I rang the doorbell, pushing away the sickness that rolled around in my stomach and the urge to suddenly heave from the nerves that were spiralling within me. I waited for ages, just standing there, my breathing heavy until I heard footsteps and a low, mumbled “I’m coming,” which I knew belonged to Kane. I smiled brightly as I heard him unlock the door before he pulled it open.
My smile disappeared as soon as I laid eyes on him. He was dressed in dark jeans, which hung deliciously low on his hips, and his torso and feet were bare. His hair was a mess, just the way I liked it, but his appearance didn’t make me squirm with want. I didn’t feel a rush of desire stab through me at his half-naked appearance. I frowned looking at him; there was something unusual and distinct about his . . . stance?
He let me in, and I narrowed my eyes at the tall glass in his hand, half filled with a clear liquid. I knew Kane only drank bottled water.
“Jesus, Kane, is that all vodka?” I asked irritably, knowing how he usually despised any form of alcohol and the effects it had. You only had to look at his mother for proof of that, and the fact that he was drinking right now wasn’t a good sign. By the way he was swaying slightly, I guessed it wasn’t his first glass.
He dropped his head to look at the glass and shrugged lazily before shuffling up the stairs without a word. I stared after him nervously, then turned around and closed the door. Taking a deep breath, I shut my eyes and rested my head on the door for a few seconds, and with a groan I pulled myself away and followed Kane up the stairs to his bedroom door, which was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and anxiously stepped in, but scanning his room, I found it empty. I walked further in, stopping at the middle. A loud bang over my shoulder caused me to jump. I swivelled around to find the bedroom door slammed shut and Kane leaning against it. His face cold and calm as he gazed at me blankly.
“Sorry to scare you, baby,” he spoke, his voice calm, and chillingly different.
“Uh . . . I—it’s OK,” I stammered weakly, frowning at him as I tried to place what it was about his appearance and demeanour that had changed.
He laughed bitterly as he raised the glass to his lips and downed it in one gulp. I gaped at him, shocked.
“Umm . . . Kane,” I spoke softly, but his head snapped up in my direction, and his eyes narrowed at me menacingly.
“What?” he hissed, his voice dark, his lips curled up into a sneer as his fingers wrapped around the glass even more tightly, his knuckles protruding against the skin.
I swallowed heavily, unwilling to let my inner fear overtake me. This was a bad day for him. I needed to remember that.
“Maybe you should . . . put the glass down.” I spoke softly, slowly, my eyes gentle as they roamed over his face. Something about his features was different but I couldn’t quite place what.
“Fuck what I should do,” he muttered into the now empty glass, a displeased frown upon his unfamiliar face. I took a cautious step closer toward him and his eyes immediately flickered back to mine.
And then I gasped.
It was his eyes. That’s what was so different about him, the thing I hadn’t been able to put my finger on. They were no longer the light, smooth, swirling chocolate-brown that showed a million emotions.
They were black, but not in lust, or desire.
They were cold. Hard. Distant.
He continued to glare at me, as if I was some enemy about to attack him and he was warning me off. His eyes screamed at me, burned at me, but all the while, they remained empty and unfeeling. They communicated nothing and everything at the same time. This was not Kane. This was someone dark and dangerous; my inner instincts were shrieking at me to be on alert.
“What you doin’ just standin’ there baby? Hmm? I don’t even get a kiss hello anymore?”
His bone-chillingly cold voice sent a shiver down my spine, his words sounded automatic, unnatural. They had a slight mocking edge, as if they were part of some hidden joke. He tilted his head, giving me his signature crooked grin which, if it had really been Kane, would have made me blush, smile shyly, and just want to kiss his face off, but now?
That grin just looked . . . Evil.
I took a deep breath, and stepped closer, watching him closely the whole time. His eyes still had that blank look that screamed at me to back off, but the smirk on his face increased with every step closer I took. My body felt torn, desperately wanting to comfort him and snap him out of this place he was in, and at the same time desperately wanting to run the other way.
I was having an inner battle. Should I let myself be comforted in the feel of his arms around me, or stay put and gently coax him out of his state of detachment?
But my internal questions were futile, because without even realising it, I had moved halfway across the room, as if drawn to him like a magnet without my permission, and even though the look on his face was alarming, I found myself continuing to put one foot in front of the other.
Kane’s black and vacant eyes continued to smoulder at me as I walked over to him, hypnotised by his stare. He must have realised this also, because I could have sworn a ghostly, amused chuckle escape his curled lips, and filled the air with a thick layer of tension.
29. THE FINAL SNAP OF A WITHERED ROPE
Suranne
Just a kiss.
It’s just a kiss.
I’d kissed Kane plenty of times before, so why now did I feel so apprehensive, reluctant?
But if I felt so reluctant, why was I right in front of Kane, letting him wrap his arms stiffly around my waist?
The thudding in my chest was uncontrollable as Kane’s lips moved around mine. He lifted an arm, and threaded his fingers through the back of my hair, pushing my face closer to his whilst he kissed me with abandon. And although I knew this was wrong, the tingling sensation whenever he kissed me was still in full force. But I knew we needed to talk about this. I had to see at least a flicker of compassion or love in Kane’s currently dead, blank eyes.
“No, Kane, I—I—I . . .” I was too breathless to finish my sentence, by this time, his lips were trailing down my neck, and across my throat. The feeling against my skin was amazing, as usual. I shuddered from the tingling of his kisses and tried my best to hold back a moan, but it was too much to bear. I bit my lip but a very quiet moan still escaped. I felt his lips curve up into a smile against my skin, and he breathed a sinister laugh.
“It’s OK, Suranne,” he murmured against my skin, his voice monotone, lifeless. “Just let your body go with it. Every girl I have caves in the end.”
Mmm. Wait, what?I pushed away from his grip and narrowed my eyes at him.
“What did you just say?” I hissed, glaring fiercely at him as a stab of anger and hurt pierced me.
“Well come on, babe, we both know I’m irresistible, you might as well stop fighting it,” he chuckled darkly, his face holding no emotion whatsoever.
I stared at him in shock, my jaw agape. Never had he talked about me as if I was one of his general ‘girls’. Ever.
“You drunken pig!” I retorted, clenching my teeth in anger and to get a grip on my emotions.
“Mmm, you know you sound so hot when you’re angry. Call me that again.”
He smirked, leaning his head back against the door, his startlingly black eyes glaring down at me. I took a deep breath and walked closer to him, ignoring the silent shrieking in his eyes warning me to stay back.
“Kane, we need to talk, you know that. Please, you’re not acting yourself right now,” I pleaded, trapping his head in my hands firmly, forcing him to look at me, but his eyes were glassy.
He wasn’t Kane right now, but it wasn’t until then that I realised just how far away the real Kane, my Kane, actually was. I let go of his face and went to move past him, wanting to go downstairs and get a glass of water. A nervous sweat was building up at the nape of my neck and my heart was hammering wildly. I finally understood why I had felt so uneasy on my way here. It was a silent warning that Kane would be like this. I frowned,
wondering about his mother’s and sister’s whereabouts.
As I curled my hand around the brass door handle and pulled it open slightly, Kane’s arm shot out, slamming the door closed loudly and I yelped in surprise.
“Where you goin’, baby?” He sneered, his brown eyes still black and burning with a foreign, sinister shine as he gazed unseeingly at me. He ran the back of his hand down my cheek and I shivered from his touch, almost recoiling from the dark persona he had become.
“I . . . I think I would like some water,” I whispered inaudibly, swallowing heavily and far too afraid to meet his gaze. My chest ached for him, the real him, and I could feel a lump in my throat burning beneath my skin.
He hummed, and pushed himself up against me, ducking his head so that his lips were close to my ear.
“I think I would like my father back. But that’s not gonna happen, is it?” He spoke sharply, his voice like shining, deadly shards of glass that cut through my heart and left me bleeding for him. My chest was heaving, and I was biting my lip trying to keep the frightened tears at bay, but still he continued.
“I think I’d like to be able to go to bed, and for once . . . just once, not have the memories of his death replay through my mind again and again.” His voice rose as he spoke, and his tone grew even harsher with every heart-wrenching syllable.
He pulled away and took a few steps back, the anger and unrecognisable pain that blazed in his onyx eyes took my breath away. My stomach tightened in turmoil and I could feel my body shaking under his intense stare.
“I fucking think,” he spat at me, one of his fists clenched uncomfortably whilst his other was still tightly wrapped around the empty glass, “that I should be able to feel like I done my father proud, but then!” he growled, his eyes no longer focused, staring through me, “I realise I can’t. Because every time I come home, I have to see how my mother became a careless, depressed, comatose drunk!”
I let a sob escape my chest and flinched as he raised his hand that was wrapped around the glass and with undeniable force, slammed it into the wall. The piercing sound of the glass shattering, breaking into tiny pieces, undid me and I fell to the floor, crying and shaking as the fissured pieces of crystal stared back at me from the floor, representing my resolve at that point.
A large thud registered in my ears and I weakly lifted my head, making out Kane’s slumped body next to his bed through my hazy tears. He had his knees up, his arms resting on them as his hands held his head. “I . . . fucking . . . think,” he murmured weakly, his voice breaking and sending the final spear through my chest, as if I could feel his pain. His shaking form proved to me that he was crying, each sob echoing through the room like a wounded animal begging for assistance. His cries got louder, alternating between sounds of sorrow and pain, to growls of anger and frustration as he combed his fingers through his hair furiously.
On shaky knees, I slowly crawled over to him, my remorseful sniffles mingling with his aggrieved sobs. I took a deep breath once I was a few inches away from him, and lifted my hand to place on his knees.
“Don’t.” His command was low, cold, and lifeless.
“Kane, I . . .” I trailed off, lost for words and feeling utterly helpless. I didn’t know what to do or say that could possibly bring him back. He was too far gone.
“Don’t even touch me,” he whispered into his hands, his voice one hundred percent monotone and emotionless, which only worried me even more. At least before, I’d been able to hear the irritation in his tone, feel the anger behind his words. But now there was . . . nothing. Nothing but lifeless verbs and nouns laced with limp connectors.
It had begun to rain outside; the view from the windows folded into a dark, grey, slithering wet blur as the continuous beating of the rain thudded against the glass, showering the room in a noise of misty hums.
The room became a dull shadow, and I could faintly make out the curve of Kane’s jaw and the outline of his unruly dark hair peeking out through his long, toned fingers. I racked my brain for something to say, thinking back to all the times I had helped him before. How I didn’t have to think about what to say then, but just came out with whatever was on my mind. I thought about these past few weeks. The sweet, flirty kisses to the full on, passion-filled ones. The light, innocent brushes of his hands, to the meaningful gropes of his slender fingers, each touch sending a surge of desire rushing through my veins.
I thought of his smile, and how just the mere sight of it ignited a warmth in my chest. I thought of the chocolate brown of his eyes, and the endless number of expressions I could distinguish from his stare.
And as these memories filled my mind, they took over my soul. I felt them spread through my limbs, slowly trickling through my veins and filling me up with such an intense emotion that I gasped loudly and formed the only words that were willing to be said. And so I smiled, a large, victorious smile, because I knew these words would do the job. I knew that I could fix him again.
“Kane,” I breathed, “I love you.”
The words slipped from my lips and swirled into the thick air, wrapping around his body and trying to sink into every pore of his skin and consume him like they did me.
I was still smiling as I waited for a change in his position; a sign of his healing, or even a reply so that I could exhale the large breath which I had been holding.
But nothing happened.
The room grew impossibly darker as his silence overtook my words and crushed them, stamping them into the ground as if they never existed. Dread coursed through me, and a silent, lone tear escaped my cheek as a fierce pain spread, making it impossible to even breathe.
“Please Kane . . .” I choked, now reversing the roles and pleading with him to save me instead.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t love me.
And from the still, statue-like form of his position, he showed no sign that he ever would.
The rain was just a light drizzle now as I picked myself up, my body feeling heavy and weak.
He still didn’t move when I reached for his bedroom door. Or when I turned the handle.
He remained still when I stepped through the door and turned back to him, standing in his hallway looking in. I slowly shut the door, closing away the image of his marble folded body; my mind flickered to the wrecked glass on the floor, but as I thought about it, the image transformed, until they were no longer pieces of crystal.
But shattered and beaten pieces of a red, fleshy organ no longer situated in the confines of my broken and ruptured chest.
30. PAINFUL ULTIMATUM
Kane
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 bleedin
g 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.
Kane Richards Must Die Page 14
