Gangs Aren't My Style (A Black Death Novel)

Chapter 63 - Bittersweet Memories

Gangs Aren't My Style

Book I of the Black Death Trilogy

PART FOUR :: Leave The Front Line Behind

Chapter 63 - Bittersweet Memories

Kyle stared at Ally's retreating form in disbelief, pain ripping through his heart. He got that now familiar feeling of dread as he saw her disappear from sight. Would she come back or would she try to run, as she had last time?

Kyle simply couldn't wrap his head around how everything could've changed so much in just five minutes. One moment she'd been fine and in the next she'd snapped, screaming and shaking as tears fell from her distant eyes. He hadn't known what to do when it was obvious that she was staring at him without really seeing; She was traveling back in time and, without her opening up to him, Kyle was powerless to help her.

Kyle closed the door, his whole body numb as he moved to sit back down on his couch, the discarded blanket still laying on the floor where it had fallen and the movie still playing on the TV. He looked around, noticing how, after the three weeks she'd been staying in his room, everything he saw seemed to remind him of her. The kitchen counter where she'd sat and demanded he make her food. The bathroom that she locked herself inside to evade him after she handed him a cup of salt water just to see him spit it out, all to get revenge for when he had made fun of her earlier that day. Kyle couldn't even look at the couch without thinking of her sprawled across it in only a tank top and shorts, complaining of how hot it was in the room.

Growling in frustration, he stomped across the living room and entered the attached office, slamming the door on the bittersweet memories behind him. Kyle gripped the door knob in his fist tightly, resting back against the door and closing his eyes. Collecting himself, he slowly released the cold metal and opened his eyes to survey the room around him. He stiffened when he saw the chair placed against the wall facing his desk. Memories assaulted his vision, snapshots of Ally laughing, her trying to sleep in that very chair, and her pouting in an attempt to get his attention.

Kyle hissed out a breath and moved forward to sit at the desk, trying to push the memories away by doing paperwork. Regardless, he still found himself constantly looking up at the chair. In his mind, Ally was still sitting there, bouncing around restlessly as she continually asked when he would be done, but every time Kyle looked up, all that would greet him was an empty chair.

Kyle dropped a stack of papers to his desk roughly, standing up from his chair and making his way to his bedroom. There was no way he could work like this, his mind wandering to her every other second. Somewhere along the way, she had become his addiction, and he had a good guess that such an occurrence had stemmed from that one, short four-letter "L" word. Because, make no mistake, he did love her and he did not want her to go.

Seeing the bed, with the covers still messed up from that morning, only served to make matters worse. Kyle moved to stare at himself in the mirror, gripping the dresser so tightly his knuckles turned white. All he saw staring back at him were the slumped shoulders and lifeless eyes of a defeated man. Had he misread the signs and kissed her against her will? She'd kissed him back so that had to mean something, right?

Groaning, Kyle leaned forward and released his grip, setting his elbows on the wooden surface. He dropped his head into his hands. He could feel the anger rising within him, but it wasn't so much directed at her but at the fact that she refused to tell anyone about what had happened to her. Why couldn't she just open up for once and let someone help her move on from the past? He could tell from her eyes that it was drowning her, but yet she wouldn't allow anyone to help her; As if she thought she deserved to deal with it on her own.