Mistakes and Regrets

I groaned as sunlight poured through the window. Kennedy needed to invest in some more effective blinds. My head pounded as I rolled over on the bed.

Bed?

I sat straight up, trying to push the sharp pain in my temple away. Sure enough, I was lying in Kennedy's bed. I ran a finger through my knotted hair, trying to recall last night's events. The last thing that came to mind was heading to the bar after Rosalie ambushed me.

A quick check of my forearm made me flinch; five perfect crescent moons were scarring on the nearly translucent skin. I made a mental note to thank her for that one.

"Bro, calm the hell down."

The words floated through the walls, and I barely recognized Kennedy's voice. It did dawn on me that he sounded incredibly annoyed. I couldn't hear the response of whoever he was talking to. It was all just muffled tones.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, not caring that I was only dressed in one of Kennedy's old band shirts he lent me long ago. I had grown attached, and we had a mutual understanding that he forfeited all possession to me. I padded through the hallway, trying not to get noticed.

Unfortunately for me, I suck at being sneaky.

The floorboards creaked under my feet, and two sets of eyes fell upon me. One of them was a foggy emerald, and my breathing hitched. They looked pissed.

"Morning Shay," Kennedy said unenthusiastically, rubbing the back of his neck. I forced a smile, leaning against the wall.

"Morning. Am I interrupting something?" I managed to meet John's gaze, which turned cold.

"Whatever. I'm done," he muttered under his breath, storming toward the door. I shot Kennedy a questioning look, but his head was in his hands as he sat at the small table.

I debated a few moments before sprinting through the kitchen, trying to catch up to John.

"Hey! John! Would you just stop for a second?" I yelled. His hand was resting on the brass doorknob before he turned.

"What do you want Shayla?" he asked harshly.

"What is your problem with me?"

"What's my problem? Dammit, I'm not the one who's fucked up here!"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me! Shay, you ran away to god knows where, and then you just show up out of the blue and expect everything to be rainbows and sunshine! Then you ditched out on the show, and I come here and you walk out of Kennedy's room wearing his shirt? When did you guys become fuck buddies?"

I blinked multiple times, my eyes watering with rage. I could feel the heat rushing to my cheeks as he turned to leave. My fingers curled into my palm, and I could feel my nails digging into them.

"Fuck you," I spat.

He walked out without another word, and as the sound of the slamming door reverberated around, I collapsed to my knees. Tears streamed from my eyes as I curled into myself.

"Dammit, John," Kennedy whispered, scooping me into his arms. I struggled at first, but I just didn't have the energy. I let him carry me into the living room and set me on the couch. He sat beside me as I sobbed into his shoulder for who knows how long.

"He...and I...and..." I choked out, trying my best to breathe. It seemed that all the pressure in the universe was closing in on me. Kennedy held me close and kissed the top of my head.

"I know. I'll talk to him," he assured me.

"He-- he thinks we're sleeping together," I hiccuped, burying my head further into his hoodie.

"I heard," Kennedy murmured.

"How could he think that?"

"Daise, he's an idiot, and he was just upset."

"He said I bailed on the show last night, but I didn't! I was there for most of it, but then--" I stopped abruptly.

Kennedy raised his eyebrows. "I know, I found you in the bar drunk off your ass."

"I figured. I had to have been pretty hammered to end up with a headache like this."

"Oh, you were. Jared helped me get you home, and I thought you might be more comfortable on the bed. I took that lovely air mattress of yours."

"I appreciate it." I gave his torso a tight squeeze, which he returned.

"So, what happened? You looked like you were doing so well, and then you just vanished."

My cheeks heated up, and I pulled away. I managed to scoot to the other end of the couch and pulled my legs to my chest. My arms were carefully cradled between my torso and thighs.

"Nothing, it was just too much," I mumbled.

I knew he wasn't buying it. I knew I looked awfully suspicious, like I was hiding something. I knew he'd shoot a bullet through my defense very soon.

I just didn't think his evidence would be so damning.

"I saw your arm, Daisy. What happened?"

My eyes began watering again, and I felt like Niagara Falls. He gently grabbed my arms, running his fingers over the marks.

"It's nothing, Kenny. Don't worry about it," I pleaded, nibbling on my bottom lip. His eyes were flooded with concern though, and I knew I was fighting a losing argument.

"Daisy," he warned, and I tugged my wrists away.

"Don't call me that," I hissed. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

I pushed off the couch, fleeing to the bedroom. I heard Kennedy's footsteps and my name falling from his lips, but it didn't matter. I shut the door in his face.

"Shay, I'm sorry," he called through the door.

"It's fine," I replied, stripping the shirt and tossing it carelessly aside.

I didn't even convince myself.

"Shay..." he begged. I pulled on a pair of skinny jeans and fished through my things for a blouse.

"Don't worry about it. I'm okay."

I found my boots and quickly fastened my watch around my wrist.

"I thought we didn't lie to each other."

I opened the door and Kennedy almost fell right through. I made my way past him easily, considering he was still trying to regain his balance.

"Not lying. I'm okay, and I'll be back in a little bit."

I took in a deep breath of fresh air and shoved my hands in my pockets, walking at a fast pace. I didn't need Kenny following me, therefore I needed to make good distance. I glanced up at the clear skies, praying for a bit of peace. With it, I made my way toward my own safe haven.



"Here you go," the barista told me with a too-large grin. I thanked her and made my way to a table in the corner.

I put my feet up on the chair across from me and took a long swig of the warm coffee. The small café was a place I always went when I wanted to be alone. I had turned off my phone as soon as I left the apartment. Kennedy and the guys meant well, but I couldn't deal with it right now.

I tried to focus my thoughts, but they were all swirling in a giant pool that was my brain. Guys always had to complicate things, didn't they?

I took another small sip, hyper aware that the first one had burned my tongue. It didn't matter though. The coffee was probably the best I had ever tasted. And it was also one of the few things I could always rely on.

Sad, huh?

The bell above the door chimed, but I didn't bother to look up. Instead, I traced the grains of the faux-wood tabletop. I shut my eyes and let the sun stream through the floor-to-ceiling windows, hitting my eyelids. It was the closest to peace I had gotten in a long time.

Someone cleared their throat, and I snapped back to reality. "Is this seat taken?"

My expression changed from surprised to annoyed to pissed in a matter of moments.

"What do you want, John?"

I had meant for the words to come across as harsh and sharp, but to me, they just sounded exhausted. I was sick of this little twisted game we were playing. From the look in his eyes and sheepish tone, he was too.

"Please, Shay?" he asked, his voice strained.

My eyes softened, and I nodded, gripping the mug tighter. My feet swung off of the vinyl cushion and he hesitantly sat.

"I'm sorry about earlier. And, well, everything since you got home."

"I really don't know if 'sorry' is gonna fix this one."

"Look, I know I messed up big time, and I'm really really sorry about it. I was mad you left. I was hurt you didn't stay to see us perform. And I guess I was just...shocked that you were sleeping with Kennedy."

"John, I'm not sleeping with Kennedy!" I said loudly. A few people turned, and I ducked my head as John chuckled. "I never have, and I'm pretty sure I never will."

"I'm an ass," John stated, running a hand through his unruly hair. "Sorry. I just assumed..."

"I've been staying with Kenny since I got back to Tempe, on an air mattress in his room," I clarified.

"Wow. I don't even have words to express how stupid I feel."

"And I did stay at the gig for a long time. I just got..." Ambushed? Attacked by your psycho girlfriend? "A little overwhelmed."

"If it makes it any better, I totally sucked the last few songs," John offered, and I laughed.

"I'm sure you didn't."

"Oh, I did. Ask any of the guys. I flubbed lyrics, was way off pitch...it was bad. I think some of the audience members will be permanently traumatized."

I leaned across the table and smacked him lightly. "Shut up."

He held his hands up in defense, and I couldn't control the smirk on my face.

"As for the last thing on your list...John, you could have called me, sent me a text, an email, hell, even Facebooked me. But you didn't. Yeah, I left, but you didn't even try to find me." My voice was wavering, and I was losing my strength . All the reasons I was mad came rushing back.

"I know, I thought about it every day, but I just couldn't bring myself to pick up the phone. Part of me was afraid you wouldn't answer from wherever the hell you were."

"New York," I piped in. John looked at me questioningly. "I was in New York City."

A million questions littered his olive eyes, and his lips parted as he struggled to find the right words. I never gave him the chance though.

"John, it wasn't just after I left. I hadn't spoken to you since you guys left on the tour. You didn't answer my calls or texts. The day I came out to visit you guys, you were out with Rosalie."

"I know, and it's not something I'm proud of. I missed you. I'm a fucking idiot. I didn't realize what a great friend you were until you were gone, and no one knew where you were or what happened."

My heart cracked a tiny bit at the word friend. That was all I would ever be. And even though I wasn't even sure I liked him as a person right now, it still killed me.

"I think it might be too little too late John. You blew it, and I don't know if you can fix it this time," I said sadly.

I got up to leave, but paused, turning around. I pushed my bangs out of my eyes, taking in his broken and apologetic expression one last time.

"Wait, just...is your arm okay?" he blurted out, reaching toward me. I flinched back, holding my arm protectively against my stomach.

"Ask Rose, John," I fired, quickly turning on my heel. Tears pricked at the back of my eyes, but I couldn't let them fall. Not in front of him.