Status: one and only.
Second Best
the only.
I had never wanted this. I had wanted him, sure. But not the extra baggage that came with him. He was broken, defeated by another girl I couldn't and wouldn't ever compare to. I was his second-best, the one after. And I knew it.
Kennedy could pretend he was okay to everyone else, but never me. Whether he was truly into me at one stage, I'll never know. I would assume so, at least, he might have thought he was enough to start this whole mess. Enough to ask me to dinner, enough to ask me to watch his band play, enough to want me around, however short that period was. I was glad he had at least wanted me, even if it was for a split second. I had always admired him, never admitting my feelings but at least acting keen enough on him to catch his attention.
I was the cover-up, the rebound, the one you use to fix all your problems. I was the sex that was mediocre because it wasn't her. I was the kiss that was passionless and unfeeling. I was the relationship he had faked for seven months now. I was past the broken heart stage. I was past the depression because of it. I was angry now. I felt something in me snap, something horrible. He came home from being wherever he was, and I marched down the hallway to meet him at the front door.
It wasn't just that he stretched an uncomfortable smile on his face once he saw me. It wasn't that he pretended like I was the one he wanted. It was the way he walked, really. Just so... I can't even describe it the way it looks. The most accurate description would be like a shell. He walked towards me with no life, no spring in his step. It was almost like he had to drag himself to me. Drag is such an ugly word, now that I think about it. It's onomatapaeia, you know. Where the word sounds exactly like the action or sound you're trying to describe. And I could hear Kennedy dragging himself down the hallway towards me, like his feet are made of cement.
And I hate myself for this part here. I can see the pain he feels and I can feel the anger in my blood, but when it comes time for me to actually call him out on the pretense that is us, all that comes out of my mouth is, "Hey, have a good day?" Another of those faked, stretched, uncomfortable smiles makes its way onto his face and I find myself doing the same. This is all we are, fake smiles and fake feelings.
He envelopes me into a hug, not one of love though. It says, "I'm glad I have someone to hold... it's just a shame you aren't her." He knows it, I know it. It's the most affection I will get tonight, unless he forces out a kiss for me sometime later. He shrugs, "It wasn't too bad. Happy I'm home with you now though," he says without any love in his eyes. "Eric says hello, and that he wants to take you to dinner for your birthday as a present, so call him when you're free."
My brother is a wonderful man, but how he has not punched Kennedy in the face yet, I have no idea. It wasn't that hard to see that I was never going to be the one for Kennedy. We were destined to fail, both horribly and epicly. I was going to be that girl that people would talk about; the one where the story spreads. The one where people whisper. I'm sure they already did. "Oh, good. I'll ring him later tonight, then." I said placidly. Placid is the only way I know. If I had known any other way to be, I'd be screaming on the outside like I am on the inside. I can't bring myself to say anything about the feelings that don't exist and the fact that I'm second best.
I turn and walk back to the kitchen. It's colder at this end of the house, and Kennedy walks to the bedroom we share most nights when he's not travelling the country. I don't feel like cooking, so I walk the thirteen steps from the kitchen to where Kennedy is getting changed. I walk in at the precise moment when he has his shirt off. In any normal relationship, I would be over there, running my hands down his skin. He'd have pulled me closer to him in the hope of loving, passionate, sexual moments. It used to hurt that he didn't, but it doesn't anymore. "I'm thinking of ordering Thai for dinner, if you want?" I suggest. He won't object, he doesn't have it in him to object.
"Sounds good," he nods. No more words are exchanged as I return to the kitchen to find the number. No more words are exchanged until the food comes. And even then, it's very few. This is how we are, nothing to say and nothing to feel. I'm too spineless to mention to him that I know this is a facade. It pains me to watch him go through this because he feels he has to. It pains me more that I'm giving up my chance at finding someone that truly loves me like Kennedy never will. And it makes me angry, mad, furious... every synonym for the word under the sun. We eat in silence, we spend the night in silence. We share a quick kiss before bed, and then we lay in silence, both of us awake and uncomfortable. His mind is more than likely clouded with thoughts of her, while mine is clouded with thoughts of him. We would never be what they were, we were destined to be this uncomfortable favour to each other.
I had never wanted this. I had wanted him, sure. But not the extra baggage that came with him. He was broken, defeated by another girl I couldn't and wouldn't ever compare to. I was his second-best, the one after. And I knew it.
Kennedy could pretend he was okay to everyone else, but never me. Whether he was truly into me at one stage, I'll never know. I would assume so, at least, he might have thought he was enough to start this whole mess. Enough to ask me to dinner, enough to ask me to watch his band play, enough to want me around, however short that period was. I was glad he had at least wanted me, even if it was for a split second. I had always admired him, never admitting my feelings but at least acting keen enough on him to catch his attention.
I was the cover-up, the rebound, the one you use to fix all your problems. I was the sex that was mediocre because it wasn't her. I was the kiss that was passionless and unfeeling. I was the relationship he had faked for seven months now. I was past the broken heart stage. I was past the depression because of it. I was angry now. I felt something in me snap, something horrible. He came home from being wherever he was, and I marched down the hallway to meet him at the front door.
It wasn't just that he stretched an uncomfortable smile on his face once he saw me. It wasn't that he pretended like I was the one he wanted. It was the way he walked, really. Just so... I can't even describe it the way it looks. The most accurate description would be like a shell. He walked towards me with no life, no spring in his step. It was almost like he had to drag himself to me. Drag is such an ugly word, now that I think about it. It's onomatapaeia, you know. Where the word sounds exactly like the action or sound you're trying to describe. And I could hear Kennedy dragging himself down the hallway towards me, like his feet are made of cement.
And I hate myself for this part here. I can see the pain he feels and I can feel the anger in my blood, but when it comes time for me to actually call him out on the pretense that is us, all that comes out of my mouth is, "Hey, have a good day?" Another of those faked, stretched, uncomfortable smiles makes its way onto his face and I find myself doing the same. This is all we are, fake smiles and fake feelings.
He envelopes me into a hug, not one of love though. It says, "I'm glad I have someone to hold... it's just a shame you aren't her." He knows it, I know it. It's the most affection I will get tonight, unless he forces out a kiss for me sometime later. He shrugs, "It wasn't too bad. Happy I'm home with you now though," he says without any love in his eyes. "Eric says hello, and that he wants to take you to dinner for your birthday as a present, so call him when you're free."
My brother is a wonderful man, but how he has not punched Kennedy in the face yet, I have no idea. It wasn't that hard to see that I was never going to be the one for Kennedy. We were destined to fail, both horribly and epicly. I was going to be that girl that people would talk about; the one where the story spreads. The one where people whisper. I'm sure they already did. "Oh, good. I'll ring him later tonight, then." I said placidly. Placid is the only way I know. If I had known any other way to be, I'd be screaming on the outside like I am on the inside. I can't bring myself to say anything about the feelings that don't exist and the fact that I'm second best.
I turn and walk back to the kitchen. It's colder at this end of the house, and Kennedy walks to the bedroom we share most nights when he's not travelling the country. I don't feel like cooking, so I walk the thirteen steps from the kitchen to where Kennedy is getting changed. I walk in at the precise moment when he has his shirt off. In any normal relationship, I would be over there, running my hands down his skin. He'd have pulled me closer to him in the hope of loving, passionate, sexual moments. It used to hurt that he didn't, but it doesn't anymore. "I'm thinking of ordering Thai for dinner, if you want?" I suggest. He won't object, he doesn't have it in him to object.
"Sounds good," he nods. No more words are exchanged as I return to the kitchen to find the number. No more words are exchanged until the food comes. And even then, it's very few. This is how we are, nothing to say and nothing to feel. I'm too spineless to mention to him that I know this is a facade. It pains me to watch him go through this because he feels he has to. It pains me more that I'm giving up my chance at finding someone that truly loves me like Kennedy never will. And it makes me angry, mad, furious... every synonym for the word under the sun. We eat in silence, we spend the night in silence. We share a quick kiss before bed, and then we lay in silence, both of us awake and uncomfortable. His mind is more than likely clouded with thoughts of her, while mine is clouded with thoughts of him. We would never be what they were, we were destined to be this uncomfortable favour to each other.
I had never wanted this. I had wanted him, sure. But not the extra baggage that came with him. He was broken, defeated by another girl I couldn't and wouldn't ever compare to. I was his second-best, the one after. And I knew it.
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