Love Lengths

Chapter Four

Kyle

Terrified.

She was utterly, terrified. The look on her face screamed it to him and anyone else who would possibly be watching; her bone white skin, a colour so intense he knew he'd seen it before, where? He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he knew he recognised it as the pure colour of snow freshly fallen on the ground in winter.

Her only visible movement in front of him was the delicate tremble of her hands squished right up tight against her body; the rest of her seemed to focus, focus hard on something - what to do most probably. She stared, wide-eyed, right at him as if she could see through to his soul. He saw how it must look; young girl cowering in an alleyway; heavily pissed guy stumbling home and then all of a sudden, there he was in said alley completely unable to slur let alone speak, holding a knife with said young girl in front of him. Oh and don’t forget bleeding from his knuckles.

‘Good Goddess, someone arrest me now.’ He thought.

Why hadn't she tried to run yet? A small, dim light behind him in the mouth of the alley, shaped like an old-fashioned street lantern from what looked like the early Victorian era, completely artificial of course, glinted off of her strangely coloured eyes; what colour were they? He tried to see, tried to stare at her face until he could acknowledge those odd eyes and put a name to the face that he recognise so distinctly now; the light brightened suddenly from her eyes, as if it were reflecting the lantern's light back out at him after having intensified within her eyes.

Eyes. Windows to the soul.

That was what he saw; he saw straight through her eyes, passed the mind and body and saw directly into her soul: she was a good person, it was like there was magic… but no, it couldn’t be. Impossible. There was no such thing anymore.

Finally, acknowledgement; Kyle knew where he'd seen her: she was 'that girl' - the one they all stared at in school; the one they called weird and made fun of; the one no-one ever really took the time to get to know because she didn't seem to want or need anybody; the one he now knew he could never be without. Was he crazy?

It was only then that he realised he was still holding the damn knife; instantly, he dropped the knife that he’d held loosely in his right hand; he dropped it and heard the loud clatter as it hitting the cold, wet floor beneath me in the silent alleyway; falling to the floor,

all he could see was her kind grey eyes. ‘Goddess open your mouth’ he thought, ‘Explain yourself you lunatic.’ But he couldn’t speak. What was happening?

Sounds of panting travelled around the dark alley, heavy and...Frightened? Pained? At first he thought it was her, panicking about what to do in a situation where she'd probably just felt as though been threatened with a knife; but no. Without conscious knowledge, he’d fallen on all fours on the floor in front of her; panting and breathing heavily, begging her forgiveness and praying internally that he'd be able to make it up to her in some way.

Warm hands fell against the cold skin of his neck. He kept his eyes firmly on the ground, too afraid to look up into her gorgeous, omnipotent eyes; ashamed of himself, he listened to her. She quickly kicked away the knife and bustled around him, kneeling against his right side, hands on his shoulders as if trying to massage the stress and tension out of his body and willing him to speak. How was one touch able to do so much?

Then she spoke, her voice a beautiful bell tone, asking if he were ok; whether she can get him anything or not. Perhaps she is crazy. A small and sweet giggle echoed around them, until she coughed it back and repeated her questions; only he couldn’t bring any words out to answer because he couldn't fathom why such a person would help, and why she seemed to have such a hold over him.

He knew he would never be able to look at another person again, not like he was looking at her; he knew he would never feel anything for anyone again, not like he was feeling for her in that instant. What the hell was going on?

Suddenly, he found his voice.

"S…s…sorry," he stuttered, dragging himself up off of the floor; he stepped a good few feet away from her, knowing he’d probably scare her again with his height; she could only be five foot something, five, five maybe? Her dark hair pulled back loosely into a scruffy ponytail, held in by what appeared to be a clip; that seemed to be her all over: dark and loosely pulled into whatever she wanted to put on. It looked comfy and, refreshing? It seems an odd thing to see; a girl not caring about what people think of her.

"I'm sorry," he said again, a little louder this time, she tilted her head slightly, held it on an angle as if trying to read him like the old book she carried in her hand: the class reject copy of Wuthering Heights that they were reading in English. They were. Goddess, she was in his class?! How had he never seen this girl before? Like really seen her?

"But I," she started quietly, he didn't give her a chance to finish; he turned on his left heel and sprinted away as fast as he could, shouting back another "I'm so sorry," behind him as he ran away, trying to shake the image of her eyes from behind his eyelids.