KYRIE.
Who the f**k says time heals all wounds? Whoever coined that bullshit must've been a nut case. Because tell me why, three goddamn days later, I still wasn't healing from my encounter with Eve.
The need to apologize had been chewing at me, like the gnawing urgency when you've held your piss too long. Crude? Maybe. But that's exactly how it felt — unbearable, pressing, and impossible to ignore.
That's why I was here, parked in front of her school like some creep, eyes glued to the gates, waiting for that moment she walked out.
My left hand strangled the steering wheel. My fingers tapped a manic rhythm against the leather, the beat speeding up with every student who poured out without her.
I flicked a glance at the clock on my dash. Ten minutes past her closing time. My pulse jump
