Hey, Darling.

Mia was the first person to call me stupid. “Put your shit down and stop being ridiculous,” she demanded. “So Kennedy decided to be a dick? Nothing new. At least he finally got the guts to admit that he loves you and that he wants to be something with you. Admit it, Molly: you love him too.”

I just stared at her, but I wasn’t so hasty in shoving my unfolded shirts into the suitcase.

Ten minutes later John was pulling a pair of shorts out of my hands. “You’re being childish,” he accused, narrowing his eyes as I struggled to take the shorts from him. “I think you need to calm down and think this over.”

“I have thought it over!” I objected. “My conclusion was that Kennedy Brock is a buttface and that I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

“You sound like a three-year-old,” John pointed out, and then he moved to start pulling stuff out of my suitcase. “You don’t want this! We all know that you don’t want to leave!”

“How do you know?” I thundered back. “You only talk to me when Mia asks you to or you have something to say about Kennedy. None of you have even bothered to get to know me!”

“That’s because you’re never around!” John shook his head. “You’re either with Kennedy and absorbed in him, or you’re pissed at him and wallowing in your own self pity. Us not knowing you isn’t our fault; you’re too self absorbed to notice that you’re never around.”

I felt winded, the way you feel when someone you want approval from says something unexpected and heartbreaking. I stopped struggling with John and stood there. My mouth was agape with shock.

“That’s- that’s not t-true.” I stuttered out.

“It is and you know it.” John hissed, before composing himself. “You never tried, Molly. You have Kennedy all this shit, but you never tried to fix a thing. You were just looking for reasons to get mad at him.”

“I didn’t do it intentionally,” I said softly, looking down at the ground.

I hadn’t really acted like that, had I? Has I been so self absorbed that I failed to notice anything around me? Was I really only searching for imperfections in Kennedy and I’s “relationship”?

I hadn’t meant to.

Or, I didn’t think I meant to.

I wanted things to work out with Kennedy, I really did, but everything was just so hard.

“It’s not supposed to be this hard,” I said, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside me. John looked calm now, and slightly sympathetic as he watched me get upset. “If it’s really love, it’s not supposed to be this hard.”

“Yes it is,” he protested. “You’re supposed to work your ass of for it, because easy love doesn’t feel as good. You need to try and make things better with it. Kennedy’s not perfect - no guy that you ever meet will be perfect, so I would stop searching for one now. You have a perfectly good guy waiting for you.”

“I know that people aren’t perfect.” I admitted quietly. “I don’t want perfect. I just want…something good. I want someone to care about what they do or how they affect me.”

“Kennedy does,” John said. “He cares so much that he puts up a defense because he’s so afraid of what you’ll think.’

“That’s stupid. I always think that he doesn’t care because he’ll act so cold around me.”

John shook his head. “It’s not like that at all. I think that you should talk to him and get things settled,” he advised.

“What if he doesn’t want to see me anymore?” I squeaked out, the adrenaline that I felt earlier about packing withering down to nothing. I didn’t want to leave anymore.

It was one of those rash decisions that you make out of anger or sadness. It was stupid.

“He will. Trust me.”

“I will.” I looked up at John, and he was smiling at me.

Mia walked from behind the door. “You should go now.”

“Can’t I go tomorrow?” I asked meekly.

Mia looked like she was going to shake her head, but then she thought it over, I guess. She nodded. “Yeah. That’ll give him some time to cool off. First thing tomorrow, though.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”