Mistakes and Regrets

"So, what now?"

I sighed, raking my fingers through my loose hair. Jared nudged my leg, and I made a face at him. Everything that had happened from John to the fight with Kennedy had managed to spill out the moment I walked through the threshold.

"I dunno."

We were sitting on opposite ends of the plush, worn living room couch, my legs overlapping his at the center. I leaned back against the armrest, and my back cracked a little bit. I could practically feel him shaking his head at me. I bit my lip, looking directly into his olive eyes, waiting.

"Kennedy is stubborn. He'll get over it," Jared said slowly, attempting a reassuring smile. I tried to mirror it, but I'm pretty sure it came off as a grimace.

"I hope so. I mean, I know he cares, but he's being a little overboard."

"It's only because he's worried for you, Shay. He doesn't wanna lose you again. Trust me. None of us do."

I hugged a throw pillow to my chest, peeking up at him. I gnawed on my bottom lip. He was right, of course. Jared usually always was. That didn't mean I had to like it, though.

"I'll talk to him," I finally promised, and Jared gave a genuine smile this time.

"Good. 'Cause you can't start staying in my room," he teased, and I rolled my eyes, lazily hitting him with the fluffy pillow.

"What happened to us gingers sticking together, huh?" I asked, my voice feigning an accusing tone.

He was about to answer when the door clicked open. I froze, and so did he. I heard shoes hitting the welcome mat and gulped. I looked helplessly up at Jared, my question repeated in the silence.

"Every man for himself," he cried, rolling backwards off the couch and making a beeline for his bedroom.

"Thanks, bro!" I shouted after him, hitting my head against the back of the couch and flipping him off. It didn't even matter if his back was to me. I knew he could just feel it.

Kennedy walked through, throwing a glance my way before walking with a purpose toward the kitchen. I took a deep, shaky breath before hoisting myself off the couch.

"Kenny, wait," I pleaded softly, my bare feet padding after him. He paused, turning at a scary-slow rate toward me. He raised an eyebrow, taking in my expression.

"What do you want, D?" I cringed a bit at my old nickname, but his voice wasn't exactly angry.

"Can we please just talk about what happened this morning?" I asked.

His hazel eyes searched mine, and his stony expression slowly faded to something a bit more kind. He scratched the back of his neck and nodded.

"Yeah, sure."

I followed him to our bedroom, and I could feel my hands shaking as the door shut behind us. Kennedy sat down on his bed, watching me expectantly. I paced back and forth, sidestepping clothes and guitar picks and god knows what else.

Oh my god, Shayla, focus.

"I want to apologize," I started.

"Sha-"

"No, just listen for a sec. I wanted to apologize, but I also wanted to just, kinda, explain something. Kennedy, I love you so, so much. But I feel like you don't trust me." I paused, and he was looking down at his hands guiltily, so I went on. "I know it was really shitty of me to run off like that, but I'm back now, and I'm doing my best, K."

He stood up, placing his hands on my shoulders. I could see all the conflict and pain in his eyes, and it was almost unbearable.

"It's not just that I think you're gonna take off. I know you aren't gonna do it again, or at least, I hope." He inhaled sharply, his voice a little shaky when he finally continued. "It's not that I'm afraid of. At least when you take off, I know you'll always come back, or I can always find you somehow. You're safe. The thing that gets me...dammit, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be."

"Just spit it out," I encouraged, giving him a supportive half-grin.

"I-I'm afraid that things are gonna get really bad, and instead of telling anyone about it, you'll just bottle it up like you used to do after the accident. I'm scared shitless that you're gonna relapse, and fuck, if that happens, and you..."

"Oh," I murmured, wrapping my arms tightly around him. I could feel his torso heaving, and he embraced me so hard I could barely breathe. "It's not gonna happen again, Ken."

"I want to believe it won't. I didn't even want to believe it the first time. Shay, I still can't understand why the hell you did that! You came so close...I almost fucking lost you, and I never want that to happen again! I don't want you to feel so broken ever again. I don't want to let you have the opportunity to start drowning again, when it's hard enough to keep your head above water!"

I was at a lost for words. I could feel his warm tears running down my neck, and I lost it too. I pulled him closer, burying my face in his old shirt. I had only seen Kennedy cry a select few times; I could remember each incident and count them on both hands.

"I'm sorry," I choked out, pulling away enough to look him in the eyes. "I don't mean to put you through hell. I'm just so fucked up, but I'm trying to be better. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," Kennedy protested, looking at me with teary eyes. "I mean, for what you've been through, you're a warrior. I'm grateful you're still here. I promise, I'm gonna stop acting so crazy overbearing. I mean, I'll still be overbearing, but just not so extreme."

I chuckled through my sobs. "I wouldn't have you any other way."

"Good."

He pulled me back to his chest, and we both just stood there contently for a few moments. I sneaked one of my hands to my face, pawing at the teardrops. I had a feeling Kennedy was doing the same, though, because when we finally broke apart, aside from his red-streaked eyes, it was impossible to tell he had been crying.

"God, you're a mess," he pointed out, his finger wiping away crystalline tears I had missed. I hid behind my fingertips, leaning my head against his chest.

"And you're an ass," I retorted, although it wasn't nearly as sharp as I had been going for, coming out all muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

He ruffled my hair, and I swatted his hand away.

"You love me," he said haughtily.

"Barely," I shot back.

He sat down on his bed, and I plopped down next to him, drawing my legs underneath me. We leaned against his headboard, staring out the window.

"So, what's the deal with you and John?"

"Damn, do you even know the word subtle?"

"Psh," he pointed at himself with his thumbs. "Musician."

"Yeah, a musician who failed English all throughout high school," I retorted.

"Did not!"

"Oh, that's right, 'cause I did all your assignments!"

"That is so...true, but so not what we're talking about here!"

I rolled my eyes, biting down on my thumb nail. "Oh, fine."

"So," he prodded, elbowing me in the ribs. I squeaked, shooting him a look while finding my bearings.

"I honestly don't know," I admitted. "I mean, we're okay, but I don't know where I stand as far as his life goes."

Kennedy wrapped an arm around my scrawny shoulders, leaning his head against mine. In the process, he pulled my hand away so I couldn't nibble on my nail.

"Aw, Shay, that sucks."

"Yeah, I know. I mean, there's nothing worse than not knowing whether your friends, lovers, nothing, more? I mean, it's like trying to keep your footing in an earthquake."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Kennedy assured me.

"Yeah?" I inquired, looking up at him. He nodded, a sly smirk forming on his lips.

"If not, I could always kick his scrawny ass."

We held the gaze for a few moments before I turned away chuckling.

"Thanks, K."

"No problem, D."