His feet crunched loudly over the cracked gravel leading toward the playground. There was no one else playing on the swings, or hanging from the jungle gym, because, well, for someone to be out in this weather would be insane. No one in their right minds would come to this old playground, especially during the quickly brewing storm.
Which easily explained why she was here, of course, clad in the white dress that hung off her soaked, thin frame pitifully. She never had been normal. He stared at her, smirking. She didn't look up at he took another step towards her, another crunching step that, to him, sounded like gunshots in the silence.
But she couldn't hear it over the pounding rain, which beat down mercilessly on the dull metal of the childrens' playground. She was, insanely, perched on a swing, which was the only shot of vibrant color visible on the old playground. He watched the yellow plastic swing move to and fro gently, her bare feet just slightly brushing the rough rocks coating the ground beneath her. He took in her every move, and noted immediately how she wasn't looking up. Her oceanic eyes were glued to the charcoal-tinted ground, her wild curls hanging in thick tendrils around her face.
"The President of the Drama Hall of Fame called! They wanted to congratulate you on your admittance; how does it feel to have reached a new level of insanity?" Kyle yelled over the sudden roaring clap of thunder that seemed to shake the ground under his feet. Her head snapped up, cobalt eyes meeting chocolate, and for an instant, his vision was foggy. He shook his head, resembling a wet dog, and a small smile graced her lips.
"Funny. What are you doing here?" She shouted back shrilly, and he tried to detect a waver in her tone, but he only heard calm clarity. She beckoned him closer, and his heart stuttered a little as he dropped into the swing next to her.
"I could be asking you the same question! What would possess you to come back to your kindergarten playground during the beginnings of a hurricaine?" He tried to mimic her calm, but with his temper track record, well, he'd never been able to achieve her level of impassivity.
She shrugged, as though this was an every-day thing; perfectly normal. Typical.
"You are aware that your family has been going nuts since you went AWOL this morning? That they have a search party looking for you, and your mothers about three seconds from calling the police? What the hell would cause you to come out here during one of the biggest storms we've seen all year, and sit her calmly on a swingset on your wedding day? Have you lost it?! Is it finally time to admit you to the insane asylum?" His chest was heaving after his rant, and it drove him even crazier that is hadn't even phased her. Her face was turned upward towards the relentlessly pounding rain, as though she was soaking it in...letting it cleanse her. The smile was still on her lips, and she didn't utter a word. She was thouroughly drenched, and was surpressing shivers, and yet, she looked elated.
Lightning crackled through the blackening sky, and angry purple clouds swirled around above them, and yet, Kyle had never seen her more at peace. Of course they'd been looking for her all morning, and even him, who knew her better than anyone else, had taken an hour to find her. It really wasn't that hard once he stopped worrying, cleared his head and thought Where is the most insane place someone could go on a day like this? Ding, ding. A metal playground.
He leapt from the swing, and her eyes followed him. "Krystina!" He roared at her, rolling thunder accompanying his anger. She stood, looking still so inperturbed.
"Hey psycho! It took me an hour to find you! I missed my morning hockey practice, and I'm the Captain for Christ's sake! My coach is gunna make me warm the damn bench next game, cause I was out here, playing Superman, as usual! We need to go! It's pouring, and we're gunna get fricken electrocuted or something! I bet your pretty little hubby wouldn't like that one bit! Your wedding is in one fucking hour. Let's go!" He made a grab for her wrist, but she shook him off.
"Kyle? Do you think God is angry right now?" Her voice sounded hollow and entranced, her eyes trained to the dark sky. His eyes bugged out, and he forced himself to tear his vision away from how the raindrops sparkled on her long lashes, and surpressed the urge to wipe the strand of hair away that was plastered to her soaked cheek.
"Are you mental? Have you gone even crazier than before?!" He screamed at her, truly perplexed, even more so than usual when dealing with her.
She finally looked at him, really looked at him. "Rain on a wedding day. It's in every Greek myth on marriage. It's the worst possible luck. See? Paying attention in class...it pays off." She giggled, stepping towards him. He stared at her, trying to make sense of this.
"I can't do it, Kyle. This is the sign backing up my decision. I'm not marrying Jay today." His jaw went slack, and he didn't even notice as her slender fingers wrapped around his sopping tie. She tugged him closer, and he was suddenly hyper-aware of her. But then again, Kyle was always aware of Krystina. He brushed the hair off her wet cheek, and was suddenly captivated by the soft pink of her lips, and how the were suddenly so close and it was just... agonizing. He drew in a shaky breath.
"Kristina. Would you care to enlighten me as to why your deciding, fifty-five minutes before the big 'I do," that you aren't marrying meat-headed Ken doll?" His eyebrows shot upward, becoming invisible under his shaggy hair, which was plastered by the downpour to his forehead.
"Because...he's a football player." She smiled, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.
He stared blankly at her five foot two frame. At her glinting, twinkling ocean-blue eyes, and long, soaked curls that wound to her mid-back. At the smile that had played at her soft, entrancing lips since he'd found her. And at the way the drenched fabric clung to her every curve, the train of the dress splayed out behind her. His hands, large and calloused, found her waist, his body pressed to hers at once, his wet forehead tilted down against hers to meet her shining eyes, because she was beautiful. And so insane. She drove him up the wall, made him so pull-his-hair out angry. She drove him to screaming angry words at her he'd never utter to anyone else. She made him do things that a guy like him--hockey star, lady slayer, charming, rightly egotistical (although asking her she'd snarl that he was just a pompous, conceited, thinks-he's-amazing-at-a-stupid sport, skirt-chasing, man-whore)-- would never dream of doing. Nice things. She made him try. And she'd drove him wild since the day she'd stalked up to him in their middle school hallway and shrieked at him for a good six and a half minutes for pushing a smaller boy around. After that day, he'd done everything to get her attention. from hair-pulling, to names, to eventually resolving to bitter friendship, he'd always been there, in the wings, picking up the pieces every time she broke down.
"And?" He breathed against her.
"And," She paused, grinning for a tantalizing second. "I always preferred hockey players, myself."