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

Chapter 66 - Blood on Her Hands

Gangs Aren't My Style

Book I of the Black Death Trilogy

PART FOUR :: Leave The Front Line Behind

Chapter 66 - Blood On Her Hands

Ally heard the bustling of people outside her door, their footsteps moving all in the same direction, but she couldn't be bothered to check. Ever since she had talked to Kyle, her body had shut down. Even the English language had failed her.

Instead of getting up to check what all the fuss was about, Ally sat on her bed, staring at the thick, quilted blanket beneath her, trying to remember what the name of it was. Sighing in frustration, she ran her hand over the small seams that crisscrossed it. She noticed the intricate pattern of white splatters moving up the navy blue fabric, getting more spread out and less numerous as you got closer to the top. She racked her brain for an answer, feeling it on the tip of her tongue but unable to remember the one word that described it. Dropping her hand onto the bed in defeat, she leaned back against the pillows. When had her life become so depressing?

Even as she asked it, the little voice in the back of her mind whispered, 'The same moment you pushed Kyle away and locked yourself in your room.'

Growling in frustration, Ally resorted back to her previous quandary to keep her mind from wandering to taboo subjects. It's a blanket... a quilted blanket. Does it start with a... C?

"Ugh, forget it," she muttered, glancing around her room and beginning to name everything she saw just to convince herself she wasn't going illiterate. "Wall. Door. Ceiling. Carpet. Sink. F... um... crap." This was it, she was definitely losing it. She couldn't even remember what the silver part of a sink was called; the part with the knobs you turned to get water.

Dragging one of her pillows out from behind her, Ally placed it over her head with her arms on top, holding it in place as she tried to block everything out. Groaning and turning to her side, Ally carelessly let the pillow fall back to the bed. Closing her eyes, she attempted to embrace the heavenly blackness that was the back of her eyelids.

As a moving picture of Kyle and her out on a date at the beach flashed past her eyes, Ally sat up quickly, her eyelids flying open. That was the day he'd asked her to be his girlfriend, lifting her up into his arms and throwing her out into the water once she had said yes.

Realizing tears were beginning to gather in the corners of her eyes, Ally quickly wiped them away before they could fall. She knew that she was only torturing herself but ever since she'd confronted Kyle, the only thing she thought about during the day was him. Sure, at night when exhaustion drew her under, she had her usual nightmares, but every time she was awake, that particular time of her life never crossed her mind. She would like to say it was a relief but honestly, getting the one thing she knew she could never have thrown in her face, day after day, was worse.

Her heart leapt uncontrollably in her chest when her door flew open, slamming into the wall. Her eyes snapped instantly to the frantic person entering her room, their breathing heavy as if they'd been running.

"Damon," she asked confused, her back stiffening in response to the panic evident on his face, "what's going on?"

"It's James. He was ambushed and no one knows how bad his condition is until the doctors have looked at him," he announced, his words quick and distressed.

"Where is he?" Ally demanded, jumping off her bed as the panic took over her entire system. At that moment, her only thoughts were for the last person she had left to call family. As much as she hated him and his gang, Ally knew she could never survive without her brother; her flesh and blood.