Tell Me What to Do, I Messed up on You

Present Day

"Sorry, I don't have a copy of Pioneer," I joked, as I put on an old John Mayer record into the player and watched Kenny sprawl onto my bed, ruffling the sheets.

I went and lay down beside him, both of us clutching our cups of tea, and rested my head on his shoulder. He sighed and put his arm around me. They say that "someone who doesn't understand your silence isn't likely to understand your words." That bears true for the relationship me and Kennedy have. For whatever reason, we can sense each others emotions and we just know when the other is off, and how to cheer them up.

"Rosie..." he whispered, playing with the crown of my hair, messing it up like he used to.

I didn't reply. I know he wasn't calling out to me, he was just saying my name because he wasn't able to, openly, for almost four years. It's sad how that happens.

He pulled my fingers into his free hand and ran his fingers through them, checking out my minty green nail polish and the million bracelets I had on. Half his face smiled, sadly. I knew he was thinking, "Gosh, some things never change." And they really, truly don't.

I looked at him and he nodded. "Yeah..." affirming a thought I hadn't even voiced, yet.

"So, how come the guys chose to stay in the hotel?" I asked, curious.

"Well, they didn't wanna impose, I mean, we know apartments in the city tend to be tiny, and you already have Jimmy..." he started, not meeting my eyes.

"Cool. And now the truth, if you please?"

"I don't know, I guess they didn't wanna disturb my bonding time with you. Haha, hey, it almost sounded like bondage time with you...that's a totally different thing, huh?" he tried to joke.

I stopped resting my back on the headboard of the bed and straightened out, crossing my legs to face him fully.

"Kennedy, I know you and I were always the closest but they acted as if we were never even friends in high school! Like they didn't spend their entire senior year sleeping on my couch, copying my homework, and going to shows with me! How does that happen? I mean, surely they don't think..." I started.

Kennedy's eyes looked pained, like he'd really rather not tread on this territory that I was forcefully leading him into, but I couldn't help it. I had to know. There was a time when these boys were my life, and now they don't even meet my eyes.

"Look, Rosie, we can go there but it's not going to be things you wanna hear," he stated, clearly and concisely.

I nodded firmly, "I'm okay with that."

I took a sip of my tea and stared at him, waiting for him to begin. He looked fixatedly at a keepsake Jimmy got me from Paris for a couple seconds, then cleared his throat and looked at me.

"Rosie, when you left...it was difficult. You never even looked back, you literally cut us all off for something John alone did. Do you have any idea how that felt? Pat cried. He fucking cried, Rosie! I've never seen the guy cry in my life, but he cried for you. I mean, I think we all did. It was so weird and odd, it was like we didn't even fit with each other anymore. Sure, we could make music and play shows, but when all of that was done and we were alone on the tour bus...it was hell. It's like we forgot how to be together without you. Everything became really mechanical for us as a band, we just sort of ran through the motions. John wrote, Jared composed, we played, over and over again. That was it. Eventually the guys began to perk up a bit, but John..."

He looked at me to see if I was still listening before he continued. I was absent-mindedly tracing the rim of the mug in my hands, not looking him in the face.

"John?" I asked, looking into his eyes questioningly.

He shook his head. "He was never quite the same again, Rosie. Sure, he started smiling again and when we did interviews and meet n' greets he would be presentable, funny even, but we knew what went on behind closed doors. There was just this thing in him that had died and none of us knew what to do. That-that's when the guys started to shift their support from you to John, after seeing how troubled he had become and how repentful he was. I don't know, I guess in a weird way they sort of blame you for ruining John, and by extension, the band."

"Ruin the band?! Ruin John?! ME?" I yelled.

Kenny stroked my knee quickly, "Look, I'm not saying I think so, I'm saying that's what they think. We've never really openly spoken about it, and maybe they don't speak about it around me cause they know where my loyalty lies."

My eyes started to tear up and Kenny pulled me into his arms and patted my back comfortingly. I cried for a good two minutes before I realized that it had been two years since I cried about John. I didn't want to get back into that rut, I was better than that. I had my own life now, one that I had built for myself and one that made me proud. I wiped the tears away and took a deep breath, looking up at Kennedy.

"I'm through crying about it. After what he did if he can turn all of them on me, then it was never worth it to begin with," I said, no sense of doubt in my tone. "Of course, that will always be one of the best years of my life, but maybe that's all John was supposed to be. Just a year of joy and a boost of self-confidence. I'll admit that he made me believe in myself enough to apply to the Fashion Institute of Technology, to move here, to start all of this. Maybe that's all he was meant to be in my life, a catalyst. I'm grateful for what he made me into, but it's just dumb of me to expect any more from him or the guys."

"Well, what about me?" Kenny asked, his tone suddenly changing into one that I didn't quite recognize.

"You," I smiled, grabbing his face and kissing his forehead, "Are the best friend a girl could ever, ever have. Just don't let Jimmy hear me say that," I laughed.

*

Fall, 2009

"Rosie, this must be so hard for you," our old neighbor, Mrs. Evans called out, pulling me into an unwarranted hug that was neither comforting, nor desirable.

"Oh, and leaving your fall semester half way to come down to Virginia, you poor girl..." Mrs. Evans' pasty old friend barged in.

"Um..." I began, not sure what to say to them, but I was saved by the sound of my father calling my name.

"Rose, Rosie! Come on, dear, we're leaving now, everything's over," he said, pulling me into his arms and waving cordially at the two old women.

"Just keep your head down, don't make eye contact, we'll be in the car before you know it," my dad said, and surely enough, before I knew it there was a polyester seat beneath my body.

We drove in silence, though I wasn't sure where we were going. We didn't have a house in Virginia anymore, we had sold our old one. Dad himself lived in North Carolina and I was up in New York in school.

As if my dad sensed my doubts, he said, "We're going to Harky's," he said, forcing himself to smile. "Remember Harky's? We used to take you there when you were little, just after soccer practice and you would eat three whole plates of their home-style french toast. Remember that?"

I groaned. "Dad, I'm really not hungry..."

The smile fell from his face, "Look, you haven't eaten in the week that you've been down with me. It's not healthy. We're going to Harky's, so you better build up an appetite, missy."

I knew he was just trying to be parent-like and do what he thought he should do in the given circumstance, but the thought of food made me want to hurl. He was driving so fast that my stomach seemed to have been left behind miles ago, and there was this odd emptiness in me that I couldn't explain. Not to mention, I was beginning to sweat underneath all the layers of black.

"There ya go, Harky's home-style french toast with syrup and blueberries, honey. And an omelette and toast for you, sir," the extremely blond and Southern waitress cooed, placing our food in front of us.

Immediately, my stomach churned as the scent of the food wafted up my nostrils. I looked up at my dad, who was stabbing his omelette with a lost look on his face. I took a small sip of orange juice to calm down my tummy. I looked back up at my dad and he was now eating, with his eyes completely fixed on the bottle of syrup kept on the table.

Strange as it may sound, I never expected my dad to be affected by this. I mean, sure, he's our father and whatnot. I expected he would fund the funeral and come around for maybe ten minutes, give me a hug, nod curtly at mom and then leave. I never expected him to cry, I never expected him to take a month off of work. I can't remember the last time he took time off of work to do anything family-related. Was it wrong of me to think that he didn't have the right to grieve Anna?

Stop it, I thought to myself, Stop it now, you have no reason to be angry at him. It's not his fault. Don't blow up on him, he's suffering enough. He's going through enough as it is. It wouldn't be right to make him feel all the more guilty than he does. Although, it is his fault he feels guilty in the first place. Who the hell told him to be a shitty dad?

"Rosie," his voice cracked, and brought me out of my thought process, he pointed at my untouched plate with his fork.

I nodded and took a minute bite, not even bothering to chew it. I sighed, not knowing how I was going to get through this. I didn't even know that I wanted to return to New York and continue school, but then, what would I do?

My dad grabbed my shaky hands from across the table and soothed me, "Look, dear, I know it's hard. You were very close to Annie. We're all sorry for what happened, but it was no one's fault. Especially not your's. You were a good sister...you were the only good one out of us all, to be honest. You were there-"

"No, I wasn't. I wasn't there!" I burst out, tears suddenly streaming down my face uncontrollably. "I wasn't there, I wasn't there..."

My dad motioned to the waitress for the check and she looked at us with pity in her eyes. It was obvious we had just arrived from a funeral, since we were both in all black. People were beginning to stare. My dad patted my hands uncharacteristically until the bill arrived. He smacked down a twenty and we walked out.

We drove in silence again, and I realized we ended up on the highway back to North Carolina. My dad filled the silence by putting on some of his classic rock albums and I cried so much that eventually I fell asleep.

I woke up maybe three hours later, with a crick in my neck. It was dark outside, with a really greying cloud cover and I could smell that rain was on it's way. I looked over to look at my dad, who had his eyes fixed on the road, though he was wearing shades despite the darkness. Maybe he was crying and wanted to cover it up. For some reason, this angered me, too.

He felt my gaze on him and smiled half-heartedly, "We're almost there, Rose. Another half hour or so. Do you wanna stop at a Starbucks? Get a coffee, or something?"

I shook my head no. I just wanted to get home, and lie down and sleep forever. I sighed and rested my head back on the windowpane, not allowing myself to think of all the things that my head wanted me to think about. It was too painful, I couldn't do it.

I wasn't there. I wasn't there to watch her, I could have saved her. I should have taken her to New York with me, we could have lived together. It would probably be worse for her in the city but at least she'd have me to watch over her. I can't believe I cut her off completely, for a boy...for that scumbag.

Pictures flashed in my mind of Annie and him, naked in her bed that fateful Saturday afternoon. The look of horror on his face when he realized I had caught them. At least Annie was high, she had no idea what she was doing, but John, he was completely sober. He was completely sober yet he didn't think twice before bedding my sister.

He's the reason I left her. He's the reason she's dead. It never would have gotten to this point if I was still living with her. He's the reason she killed herself.