Page 53 of Kisses

“You made a profit off our misery, our tragedy.” She continues to rub her eyes. This is killing me to see her like this. She yells again, “You made a profit off of my mother.”

Security starts to walk down the aisle. I yell to security, “Wait.”

Then I look down at Lyla and say, “The only profit I made from this book is what I put into it. Besides the cost of producing the book, the majority of the proceeds went to your mother’s foundation.”

She wipes more tears from her face. She weeps, “My mother didn’t have a foundation.”

I kneel down on the stage to come eye to eye with Lyla. I state, “She does now.”

“What are you saying?”

I stand back up and speak, “For those of you who would like to know, the majority of the proceeds of this book goes to the Anastasia Hart Foundation to provide mental health support to survivors of horrific tragedies like Ms. Keaton and many others who survived. If you haven’t purchased the book, I encourage you to do so in remembrance of those that lost their lives to Gregory Maddox that day.”

I look down at Lyla and see she is running down the aisle. I want to follow her in the worst way. I need to find a way to see her. I hope she realizes I did all of this for her.

Lyla

This is just a catastrophe. The tears stream down my cheeks. I cannot believe he did this. I know his intentions were pure. He wanted to honor my mother for me. I wish I didn’t cancel and eliminate all communication with him. All I wanted to do was just move on from him. I just wish I knew what he was planning to do. This is an absolute disaster.

When I get out of the auditorium, I am completely beside myself. I find a bench to sit on. I take several deep breaths. The tears are still flowing down my cheeks. This is another nightmare that I can’t readily leave. I take another sigh.

I look up from my lap and see the doors to the auditorium open. Several individuals come running toward me with their phones looking like they are ready to record. They swarm me. The questions start to roll.

“Ms. Keaton, how do you feel about Sullivan James using your work?”

“Did you know Sullivan James on a personal level?”

“Why did you keep the real story a secret?”

“Ms. Keaton, what did you all see that day?”

“Are you going to sue Sullivan James?”

The questions keep coming. My heart is starting to race. I feel overwhelmed with anxiety. My breathing begins to become labored. If this is what a panic attack feels like, then I am about to explode.

I demand, “Please leave me alone.”

They won’t stop with the questions. It is all becoming a blur.

I scream, “Stop it. I have nothing to say.”

All the reporters are surrounding me, and I have no way to escape. I am trying to stay strong, but the anxiety is taking over my body completely. I just want to get out of this situation. I cup my face and just hope everyone will go away.

A scruffy voice demands, “Everyone move. Leave Ms. Keaton alone. Now.”

I look up to see who it is. It is a tall, dark man with muscles for days. He pushes his way through and grabs me.

He states, “You’re coming with me.”

I don’t fight it. I stand up and he grabs my arm and leads me past all the reporters and down the glass windowed hall. I have no idea where he is taking me. He leads me to a door that says Private.

I am all kinds of confused. He opens the door and there is another big security man there. They nod at each other. Again, confused.

He takes me back to a sitting area with couches, tables with food on them, and a drinks station. I look over at one of the couches and see Sullivan sitting there.

Mutha Fucker.

Once he gets a glance of me, he stands up and walks toward me. He asks, “Are you okay?”