6. Kennedy
Kennedy
I veer the bike off the path, into the trees where I know he won’t be able to see.
I’m not paying attention. My front wheel hits a rock, sending me sprawling. I hit the ground hard, my shoulder landing first, and my choked cry barely makes its way out of my mouth before I’m shoving off my backpack and rolling onto my back as I fight for air around the tight phantom grip on my throat.
Breathe. Fucking breathe, Kennedy.
They’re here. Oscar is here.
Why the fuck is he here?
Tears spill out of my closed eyes as I grip my arm. The fucking pain – enough that I know I’ve bled through my bandages – keeps me from losing my shit completely. I push up the sleeve of my sweater, feeling the wet beneath my fingers. When I hold them up, they’re smeared with black.
I roll again, heaving into the grass, but nothing comes up.
Oscar looked – the same, almost. An almost comforting familiarity in a world where everything else has changed. His hair, that strange silver shade, was still cropped close to his head. His face was the same. He still towered over me, my head barely reaching his shoulders. But the look in his eyes… he looked at me like I was a monster, and it hurts just as much as the hell going on in my body.
Be real, Kennedy. You knew they’d think that.
Because I let them think that. Let them believe it.
But it hurts so much more than I fucking thought it would.
You owe us an explanation.
I heave again at the thought. One was bad enough. If they’re all here – Jake, Max, Theo – I don’t know if I’ll be able to face it.
Max and Jake, maybe. I’d considered that possibility, knowing they were staying and not going to college. Hoping to avoid it, but I knew I might bump into them at some point.
But Theo and Oscar should be gone. We were supposed to leave, the four of us. To head off to college, so Theo could study law like he’d always wanted. Business for Brett, to take over from his father. And mathematics for Oscar. He worked so fucking hard for that scholarship—
I’m crying again. My hands slam over my mouth, trying to keep the noise inside.
He was so angry. Oscar has always been the reserved one, the quiet one – but I could feel his disdain like a red-hot poker shoved straight between my ribs.
He’s never directed it at me before.
And I can still taste his scent, as if it’s lingering on me. Ginger, cayenne pepper – unexpectedly spicy, but with depth, too.
I swipe my hands over my face as I slowly get to my feet. I didn’t even get the groceries I wanted. I left a mess behind.
If I don’t want to get banned from the store too, I’ll have to go back.
I don’t trust myself with the bike yet, so I trudge back in on foot. I keep my eyes peeled for Oscar, but I don’t see any sign of him. Henry frowns at me when I push the door open, an apology on my lips.
He points to a bag on the side before I can speak, his lip curling. “This is yours.”
I pause. “I came to clean up the mess. And to apologize. I’ll pay for the jar.”
He shakes his head, muttering to himself as he pushes the bag. “Oscar cleaned up already. He said you’d be back for this.”
I stare at the bag before opening it and staring in. “Uh. Thanks.”
Everything from my basket sits inside, as well as an unbroken jar of the sauce I was looking at when I sensed him behind me.
“If you’re done,” Henry says coolly. “I have customers.”
The store is empty, but I nod, taking the bag.
I wait until I’m outside to unfold the note. Oscar’s spiky, slanted handwriting stares back at me.
You owe us this, Kenny.
And his phone number.
He wouldn’t know I don’t have a phone anymore. I wonder how many times they’ve tried to contact me. Assuming I’d blocked them.
I run a hand over my face.
I thought I had this figured out. That I’d manage these last few months, and then quietly disappear. That nobody would notice.
But if they’re here – that threatens to derail every part of my admittedly chaotic plan on approaching my own death.
It’s not like it comes with a step-by-step fucking guide.
I take a breath, gripping the bag of groceries he went back and paid for. It doesn’t have to change anything. I’ll avoid them as much as I can.
They’ll leave me alone once they realize I’m not going to tell them anything.
And either way, soon it won’t matter anyway.