Kane Richards Must Die Read Online Free PDF Page B

to be chucked the next day.
    Cause I would chuck her the next day.
    Wouldn’t I?
    Yes. She would be boring.
    Would she? Given the chance, could I have talked to her for hours?
    Damn.
    By 10 p.m. I was certain that she was just in a mood and that her sexy-ass body was suffering from unavoidable PMS girly shit. That would have to be the reason why she would storm off on me. No chick ever storms off on me. I mean,
Jesus
I’m too good to look at for that shit.
    But then I remembered the expression on her face before she had left. The slight shimmering of her gray eyes.
    But I’d seen girls cry before. Usually when I told them to remove their skanky hands from my shirt, or my hair, or wherever they felt the need to grope me the day after. But it wasn’t . . . painful for me to watch them cry. I would merely shrug and move on, telling them to do the same. I mean keeping me to one girl would just be selfish, right? I was taught to share. I was doing a good deed.
    Share . . . Suddenly the thought of me having to share Suranne with anyone made my fists clench and my teeth snap.
    Even though she wasn’t mine to begin with. But I could change that.
    Couldn’t I?
    I’d never felt this shit before. Images of hugging her and running my fingers through that sexy hair of hers and listening to her sexy voice filled my head. And I liked it.
    What was wrong with me?
    By 11 p.m. I was procrastinating sleep. I knew that if I closed my eyes she would be there. Not that it made much of a difference. She was in my head already, eyes open or closed. But I didn’t want to hand myself over to my dreams. Those too real dreams where I would be with her, and she would be smiling and her hair would be flowing and her smell would be all around me. Only to wake up to an empty room knowing that wasn’t the case.
    I’m not that masochistic.
    Shit.
    By 1 a.m. I was done with all my delusional theories on what her problem was and was constantly asking myself why I even cared. She was no one. Just some girl. Who had sexy lips, and nice eyes, and a perky chest, and a firm ass that swayed when she walked and I could just imagine running my fingers down her waist and . . .
    Shit.
    I stared unseeingly at the moving objects on the TV screen. Nothing made sense, and I had no idea what I was watching. I glanced at my cell to check the time.
    1:30 a.m.
    I wondered what she was doing, whether she was up and restless because of me, like I was because of her. Would she be sleeping soundly and having dreams that didn’t make her ache for them to be real when she woke up?
    I looked over at the east wall of my room and stared at the object in the corner. It had been weeks, months even. For some reason I had lost the desire to walk over there and lose myself. But now it was calling to me. It sat silently against the dark corner, beckoning me to its sleek, smooth structure.
    I pulled myself off my bed and padded across the room, not caring about the time, or the fact that my family was sleeping. I did the one thing that I had been refusing to do for too long.
    At 1:35 a.m. I pulled out the padded black leather bench, pushed back the smooth wooden lid, and drowned myself in the ivory keys of my piano.
    I let the melody run through my mind and pour out through my fingers onto the keys. Giving it a test run, I changed chords and added a random melody. I thought about how much I had this urge to be with her, see her smile, see her laugh, see her eyes close peacefully like she did when she was on the bench alone. Before I showed up and ruined it all.
    I changed the tone of the melody as I thought about how she laughed and smiled when she was in school.
    I
wanted to be the reason she smiled.
I
wanted to be the reason she laughed. Dammit,
I
wanted to be the reason she was peaceful. Instead I made her angry.
    I brought the melody to an end, shifting it to a lower, melancholy key, and slumped on the bench. The urge. The
ache
to be with her was pulsing strongly and I didn’t