Curing Kyle Magnusson ✓

Three - Devilishly Handsome

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Anna

Staring at Kyle's face, I barely recognize him. There are circles under his green eyes, a pale tinge to his tanned skin, and he seems weaker than I remember seeing him. Dressed in a plain black hoodie and torn, grey jeans, Kyle has the hood pulled low over his forehead, his black hair hidden from my view, a dark shadow falling over his high cheekbones.

Am I dreaming?

Maybe I'm hallucinating and just seeing him here in front of me. Wouldn't be the first time this happened. I clearly remember how much I dreamt of him when we first broke up two years ago. Though 'broke up' is kind of an understatement; he simply stated he didn't want to see me again.

'Get away from me, why don't you? I want nothing to do with you,' had been his exact words, and he hadn't even hesitated in raising his voice in front of those friends of his.

How do you just forget something like that?

Seeing him now, I can almost hear his rejection echoing in my ears. All I had wanted to know was why he had disappeared without a word. He hadn't come to home for days, and then I saw him running after some people whose disposition screamed trouble. And this was his reaction.

"You?" I ask, thanking heavens for my even tone. No way am I letting him know how much his sudden visit has shaken me.

"Hey," he says, moving from one foot to the other and refusing to meet my gaze. "How're you doing?"

Seriously? 

The nerve of him makes me question his sanity. Is he really standing in front of me and asking me how I'm doing? After everything he did, leaving me without an explanation and breaking my heart.

I feel like slapping the shit out of him.

"What do you want?" I question curtly.

"I ... I need a favor," he says, lowering his gaze.

Why does this not surprise me? Every time he thinks of me is when he needs me. It's always been the same way between us, with me cleaning up his mess every time he fucked up.

"No," I reply, attempting to close the door.

"Anna, wait --" He places a hand on my door to prevent me from closing it. "Please, I need --"

"Goodbye." I push harder.

"Please, just hear me out," he pleads.

"No."

"I need your help --"

"The hell!" I exclaim, giving up on my futile attempts to slam the door. I wanted to look cool as I closed the door in his face, but Kyle always ruins my plans.

"I need you. Please, just ... let me in and I'll tell you everything," he begs, his face anxious and panicky.

"Eat a dick," I say through my teeth.

He cannot just come knocking on my door after two years of no contact and expect me to greet him with open arms. What did he think? That I would forget what he did and all that he said, all the dreams we had together and all the plans we had made, and welcome him back into my life like nothing ever changed? We are not five anymore, when we would fight in the evening and still be best friends in the morning. Life changes. People grow up. And I have.

"Anna ..." he breathes, his voice decreasing in volume so that it goes to its husky sound. "Please ... you're the only one who can help me."

"Help you? Why the hell would I even help you?"