Page 32 of The Death of Kisses

“Why?” I demanded, trying to understand, my fingers aching to hold onto this moment.

He just smiled and tossed me the keys, a gesture so small but filled with unspoken promises and hope.

Then he turned and walked away, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. I watched him go, my heart lighter than it had been in ages, as if every strange, confusing thing Mike did was just another piece I couldn’t begin to understand.

The figure of him disappeared down the road, leaving me frozen in place, a dumbfounded staggered look on my face.

My gaze dropped to the silver glint resting gently in my palms—the keys. My heart swelled with a burst of overwhelming sorrow. They were my keys, the same numbers Lilly had etched onto their surface, a brutal reminder of that night’s pain and chaos.

Slowly, I moved toward the bike, a flicker of fear rising like a shadow behind my chest.

I swung my leg over the seat and settled into it. A sudden flash of lightning tore across the horizon, illuminating everything in stark, jagged light. Instinctively, I gripped the handlebars—tight, desperate—for any hope that this machine could somehow save me from the raging storm inside and out.

The engine came alive with a gentle purr, like a fragile kitten curling happily in its owner's lap, soothing and warm. I yearned for that soft hum—the only comfort that seemed to hold me together when everything else felt insurmountable. My heart pounded wildly in my chest, a turbulent storm of anxiety and fear clawing at my mind. Just go—leave it all behind. That seductive thought echoed in my mind, and a bittersweet laugh escaped my throat. It would be so effortless to walk away, to escape this nightmare. But my body, stubborn and aching, refused to obey. Frozen in place, I killed the engine, and rain poured down in relentless sheets as I pushed the bike into the garage. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if Lee would come back anytime soon, but deep down, I knew—that hope was a foolish one.

I found myself on the front porch long after four, the rain whispering a constant, melancholy tap against the roof overhead. The motorcycle sat silent in the garage, untouched—an unspoken testament to everything I couldn’t say, everything I was afraid to face.

I told myself I was out here for fresh air, told myself I wasn’t hiding from the darkness inside. But that lie was bitter on my tongue, a hollow thing that cut deep. My fingers instinctively slid into the pocket of my hoodie, brushing against the soft leather of my gloves. I pulled them out, their worn edges whispering stories of comfort and familiarity, like an anchor in this unsteady world. I pressed them to my face, inhaling deeply—half expecting to drown in the faded fumes of gas and fleeting freedom. But all I could smell was Anna—pure, real, undeniable.

A sharp ache twisted in my stomach. Leave her alone. The thought was immediate—steady, firm, uncompromising. She didn’t need me. She had friends, a normal life, a future—everything Lilly should have had. I clenched the gloves tighter, as if holding onto that ache would somehow keep me from tearing her apart. Memories flooded my mind—her sleeping peacefully, her smile at the party, the moment she handed me her necklace, the way her eyes lingered after reading those stupid notes in class.

Leave her alone.

I rose to my feet.

Rain continued its steady fall from the porch roof.

The weight of the motorcycle keys pressed heavy in my pocket, grounding me in a thousand conflicting emotions.

Five minutes later, I was halfway across town driven by my own selfish desires.

22

GRADUATION DAY

5 months ago - may 14th - Riven - 17 yr old

Mike's fists slammed with urgency against the door of the medical office, my eyes hopelessly wandering as early morning chaos swirled around us. We had been driving through the dark, relentless hours since nearly midnight, and now, nearly five in the morning, the streets still hummed with life. Even at this unholy hour, people walked briskly without care. Mike’s stubborn fist struck again and again, each blow echoing his frustration, his helplessness boiling over in a roar of rage.

Suddenly, the door swung open to reveal a tall man—dark-haired, piercing green eyes—whose calm voice cut through the tension despite the disarray of his hair. “What?” He was cold and indifferent.

“I’m looking for Dr. Karter Reed,” Mike managed, his voice overflowing with urgency. The man simply shook his head, opening the door wider as if to tell us we should come in.

“Get in, and don’t touch anything,” he commanded, his words firm but contained.

We followed behind the imposing figure through winding corridors, each step heavy with unspoken fears, until we reached a vast, sterile open space. The room was fully stocked—everything needed for any medical emergency seemed to stare back at us. I turned slowly, absorbing the scene, and my gaze landed on a woman seated on a bed. Her eye was bandaged, her arm cradled in a small brace, yet she still radiated an undeniable beauty—dressed in a vibrant green dress, braids cascading down her back with effortless Bohemian grace. I waved her over, and she offered a gentle smile, igniting a flicker of hope amidst the chaos.

“Casey, you may go now,” the tall man said softly. She looked at him, silently understanding, and nodded before leaving. He turned to us, pulling out his phone, checking something briefly, then looked us over with measured eyes. “Let me guess—you're Grayson’s kid?”

“Yeah,” Mike answered shortly, a mixture of hope and dread shadowing his voice.

Then before I could stop myself, the words spilled out impolitely, “Who are you?”

His expression didn’t change. “Dr. Lucas Avery—the doctor who's going to get rid of your problem.” If he felt anything about my situation he hid it better than anyone I’d ever met.

The words hit me hard, like a blow I hadn’t seen coming. My stomach clenched with a mixture of fear and defiance. I watched Mike’s face, noticing a flicker of sadness flash behind Dr. Avery’s eyes when he asked about Uncle Karter. Guilt gnawed at me—was I pushing away hope? Was I already giving up?

“It’s been a while since you talked to your grandparents. If you want to follow that path… get out and go to the hospital,” Dr. Avery said flatly.