Here we go--yet another one. And look, it's upwards of 800 words. Revolutionary! I apologize for the contents of this chapter--but Kyle Hyde's an angst-butt and we all know it. I'm just sorry you have to witness it.
Ooh! And I bet you can't guess who the mystery-man is... :3
Striae, as it turned out, wasn't a hotel. It was a bar.
It was near the Gold Coast, crammed in between two small apartment buildings, one with a pricey-looking hair salon in the basement. On the end of the street was a very old Lutheran church with a gated courtyard; Kyle always wondered why on Earth a house of God would need gates (yet he never cared enough to investigate further). The street was small and quiet, with nice-yet-reasonably priced cars parked all along the tree-lined curbs. The sidewalk on the other side of the road was made of moss-covered bricks, an almost cheerful red path separated from drab, august bungalows by iron fences and narrow lawns of lush green ryegrass. It seemed strange to Kyle that such a peaceful place could be so close to the downtown area—only two blocks away was the busy shopping district on Michigan Avenue.
Striae itself was a four-story building of dark, dull stone, with a homey front stoop that made Kyle suspect it was once somebody's home. And perhaps it still was; perhaps there was a room for him and Mila—otherwise, how exactly did Ed expect him to get a decent look around the place? Kyle worried about having Mila so near while he was working; if things became dangerous, she'd surely get caught in the midst of it.
He looked over at her and groaned. Some very well groomed dogs, all of them leashed and restrained by a rather bemused dog-walker, surrounded her. They sniffed at her, their tails wagging furiously, and some of the larger ones craned their necks up to lick her hands and face, causing her to giggle.
Kyle wondered how he could enjoy being around someone like her—in anyone else all of that sweetness would've been positively diabetic to him. In fact it made him sad; every time he was reminded of her innocence, he smiled and enjoyed it at first, but would always look back on it with a sense of loss on his part. Why did it kill him to see her enjoy life so freely?
"Alright Mila, let's go." Kyle spoke softly and took her hand. She looked up and smiled, and untangled herself from the mass of dogs and leashes. With an apologetic look to the dog-walker, Kyle led Mila back toward Striae, and when he looked at her she seemed apprehensive. He quickly realized that she thought she was in trouble. "Don't worry, you're fine—you didn't do anything wrong. Just make sure you don't talk to strangers like that anymore, okay?"
She nodded, and the cowed look still darkened her big eyes.
"Now come on, Mila—you know better than that. Don't give me that look, you're making me feel like a heel."
"Sorry…"
"It's fine, I…" He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Why was this so hard? Why was everything so difficult nowadays? Why did things get worse, slowly and surely—when he should have been satisfied that morning, when he learned the fate of Bradley and when he gained Mila's friendship? Wasn't that enough? Why did he still stay up late at night, and why was it harder and harder to get out of bed every morning? With each passing day he became more tired—he felt more like a ghost than a man and he was sick of it. For God's sake, what was he missing?
"Kyle?" Mila brought him back from his reverie, and his head was reeling. He snapped to attention and startled her.
"Sorry, I… I'm just tired. I gotta get some rest… Jesus…" He rubbed his eyes and started over. "Mila, what I was trying to tell you is that I want you to be safe. And… and that's why I…" He thought it over for a minute; was leaving her all alone at a hotel—while he was gone for an indeterminate time period—really a good idea? He didn't actually trust anyone else enough to allow them the chance to get to her, and who's to say that she'd stay put and keep the doors locked just because he'd tell her to? Not a chance. "Aw Hell, just forget about it, alright? Stay close—I don't want you getting hurt or kidnapped or whatever, got it?"
Mila nodded quietly and shifted her backpack uncomfortably. Kyle took a step back, and offered another awkward apology.
"Sorry, Mila… I mean, we're in Chicago—it's the murder capital of the country. I'm just a little edgy, I…" I need a drink, that's what, he thought glumly. "This city's filled with freakin' druggies and mobsters—it's worse than New York, so stay close."
"Alright. Sorry…" she demurred and averted her gaze, intimidated by his sudden exasperation and mistaken in who it was aimed toward. Not a hint of arrogance—still too innocent to spurn his protection, however bumbling and ineffectual it might actually be.
Kyle hung his head and sighed again. What was he doing? He didn't know anymore.
Mila stood watching him for a minute, and then took Kyle's hand again. He looked up and smiled tiredly. "Let's go inside, okay?"
"Okay." She returned his smile tenfold, genuine and warm, and squeezed his hand before letting go. They walked up the steps together, and Kyle banged on the big oak door, completely unprepared to meet the man on the other end.