His Hurricane

Chapter 4- Stiff Breeze

It was the day before that day. I had been abusing my dirty, brown hair all morning, pleading it to do anything other than lay limply on my expressionless face. But that's a lie. I was not quite expressionless, not that day, I was wearing my strongest face, one that told people that I would conquer this day no mater what followed. I had already pulled on a pair of black leggings, trainers and an oversized sweater as well as accepting defeat and opting for an unpleasant ponytail and all that was left was to open the front door. Why it took me nearly ten minutes to even touch the damn thing, I have never figured out but when I did, there was no stopping me. Not for love nor money. I was out that front door and down the stairs to the lobby in seconds. I tore the door open leading to the bustling street outside and my breath caught high in my throat as the fresh, contaminated air stung my nostrils and I almost spluttered that breath straight back out again. 

As strong as I had felt that day, I remember practically running to the shops I had to visit and never staying a minute longer that I absolutely had to. My final stop had been the bank as even in times of great anguish, rent must be paid and bills are always due. I stood in my longest line of the day and strummed my fingers nervously against my thigh. Everyone was staring at me it was so obvious. They all thought I could have done more for Kate. If I hadn't have been such a child she would have been here still, if I had done my job properly, instead of using it as an excuse to get free booze, she would be right by my side, laughing at the bank clerks uneven blusher and yelling at me about her favourite show's latest cliff hanger.

As the blusher lady called forward a man in a sharp suit with stunningly blue eyes, just like Kate's, I froze. My gut propelled itself towards my feet and I felt a cold tear break free and run down my cheek. I had to leave, all I knew was that this was not the time to be standing around in public listening to my own thoughts. I twisted round on my heel and immediately quickened my pace towards the door, back out into London and back on my way home. That was until I slammed my shoulder into the arm of some poor man heading in to the bank, knocking us both off balance. I reached out and grabbed the wall, just catching myself from a nasty, embarrassing fall and turned around in shock.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry I was trying to-" And with that my voice broke and an ugly sob bubbled up from that rock in my throat. I waved him off, crashing passed him once again as he yelled a question after me that I did not care to hear. 

Once I returned home, I cried my eyes bone dry and collapsed into bed once more. I stared up at my wardrobe, the knee-length black dress staring straight back at me. My thoughts teetered close to the funeral, to Kate, to the pain again but I managed to focus on something more mundane. That bank clerk had definitely laughed at me, I would have put money on it. What a bitch. I could have also placed a bet on that startled man going home to his big house with his fake wife and bratty children, telling them all about the tramp who almost knocked him flying whilst he was carrying his briefcase full of business man money. And then again I had found myself sad once more, over the fact that the only way to deter my thoughts from the passing of my best friend was to become unnecessarily angry at juvenile accidents that had occurred on the only day I had left my house. What a bitch. 

That night I wrote my 2 minute goodbye speech to Kate after 3 failed attempts. The fourth time, I nailed it as best I could, turning off my television, computer, mobile and hell, even my radio to ensure I was focused on the hardest letter I would ever sit down and write. As I jammed pen to paper well into the early hours of the next day, not once did I check to see what was going on in the world. Consequently, I also never learnt that my local bank had been robbed of thousands at gunpoint by a man in a blue suit and a blood stained, white balaclava. 

A N- Thank you for the votes and for reading! Riley faces her biggest challenge next chapter. Make sure you vote, comment and add this to your library so you don't miss anything!