Kyra Brown is an all-rounder; overly religious, beautiful, calm and smart.
After graduating from a college located in her hometown in Ohio, Canada she relocates to pursue her fashion designing career in New York where she unfortunately has to stay...
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ᥫ᭡C A S T I E Lᥫ᭡
Don't talk to her. Don't look at her. Don't sniff her perfume. Don't you dare smile at her. Don't touch her.
I reminisced over Brad's warning this morning, now she was the one touching me. The clanking of plates, the vibration of the vacuum cleaner and the flushing sounds in the bathroom all contributed to my pounding headache and hell, I think I might have gotten a fever.
I needed a f•cking hospital but I can't risk it, at least not after the attack yesterday I would lay low for a few days but I can't lay low and die low I have to think of something.
I wanted to reach towards the table to grab my vodka bottle but I ended up grabbing her hand instead. I think that's why she's kneeling here, touching my forehead with her palm and examining me repeatedly.
Her touch sent an electric surge down my spine, a pleasurable feeling that I shouldn't be having. I want to wave her off but I choose to lay down and watch her next move for now.
Soon, she's carefully treating the stab in my hand using all the equipment from the first aid kid like a first class surgeon. Brad mentioned his mom being a nurse but nothing much about his sister.
Looking at her now, I clearly understand why he's so protective of her, she's an absolute gorgeousness, like a well crafted ray of the sun, one that is impossible to get tired of seeing. The kind of woman to fully alert the protective defences of man, like seeing her cry or hurt would lead to something synonymous to the world war. She looked nothing like Brad, their only similar feature would be their bright brown eyes.
Sh•t . I was halfway dying and here I was, admiring my best friend's sister.
This was worse than torture and I can't fathom this weird feeling I get when she touches me, something I had never felt before.
It should be painful but I found it enjoyable…I've gotten used to the pain, she stops and places her hand on my neck to check my breathing, I shut my eyes tightly and she sighs before clearing it up and exiting the condo.
When she's out, I don't seem to bother about getting up to grab my bottle of vodka, I just manage to set my eyes on my bandaged arm. I'm pretty sure that the knife was drugged or something that could only explain why I felt this weak and tried to get up or do anything reasonable.
Slowly, my eyelids shut and I drifted into a deep sleep, my eyes opened a few hours later to see her at the kitchen counter, chopping a few vegetables.
I groan loudly, sitting up right and taking the damp towel off my head afterwards. I'm taken aback by the current state of things, the condo looks a bit.. different, different in the sense that she did a good job cleaning it up. It looked like she was preparing for a king's visit or something, none of the b•tches we brought in here never cared about the state of things, they just come to get f•cked even if it's in a dumpster and crawls back to the hoes they came from.
I'm washed by a sting of guilt, she just came back from a long trip and now look at her, cleaning up our mess well, mostly Brad's.
“You’re up,” she points out, turning down the heat of a delightful pot of pasta.
“Yes, thank you for —”
“Oh, it's fine. I got a few drugs by the way, check it out in the top cabinet,”
“Sure, thank you,” I add, trying to hold my d• lips from smiling at her. Her crazily gorgeous smile is chronically contagious. I run my hands through my hair as I head into the bedroom, it's almost six pm and I still haven't taken a proper shower.
I grab the pills,examine my slightly bruised head inflicted by a brick and suddenly remember my vodka. I really need it now to prepare my stomach for dinner.
Finding my way back to the living room, I find her setting the small table.
“Hey,err...did you perhaps know where the vodka and stogies are?”
She pauses with a fork in hand, “You mean cigarettes?”
“Whatever, where are they?”
“I took them out because Brad wouldn't be needing them anymore,”
“Excuse me, you what?!” I hiss and she flinches but I don't give a crap about it.
“I threw them out, okay?”
“Are you f•cking crazy?!”
“Don't swear at me!”
“Those aren't Brad's, they're mine can you not keep your hands to yourself—”
“You don't need any of those, alcohol would only prolong the healing process of your arm,”
“Don’t you dare play the good nerd with me, you know nothing about me why would you touch my things in the first place?!”
“Well, if you don't want me to be all nerdy I bet you know it isn't safe to keep drinking all day like some sort of deadbeat loser! You know, maybe I should've let you die right there then —”
“Yes! You could've just done that, you should've just walked over my dead body if I was dead but you couldn't help but drool over me that you —”
“Excuse me, drool? Over what? You? Please pass me a better trash bag,” She laughs.
I clench my fists tightly, “Look, Keisha —”
“It’s Kyra!”
“I don't care! You don't know sh•t about me so back off and keep your sl•tty ass from my sh•t,”
She's silent, obviously furious and trying her possible best to restrain herself from pouring out her anger in the worst way possible.
When she parts her lips to speak, the door flings open and Brad troops in, “Wow!” he exclaims, shocked by the changes his sister made here.
“F•ck this,” I mutter, stumbling into the bedroom while she storms back into the kitchen, leaving Brad flabbergasted.
I open the closet, pick out a black shirt, black jeans and black thick jacket. I can tell from the fresh clean scent that pipsqueak also did the laundry as well. I slip on a black head warmer over my thick black hair, grab my motorcycle keys and leave the room.
“Hey man, you wanna tell me what happened?” Brad inquires as I graze past him but I give him no reply and exit the building, loudly slamming the door behind me.
“Wanna tell me what the hell just happened?” He asks his sister.
I bet she's going to be all little sissy and cry over his shoulder about what happened, maybe she should've learnt from wherever she hopped from to ask for permission before touching my stuff.
