Let's Get One Thing Straight,

My phone was vibrating off the hook, the phone calls pouring in. I sat staring at my wall, still only one picture hung. The picture of me & John, the one when we were nothing but best friends.

I sat cross legged on my floor, pictures spread around me in every which direction. Tears drying on my cheeks, and Kennedy's high school PE shirt hanging on my body. The smell was long gone, but the warmth still stitched itself through the seams.

My door opened softly, the shoes were awfully familiar as I made eye contact with John.
"What is going on?" He pushed a few pictures around with the tip of his sneaker.
"Nothing." I stared at him still as he bent down and kissed my forehead.
"You've been crying?" He rubbed his fingers together, as my tears dissolved.
"Yeah," I nodded and reviewed the photos in my hands.
"Macy, are you gonna explain to me why I am here?"
"I didn't ask you to come. I don't want to explain it."
"Mace, does that say Brock, K on the front?" He questioned.
"I don't know does it?" I said sarcastically.
"What's this all about? Are you mad at me?"
"No. I love you, and I always will-"
"But you'll always love him more," He finished my thought.
"John,"
"You're going back to him aren't you?"
"I'm in a relationship with you,"
"Not anymore," He stood up and looked at me, disgusted.

I didn't argue, I didn't question. This was what I searching for, an easy way out. He looked at me his eyes soft, and a smile twinging on his lips.
"Good luck," He whispered as if he knew what was going to happen next.

The door shut quietly, and his footsteps cascaded down the staircase. I stood up and walked downstairs, my dad staring at me awkwardly.
"Did he make you cry Punkin?"
"No Dad," I touched the picture on the fireplace. Brown eyes.
"Again with Brock?"
"I don't think so," I closed my eyes.
"You're not leaving are you?" He questioned.

I looked at him, his face showing a bit of worry. I knew he was catching on.
"Don't leave Punkin. Don't let these boys make you leave. Brock was good for you, he loved you, he helped you."
"It's really difficult," I looked at the front door, where the brown eyes were standing looking at me.
"Dad-"

"Don't Mace, he's here to talk to you. He loves you." My father's eyes were so full of fear, so full of understanding. He stood up and grabbed his keys walking out the front door.

Kennedy walked toward me, his face full of something unfamiliar. His fingers grazed my face, his fingertips cold as ice. I closed my eyes as he tucked a few pieces of hair behind my ear. His lips touched my forehead, right over John's previous kiss. He looked at me, and smiled softly.
"You still have this?" He tugged gently on his old shirt.
"Yeah," I whispered and pulled his arms around my body.
"Again," He questioned softly.
"I hate you, you know that," I whispered.
"Good." He stroked my hair.

We sat on the couch all day, not saying any words. His fingers made their way through my hair constantly, and my eyes never left the stubble on his chin. I kissed his fingers before my eyelids could no longer stay open.