Kingston
“What do you think of this one?” Kennedy shows me yet another pink sparkly dress on her phone, and I think I might have actually died a little.
“I don’t care. It’s nice.”
“Nice?” Her voice increases in volume as she sits up on her bed, her eyes full of fire. “Nice? I don’t want to look nice at prom. I want to look hot.”
I groan, rolling to my back and covering my eyes with my hands. “Why the fuck are we even talking about prom right now? It’s October. We just got done with homecoming.”
“Because planning is important. You know this.”
I groan again loudly and refuse to look at her.
This week was shitty. I’ve barely talked to Camden since that day at his house when we had that blowup about college.
I don’t know why I’m mad. I can’t explain it, but the thought of him leaving sends sheer panic racing through me.
“I don’t care, Kennedy.” I sit up, my feet dragging her bedroom floor. “I don’t care about prom at all.”
In fact, thinking about prom makes me sick to my stomach because then it will be graduation, and then Camden will be leaving town for good. But I don’t dare tell her that.
“Of course, you don’t care.” She stands up, hands on her hips as she glares at me. “You don’t care about anything at all. You never have.”
“That’s not true.”
Her eyes roll dramatically. “That’s right. You care about football.” Another eye roll. “And Camden. That’s it. Not me. Never me.”
“I can’t do this anymore.” I stand up and walk to her door, so sick of this shit. “I can’t.”
“Oh, please. You’re being dramatic again.”
A bitter laugh leaves my throat. “No. I’m not. I’m done. I want to break up. I can’t do this anymore,” I repeat, and the words feel good coming out of my mouth. My chest swells with hope and excitement because I should have done this a long time ago.
“Bullshit. You are not breaking up with me.”
“Yes. I am,” I say directly to her because I’m not running away like a coward. I’m doing this, and I’m doing it head-on.
“You can’t do that. We’re Kennedy and Kingston. We’re expected to be together. You aren’t breaking up with me our senior year.”
“I am though.” I place a hand over my heart, dead serious. “You don’t even like me. You like that I’m on the football team and popular. That’s it. You’re probably planning to dump me after graduation anyway, as soon as you get your oh-so-important prom and graduation photos. You’ll be done.”
She doesn’t deny it. Her face sours as she folds her arms over her chest. “Don’t you dare walk out of here, Kingston Wells. We are the couple in our class. The one everyone envies.”
I snort a sarcastic laugh. “Why the hell would anyone envy this? This is all we do when we’re together. No one should be jealous of us.”
“Well, they are.” She pops her hip out, beyond furious, and I’m sure the screeching is coming soon. But I’m not backing down. I should have done this so long ago.
“I’m sorry, Kenn, I really am. But I can’t do this. I don’t want to be with you. I don’t want to go to dances. I don’t want to discuss the future. I just want to enjoy the last part of high school.”
She shoots me a furious glare. “Right. The future scares you so damn much. You’ll be this pathetic guy, living for high school well into his forties. Reliving it over and over again as your glory days. It’s sad.”
I try not to let what she says get to me. She’s trying to hurt me. Then I think back to my fight with Camden, and I wonder if he feels the same way. If he thinks I’m pathetic too. “Well then, you should be happy to let me go.”
“Oh, I am.” She walks closer to me, putting her finger in my face. “Don’t think you can have me back. I can have anyone I want, Kingston. I don’t need you.”
“Great,” I say, pulling open her door and heading out, not slamming it behind me because I feel her on my heels as I head for the front door.
“I mean it, Kingston! Don’t come crawling back to me. I want nothing to do with you or your small dick.”
I turn around, glaring at her. She’s baiting me. I know this. I’ve fallen for it so many damn times. If I stay and defend my dick—she’ll win. She’ll punish me and then make me apologize somehow.
No. Keep walking. Your dick is fine. You know this.
I keep walking with her hot on my heels, pulling open the door and racing out to my car. She still follows.
“You’re also a lousy lay. I mean, just awful. I’m going to find a real man who knows how to fuck me. Maybe I’ll even get to come.”
Nope. Don’t let her bait you. Don’t fall for it.
I unlock my Mustang and climb behind the wheel, starting the engine. She taps on the hood with her palms, but I don’t care. I block out her shouting as I pull away from her house and escape that toxic fucking shit.
It’s not totally over. I know that. Kennedy doesn’t let things go easily, and she’ll raise hell through the rest of school, I’m sure of it.
By Monday, there’ll be gossip about my sad sexual skills and my supposedly small dick, but I don’t care. I won’t let her do this to me anymore.
I think about my grandpa and his final days on this earth. He was weak, lying in his hospital bed, but he smiled at me. He told me what he always told me. If it’s not fun, don’t do it. Live life as happily as you can.
He was a big part of my life. He and Grandma came over every Sunday for dinner, and that was always his philosophy. My grandma would ask about my grades, but he would ask me about the fun stuff I did that week.
Somehow, him talking about it on his deathbed just solidified the man I wanted to be. The fact that he died happy, surrounded by a family who loved him, really made me want to strive to do the same.
It stuck with me, even five years later. He died, but he left me with that. It’s why I try like crazy not to take things so seriously. Why I want to have fun.
And it gave me the strength to end it with Kennedy.
That shit wasn’t fun for anybody.