To Hell With Your New Shit

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

I paced from one end of my living room to the other, then back, then repeated. Over and over and over again. I shook my head, crossed my arms, swore under my breath, and stomped my feet.

It had been nearly two days since I’d left my apartment, thus making it nearly two days since I had seen or talked to anyone. There were several missed calls and unread text messages idling on my phone, although I had managed to catch one text from Kennedy informing me that he was coming by.

When a series of knocks sounded on the door to my apartment, I kept pacing and neglected to answer it. Nevertheless, moments later, Kennedy, Pat, and Jared piled inside, staring at me curiously.

“Where’s Garrett?” I asked suspiciously, realizing his noticeable lack of presence.

Kennedy scratched the back of his head, looking mildly guilty; Pat looked around at the walls, the ceiling, the floorboards, and everything else that wasn’t me; and Jared took a step back as though I might start swinging a baseball bat at the three of them.

“Guys, what’s going on?” I asked, growing even more annoyed as the seconds passed.

“He uh, may or may not be at Lindsay’s house,” Kennedy finally spoke up.

I stared at my (so-called) friends in disbelief.

“Are you shitting me?” I asked, running my hand over my face and through my hair.

“Look, man, we’re just trying to help,” Jared said cautiously.

“I just don’t get it,” I sighed, frustrated. “She has no problem hanging out with you,” I nodded at Kennedy, “or Garrett, yet she can’t even hold a civil conversation with me for more than a minute?”

“It’s probably ‘cause she loves you,” Pat piped up, venturing to the counter and snagging a grape out of the bowl that sat there. “These are really good grapes.”

“Er, thanks, my mom made me take them back with me,” I responded, before scoffing, realizing what he had said before he commented on the grapes. “And I’m pretty sure she doesn’t love me.”

“But how can you be so sure?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me and popping another grape in his mouth.

“Stop eating all of my food!” I snapped. His eyes widened at me and he took a few, scared steps away from the counter.

“Sorry,” he mumbled from his new position half-hidden behind Kennedy.

“Jeez, someone needs to get laid,” Jared tried to joke. We all stared at him before Kennedy hit him upside the head. “Not appropriate?”

“No you dick,” Kennedy muttered at him. “We’re here to get John to talk to Lindsay, not put him in jail for homicide.”

“I’m sorry, dude,” Jared apologized. I shrugged in response and leaned against the table.

“I’m done trying to talk to her,” I told them. “I hope you all realize that.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Pat whined. “I can’t stand seeing the two of you so hostile towards each other.”

“Yeah well, get used to it,” I told him bitterly.

“John, you have to talk to her,” Kennedy pushed. “This is getting ridiculous.”

“I’ve tried to talk to her!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands in the air. “All she does is argue with me, or run off after saying she ‘was scared.’”

“Wait what?” Jared asked, confused. “She was scared? Of what?”

“Fuck if I know,” I muttered.

“If that’s not a reason for you to try to win her back, I don’t know what is, man,” Kennedy advised. I sighed, giving in.

“What should I do?”