Kane Richards Must Die (19 page)

T
hey wouldn’t stop.

The tears just wouldn’t stop.

My cries had—the painful, aching sobs that had cracked through my ribs and bubbled through my lips like a wounded animal begging to be relieved of its pain.

But the tears still fell. Sliding down the wet trail of my cheek, and dropping onto my jeans. Each drop taking away a memory, a kiss, a smile, an
I love you
.

My body was detoxing, reluctantly preparing itself for the empty, gaping hole inside of me that had been filled by him.

My heart was lying helpless and shattered; its sharp edges jabbed wildly against flesh and bone and sinew.

I lifted the tiny window shade of the plane, knowing that there were only a few feet, some doors, and a counter keeping me from Kane. From the person who completed me.

And there was nothing I could do about it. I had stopped myself from talking to him until I was at the airport, hoping it would make things easier. But it didn’t.

The tears continued to fall.

They fell through the whispering bustle as other passengers found their seats and played with the various accessories in random pocket holes.

They fell as an elderly couple glanced at me with worried expressions, then smiled warmly before finding their seats and returning to the bubble of their own lives.

They fell as a slim air hostess crouched down and softly asked me if I was OK, her forehead creased and concerned.

My head nodded.

My heart didn’t.

My eyes stayed fixed on where I had just come from. Wishing, praying, begging 
someone
that I could just jump up and leave the plane, run into Kane’s arms like in one of those films whilst he whirled me around in a tight circle so everything could just go back to being fine.

My limbs felt heavy, too heavy to raise a hand and wipe away the constant moisture on my cheeks. Too heavy to listen to the generic chatter around me. Too heavy to turn my head and comment on the conversation that was happening in the aisle, about how exciting London was going to be.

They would be disappointed.

Or maybe they wouldn’t. Whatever.

Maybe it would be everything they ever dreamed of. They would indulge in all of the touristy activities, riding on a roofless bus around town whilst some fat cockney man talked about the various buildings and statues. They would snap pictures and hoot when Big Ben chimed on the hour, every hour, and take videos of the event.

They would try out the national dish upon arrival, humming and nodding, or grimacing and spitting it out.

Whatever they did, it would be an experience. One they would cherish and remember throughout their lives.

For me?

It would be a reminder of everything I had lost.

And everything that I would never gain again.

I sat there, thinking about everything, forcing myself to remember every detail, picking it apart and studying it closely. I didn’t want to ever forget.

I thought about the first time I had ever laid eyes on Kane. How the whole class had fallen silent upon his entrance, how I was transfixed with his good looks. The way every girl greeted him as he stalked closer and closer to my desk, a man on a mission.

I felt my lips tug up into a tiny, sad smile as I thought about our first conversation. His condescending, cocky attitude, his soft voice as he spoke about how he was ‘The best’, and how I had basically insulted what he had in his pants.

Of course, now I knew my statement then was completely innacurate.

I thought back to how I had summed up his psychological problems about his commitment to women during lunch. A laugh escaped me at how much I had actually despised him back then. Hated how he was impossibly gorgeous and yet so frustratingly cocky and irritating.

And yet through all that, I had managed to fall deeply and completely in love with him. The smile still held its place on my lips as I dissected every single memory, reminding myself over and over of what we had.

The tears still fell, tainting the edges of each thought and reminding me of what was lost.

Our first kiss, at two in the morning outside my house.

I smiled when I thought of the morning after, and how he had sauntered down the hallway with his arm over that other girl. I couldn’t regret it. If he had never done that, I probably never would’ve found out about the tragic loss of his father. Remembering that caused me to think about how my being on a plane—the very same machine that had caused Kane such loss—would possibly be affecting him even worse.

A watery laugh bubbled through my lips as I thought about our semi-picnic in the park. Our argument about Beethoven and the meanings underlying the piece.

That brought about the memory of the first time he played the piano for me. The burning emotion in his eyes afterwards, and how it led to such a passionate afternoon, giving me feelings I never even knew were possible.

Did I know that I loved him then?

I had definitely felt something.

I forced myself to think about the darker times. My feelings of doubt when I found about his history with Kate. The guilt when I had decided to leave with her instead of him.

That dark night, the anniversary of his father’s death. The unfamiliar look in his eyes that had instilled such fear within me. Yet I had stayed until my declaration of love for him wasn’t returned.

That thought only spurred me to remember when it finally was returned. How the setting had been so perfect, the song, the history of the building, and the feel of his warm arms around my waist as we swayed to the music.

And of course, the tie.

I had to laugh at his common use of expletives, remembering how he would randomly swear about such inconsequential things. I remembered how I used to tease him about his short temper and impatience with inanimate objects. How he would shrug, as if it was just the way things were.

A wistful sigh escaped my chest as I finally lifted my hand; wiping at the tears as the flight attendant announced our depature.

I felt the gentle vibration of the plane moving; there was no going back. The runway passed by outside the window, the airport separating itself from me with every second.

I couldn’t see the end of the runway, but I could feel it disappearing behind us, every inch of the grey tarmac tearing away at me, removing itself from my presence and everything that I had achieved here. And then we were airborne; the final string connecting me to this country, to the grass and the road and the school, was cut loose as soon as the wheels folded beneath the large machine and it relied on its wings and engines to lift itself into the air, mingling with the dark clouds and sky.

I whispered a final goodbye as I saw the runway become smaller, the airport decrease in size, removing itself further from my grasp. A final goodbye to my aunt, to my home for the last three months, to the school, to Kate, to Lawrence . . .

The tears made a silent appearance once again.

Closing my eyes, I rested my head back against the seat and whispered a final goodbye to Kane Richards—and the love I would probably never see again . . .