Mistakes and Regrets

"I can't stand this anymore!" Kennedy declared, slamming his hands down on the table. The plates and glasses shook visibly, and I jumped a foot. All eyes were on him and his crazy outburst.

"Can't stand what?" I asked bravely, seeing as Jared and John looked like terrified little girls. Wimps.

He hesitated as he looked directly into my eyes. "You and John."

"What?" John and I exclaimed simultaneously. We glanced from each other to Kennedy and back. Jared just leaned back in his chair, playing the innocent bystander.

"What in god's good name is going on between you guys these days anyway?"

"What the fuck do you mean?" John sputtered out, his eyes bulging in their sockets.

"You're acting so bizarre," Kennedy explained.

"We're being nice to each other!" I pointed out exasperatedly.

"We haven't even raised our voices!" John added. "Well, until right now, but this doesn't count!"

For once, we agreed on something. I wasn't the only one who picked up on it, either.

"See? This is exactly my point! You aren't being all sarcastic, and John isn't purposefully pissing you off. You're acting all polite! I swear, five minutes ago, you asked him if he could please pass the salt, Shay!"

It was pure silence as I sat staring, my mouth agape.

"Is it so bad that we're being kind?" I asked slowly, my eyebrows slowly ascending on my forehead.

"Yes, because we all know things aren't okay! You're just pretending they are with this sickly-sweet act, but things aren't and everyone knows it! You two need to talk about this dammit!" Kennedy demanded.

"We have talked about it!" I protested.

"Or at least, I tried," John muttered under his breath. My attention snapped to him, and I could feel my cheeks heating up.

"You tried? What the hell is that supposed to mean, O'Callaghan?" I hissed.

"Face it Shay! I bring up the fucking subject, and you spit out excuses before running from the room as fast as humanly possible!" John finally snapped.

I blinked a few times in awe. I could feel tears of anger pricking at the back of my eyes as I pushed my chair back and stood up.

"What, I called you out, so you're gonna run away again?" he sneered. My nostrils flared and I glared at him with all the hatred from the past boiling over.

"What's it to you? Last time I left town, you didn't give a flying fuck."

His enraged smirk faded for a few seconds and a frown tugged at his lips. It was a low blow, but it's just what I needed. I stormed off to my- well, Kennedy's- room.

I flopped onto the bed and screamed into the pillow. My tear ducts felt the need to show their disdain as well, and the makeup I'd took the time to put on this morning was washed right off.

I heard the door open then slam shut, but I didn't bother to look up. "I don't wanna talk to any of you, so just get the fuck out!"

"No. God, you're such an entitled bitch! Here you are, talking about how things are my fault, and sure, most of them are! But how the fuck am I ever supposed to fix this when you run for the hills every damn time I try?"

I bit my lip, my hands shaking with anger. I slowly sat up, and John almost seemed to regret his words when he saw my tears. I did say almost.

"Maybe if you hadn't fucked thing up so badly before, I wouldn't be so terrified of sticking around!" I screamed, tugging at the ends of my hair and walking to the door. If He wanted excuses, I'd give them to him.

I wrapped my hand around the knob, but it wouldn't twist or open. I tried desperately a few more times before kicking the stupid door.

"Real funny John," I mumbled. "Open the damn door."

He looked from my face to the brass knob, then rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't do that."

Usually, I would have accused him of lying. But something deep in his eyes fought me on that. John was telling the truth.

I yelled to no one in particular before pounding on the door. "Kennedy, open the fucking door!"

"Not until you two get your shit together," he responded.

I turned back around, narrowing my eyes at John. "This is your fault."

"How is this my fault?" His face was turning red, and I could feel the irritation coming off of him in waves.

"You should've had my back in there! You shouldn't have followed me in here! You should've tried to call me when I left! Better yet, you shouldn't have fucking started anything with Rose!" Everything I'd been holding it was pouring out.

Kennedy was right. I was angry; no, I was mad as hell. From the look on John's face, he was feeling exactly the same way. He ran a hand through his tawny hair and was cursing at the ceiling.

"I should've called you, okay? I should have cared more, but I didn't! I can't go back and fix that, Shay! As soon as I realized you were gone, I knew I fucked up in ignoring you! But what was I gonna do? You wouldn't have answered my calls anyway!" he yelled, walking toward me.

I shook my head violently, my hands holding my head. "You don't know that! You don't fucking know because you didn't try! I could've been dead, or hurt, but you didn't bother to call me 'cause of your stupid fucking pride!"

"I know, and I'm sorry! Why do you think I helped the guys talk to your landlord? Why do you think I helped them hack your Facebook?"

"You said you couldn't crack the password!"

"I lied! I didn't even tell the guys! I got in, and I realized it was wrong! But I found out you were okay, and a huge weight lifted off my shoulders! Then I realized you just didn't want to be found, so I lied and told the guys I couldn't figure it out!"

Our eyes locked as I opened and closed my mouth, struggling for words. His breathing was heavy, and I could see shame in his eyes from his confession.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked, my voice falling to a whisper.

"'Cause dammit, Shay, I realized you just wanted to be left alone. And, well, I didn't want to tell you I violated your privacy. I didn't want you to be mad." We both chuckled darkly at the irony.

"Why did you have to go and block me out in the first place?" I asked finally. The question had been burning in my throat since the whole ordeal started over a year ago.

"I dunno. I was stupid, and I didn't even realize it was happening at first. And after awhile, I was just ashamed because I realized what an ass I was being to you. You didn't deserve any of it."

"Why couldn't you have just told me all of this then?"

"Why couldn't you have just stayed long enough to find out?" he retorted. I bit my lip, looking away from his intense gaze.

"If I had stayed, thing would have gone on exactly like they had been. I'd be in my apartment, still working at my crappy secretary job and you'd be touring, still madly in love with Rosalie and ignoring me. The trip was for the best, John."

"Because you loved me?"

Loved. As in past tense. Sure, if he wanted to believe that...

"Yeah," I admitted sheepishly. "John, I loved you since Kennedy introduced us. That summer we met was one of the best of my lives, even though it was the first one I spent without my parents. You made it that for me."

"How?" John asked quietly. "Why?"

I smiled a little bit, biting lightly on my lip. "You waltzed right into Kenny's house that day like you owned the fucking place. You saw how miserable I was, and you weren't having any of it. John, you didn't even realize it, but I was drowning in depression. Kennedy was moments away from sending me to get help."

John's eyes widened a bit, and his perfect lips parted oh so slightly. I took a shaky breath before continuing.

"You don't even realize it, but you basically saved my life. And I loved you for it." I paused a moment, my eyes flickering from his olive irises to the eggshell walls. "I still love you for it."

I could hear my heartbeat echoing in my head and John's uneven breathing. I laid down on my mattress, looking up at the speckled ceiling. John needed time to process, and I just wanted to go back to bed and start over.

"Why didn't you tell me?" His voice was desperate and hoarse. I didn't look at him, instead, I focused on the dusty ceiling fan.

"It wouldn't have changed things. I told you this already."

I felt the mattress sink down beside me, and I was shot up slightly as a result. I could tell he was watching me, but I wasn't ready to meet his eyes and all of the concern and questions they held.

"You know, when we first met, I thought you were beautiful," he admitted in a low voice. I laughed, finally turning to face him. My chin rested in my hand, and my elbow propped me up.

"Bullshit."

"Honestly, I did. I could tell you were haunted, but something about your fiery hair and defiant chocolate eyes drew me in. Kennedy noticed, and said if I tried anything with you, he'd kill me, and then bring me back to life to kick my ass."

"You're kidding," I gasped, shaking my head.

"Dead serious," John exclaimed, mirroring my expression.

"It was probably for the best," I shrugged, my hair falling over my shoulder and sweeping against the navy sheets.

A flicker of sadness shot through John's eyes, but it was gone in a moment. "Maybe. Who really knows what would've happened."

We were content with just listening to each other breath for a short while. I could see the raging conflict in John's eyes as he watched me carefully. I cocked an eyebrow, and his perfect front teeth showed themselves, nibbling softly on the light pink flesh of his bottom lip.

"What do you want to ask?" I finally blurted out, egging him on. He tapped his fingers nervously against his scrawny, jean-clad leg.

"You said you were depressed..."

I immediately knew what he was getting at, and the small grin fell from my features.
"Yeah. It was a bad time."

"Did you ever..." he trailed off. His eyes flashed away, looking somewhere over my head.

Slowly, I pulled the hem of my violet blouse from inside my jeans. I lifted it slowly and tugged my jeans down a bit, revealing the light, slightly raised scars crisscrossing my stomach and hips.

John looked at them, his hand quickly flying to cover his mouth. His eyes traced the multiple marks, then returned to my face. His own expression was one of fear and pain.

"Damn, Shay," he cursed, a thin finger tracing some of the marks. I shrugged uncomfortably, pulling the light cotton of my shirt back over it.

"It was a long time ago," I attempted to explain away.

"So, now...?" he inquired.

"I've been taking medication since a little after we met. I know you don't get it, but for a long time, it was my way to feel better and regain some control over my life. I stopped though. It's been over five years since my last cut."

"Did I cause any of these?" he asked guiltily, his voice swollen with pain. My eyes shot to his face, and I shook my head.

"Of course not, John. None of what I did is anything you could control."

He grabbed my hand and pulled me close. He hugged me so tight I thought he would never let go.

And I didn't want him to.

He whispered words I couldn't understand into my hair for a long time, just holding me. I just let him. My hands grasped on to him as I waited for him to loosen the embrace.

"Hey Shay?"

"Yeah John?"

"When you went to New York, what happened?"

I squeezed my eyes shut and inhaled shakily against his chest.

"I lived in a tiny apartment and got a shitty job for some company. I saw all the places my parents talked about." I paused anxiously. "I also saw a therapist there. She really helped me work through things. She's the one who talked me into coming back."

"How?"

"She told me it was time to face my demons, and she was right. There was so much I still needed to say to Kennedy, and Jared, and all the others...and you."

He was thoughtful for a few minutes, still resting his chin on my head. I could feel each breath he took.

"I'm glad you're back," he said so softly I barely heard. I held my breath, trying to figure out whether or not I imagined it.