like hell she understood that yesterday just . . . wasn’t me.

“I know,” she whispered simply, her body still sagging, but her eyes burning brightly at me.

I frowned at her lack of response, but still tried to plead my case.

“Yesterday I . . . just wasn’t myself. I mean
Christ
, I can hardly remember anything.” I mumbled the last part in frustration, mostly to myself.

She chuckled darkly, “Yeah, well, that’s probably due to the ridiculously large amount of
vodka
you consumed,” she replied dryly.

I winced and shook my head, taking a step closer towards her. She didn’t move a muscle. This was not going well.

“No . . . I mean, yeah . . . that didn’t help. But this happens to me every year. I always lose it on April 12th. I always have. I tried to warn you,” I muttered.

Her eyes stayed fixed on mine. She remained immobile, her body hardly moving apart from the infinitesimal movement of her chest with each breath.

“I’m so sorry Suranne, honestly I am . . . Christ, I . . .” I trailed off, really wanting to tell her how I felt about her. The feeling was even stronger within me than it had been before. I was certain that it wasn’t just some misconception on my part.

I saw something close to hope flicker in her eyes, and her shoulders straightened slightly. “You what?” she asked, her voice louder, stronger.

I gazed at her large gray eyes, which were boring into mine, swirling with anticipation. Her eyebrows were raised, waiting for my response.

“I . . .” I started, trying to force the words out.

They wouldn’t come.

I sighed heavily, completely pissed off at my own selfishness and lack of verbal balls, “I’m sorry,” I muttered.

Her whole demeanor changed at my words. Her shoulders slumped again, her eyes losing their hopeful sparkle, becoming blank but still burning into mine.

“It wasn’t me,” I offered again, hoping that was enough to pull her out of her drained state.

“I know,” she whispered, “But this is you . . .”

“Yes,” I replied firmly, closing the distance between us and placing my fingers underneath her chin, pushing it upwards so she was looking up at me. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, before releasing it steadily. When she opened her eyes again they were vulnerable but determined.

“I love you, Kane.”

My mouth fell open at her words, instantly poised to reply. My chest was swimming with warmness; I was elated.

So why couldn’t I just
say
it back
?

The seconds ticked by, her eyes became more and more vulnerable, and less determined with every breath, then they clouded with tears.

“Suranne, I…” I stuttered, my mind screaming at me to just
say it
. My mouth still gaped at her.

She released my grip and took a few steps back, shaking her head sadly. I followed her.

I would
always
follow her.

“I feel the same Suranne . . . honestly, I
do
!” My eyes pleaded with her to believe me, to understand that I was having some screwed up internal battle between my head and my heart, and that, right now, my head was winning.

“
Tell me
,” she cried, her eyes wide and begging. They were reaching out to me, and all I wanted to do was reach back. To tell her I loved her and embrace her. To kiss her and take her up to bed and make her cry out in a good way.

“I
can’t
,” I whimpered pathetically. As much as I wanted to do all that, my brain just wouldn’t
let me
.

I saw Suranne’s eyes flash with rejection, before cooling into a steely hard resolve. She nodded at me, regaining control of her emotions and letting out a slow breath.

“Come find me when you can,” she whispered before turning around and walking back into her house without another word.

I stared at her door numbly for a few minutes, trying to gather what I felt.

Was I angry? She didn’t walk out on me like Kate did. It was more the other way around. She had told me she loved me, begged for me to reciprocate and I just . . . couldn’t.

I turned and slowly made my way back to my car, crawling out of her drive and back towards my own home. The silence in the car wrapped around me and brought me down to a depressed level of melancholy as I replayed her words over and over in my mind.

And yet, my own words also replayed themselves in my head, alongside hers.

I love you, too.

T
his was barely survival. The past weeks had just clung to me, every second, every minute, every hour . . . every day wrapping around me tightly, reminding me how he still hadn’t come back to me. And yet, each day had drifted by, so sickeningly slow, mocking me and the emptiness I felt inside.

It felt like my whole purpose here had just been sucked into a dark abyss of . . .
nothing
. After week one, my eyes were scratchy and sore from the constant tears. My chest screamed out in painful protest from my racking sobs, and yet, after all of that, at every car door I heard outside my window, or shuffling feet, or voice, or the sound of someone knocking at my door, hope would make an appearance, swirling through my chest and lingering in my heart at the chance it might be him.

It never was.

After week two, there were no more tears to shed, no more sobs to heave, no more anger and pain to let bleed through me and seep into the cracks of my room. I had released everything and become a dry, empty carcass that held no emotion, no laughter, no happiness.

No life.

I drifted through my daily routines blankly. I woke up. I showered. I brushed my teeth. I thanked my aunt for the toast she would make me every morning. I grabbed my book bag and went to school. I weaved through the halls of the building as various other students weaved past me. I blurred through my lessons, I ate lunch—at a different table than the one I used to—and then I came home, did my homework and went to bed, only for the cycle to begin once again.

At the beginning of the third week I heard my aunt on the phone, her tone quiet and worried as she spoke about me. To who I wasn’t sure, nor did I really care. I would just stiffly sit on my bed, knees drawn up to my chest, resting my chin on them as I stared at the light purple wall in front of me. Thankfully Kane and I hadn’t taken any pictures. I knew that one glance at his perfectly sculptured jaw and flawless features and I would just drown and wouldn’t resurface.

And I knew his timetable by heart so it was pretty easy to avoid spotting him in the halls between lessons. Apart from Friday.

Every Friday I had no choice.

Because every Friday, we had the same last lesson.

Which was today.

The last two Fridays I’d ducked my head, closing my eyes and praying he didn’t make himself obvious. I could never control the way my heart came to life and beat out of rhythm in my chest whenever he entered the classroom. Regardless of whether my eyes were wide open or smashed shut, I always knew when he was there. My body would just react. I would feel the hair on the back of my neck tingle, my skin would go cold and would get goosebumps, and of course, the telltale sign was my heart.

There was no controlling it when Kane Richards was around.

Of course it didn’t help that the whole class would instantly become silent upon his entrance. Most of the school had become aware that there was no more Kane and Suranne, and so the tension was palpable, as if all of the other twenty-five students in the class were holding their breath, peering at Kane, only to turn around and glance at me, then return back to him. I never knew how he looked, or what his facial reaction was. I never lifted my head nor opened my eyes, but a shudder would pass through me when I felt him walk past to his own desk, his ultra sweet cologne drifting up my nose and becoming a sickening poison that obliterated my insides with every breath.

However, there was one good thing that came out of this.

Lawrence.

Over the past couple of weeks he had been my saviour. At first he’d given me disappointed glances and mutters of “I told you so” under his breath, but that quickly changed into glances of remorse and concern, and outright asking if I was OK. He would escort me to all my lessons as I cowered to the edge of the halls and shuffled blankly to my destinations. He was a distraction from the ache, the numbing, dull pain that consumed me since the day Kane stood outside my house.

A clearing of a throat brought me back to the present, and my eyes focused on the concerned, icy blue eyes of Lawrence as he sat in front of me at the lunch table.

“Ya hear me?” he asked softly before crunching on his crisps which, he had informed me earlier, were addressed as ‘chips’ over here.

I shook my head in apology, “Sorry, what?”

“I said, you gonna be OK last lesson?”

Wincing at his mention of the inevitable lesson with Kane, I quickly nodded, immediately attempting to divert the direction Lawrence wanted to take the conversation. Luckily, I noticed his eyes flash with understanding and he gave me a slight nod before running his hand through his short hair. The motion sparked memories of Kane doing the exact same thing with his sexy crooked grin after I had sneaked him back to my house one day. He was shirtless, with nothing but my sheet wrapped around his waist, hanging low on his hips. I remembered biting my lip as I took in the ridges of his abs, and couldn’t escape the giggle when Kane had caught me ogling and cleared his throat, before leaning forward and kissing me softly on the lips.

I gasped from the pain in my chest and shook the memory from my head. Everything reminded me of him these days.

I just couldn’t escape him.

The bell signalled it was time for last lesson, and I begrudgingly lifted myself from the table, gathering my things and smiling warmly at Lawrence when he gingerly put his arm around my shoulder as he guided me down the hall.

“I’m sorry, Suranne,” he murmured, his voice regretful as we walked towards the classroom.

I frowned. “What for?”

He sighed and shook his head lightly as we stopped outside the classroom door.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough f─”

“No, Lawrence,” I interrupted him. I knew what he was going to say, and hearing him bring himself down like that would just fill me with a fat load of guilt. “Don’t ever think you’re not good enough for someone. If anything, you’re too good for people like me.”

He smiled at me in thanks, his piercing blue eyes twinkling at me as he leant down quickly, giving me a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll give you a lift home—wait for me in the lot, ’kay?” he replied firmly, raising his brows, waiting for my response. My early arguments that I could easily walk home never satisfied him, so I nodded and he grinned, walking off with a small wave of his hand.

I took a calming breath and steeled myself for another excruciating lesson just a few feet from Kane Richards and unable to do anything about it. As I walked in, the classroom held only a couple of other students and they were the silent, unsocial types, with their noses firmly stuck in their books. I breathed a sigh of relief and went to the back to sit at my desk.

As soon as I sat down, another memory flashed in my head from a few weeks ago. Kane sat on the edge of my desk and I stood between his legs with my back to his chest. He had his arms wrapped around me and his chin resting on my shoulder as he spoke to Alex, one of his basketball friends. I couldn’t understand half of the stuff he was saying, so I had just closed my eyes and leaned back into him, smiling as he occasionally pressed his lips softly to my neck, and every time he laughed at something Alex said, he would hold me more tightly against him.

With an angry growl, I fought to hold my tears back as the longing that was screaming underneath my skin urged me to go to him. To feel his arms hold me again, to feel his lips against my skin.

I hadn’t realised how long it had actually taken to get a grip on myself, but when I looked up again, the class was full and the teacher was already half way through his lecture. Without realising what I was doing, my head snapped to the side to where Kane’s desk was, only to find it empty.

Kane wasn’t there.

He rarely missed a lesson, and, although there was a tiny part of me that was silently grateful he wasn’t in this particular lesson, the larger part of me felt disappointed. I couldn’t help but wonder where he was, what he was doing, why he wasn’t here.

Was he sick?

Did he get into a fight?

Was something wrong with his mother, or even worse, his sister?

I stared at the clock for the rest of the lesson, patiently counting down the minutes, and then, finally, the seconds, until the bell rang. I hastily put my books away and grabbed my bag, threw it over my shoulder, and rushed out to the parking lot. I spotted Lawrence leaning against his car, his eyes fixed on the entrance, before he noticed me and smiled widely. I smiled back and made my way over to him, not able to help how every few seconds my eyes would dart to different parts of the parking lot, looking for Kane’s car, or Kane himself.

“Hey, how’d it go?” Lawrence asked me, taking my bag from my shoulder and throwing it in the back seat of his car. I shrugged, once again looking over my shoulder to see if I could notice him.

“He wasn’t there,” I mumbled distractedly.

“Really? Huh, he was in practice this morning, and I could have sworn I saw him at lunch,” Lawrence replied and I snapped my head at him, watching as he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. I saw his eyes slowly drift past me before his whole body stiffened and his eyes widened. I saw a brief flash of panic before his face relaxed into a calm mask and he focused back on me.

“Come on, let’s go . . . get in,” he instructed, opening the passenger door, his eyes flickering behind me every other second.

“What is it?” I asked softly, frowning at his sudden change in behaviour. I went to turn around but his hand clamped down on my shoulder.

“Come on, Suranne, let’s just go, yeah?” he said quickly, his voice taking on a desperate pleading tone. Ignoring him, I shrugged out of his grip and quickly turned around before he could stop me.

I sincerely wished I hadn’t.

A few cars down I saw Kane, his hair in that crazy disarray that I always loved. He was wearing a tight white T-shirt that defined his chest and firm arms perfectly, and some dark jeans. He looked sexy as always, and I instantly felt that pang of longing and desire burning in my veins, but before I could act on it, Kane threw his head back in laughter and shifted his body more towards me, revealing another person beside him.

None other than Kate.

The air left my lungs in a large, painful whoosh as I watched them both. She was smiling warmly up at him, saying something to which he nodded enthusiastically, a crooked grin on his face. I took a moment to drink in the sight of his face—his smile and the relaxed expression he held.

He seemed happy.

Before I knew it, Kane pulled Kate into his arms and gave her a tight hug, murmuring something over her shoulder, and what I saw in his eyes nearly forced the tears over my cheeks and the pain to ignite in my chest tenfold.

It was the look in his eyes I had wanted to see three weeks ago, the look which I had dreamed about countless nights. The look I prayed I would soon be able to witness.

But it wasn’t with me that he got that look.

Because, as he carried on hugging Kate, his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, for the first time ever I saw Kane’s eyes burning.

Burning with pure, warm, unadulterated . . .
Love
.