Page 100 of Faux Real
Enough!
I spin around, glaring at Oliver as I scream, “Because I like you, you fucking idiot! That’s why I’m angry! Okay? God, you’re so fucking stupid!”
“Oh.” Oliver stares at me with an unreadable expression for a second before he takes five purposeful steps toward me.
“Wha—” The question gets swallowed as he grabs the back of my head, slamming his lips against mine, wrapping his arm around my waist, my body relaxing into his.
I’ve imagined this moment for a while now. When I’d be falling asleep. In my dreams. Sometimes in class. I pictured how it would feel to kiss him. How magical. How comforting. I thought about how soft his lips would be, how they would taste. Everything.
Huh.
Strawberries. He tastes like strawberries. Oh my God.
He tastes like fucking strawberries!
Placing my hand on his chest, I push him away. “Get off of me!”
Oliver staggers backward, confusion plastered on his face. “Why—”
“You still have her fucking lip gloss on your face!” I yell, fighting back tears.
“Shit.” Oliver wipes his mouth, his brows knitting together. “Kennedy, I—”
“You what?” I ask, shaking my head. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” he says, honest desperation in his eyes. “I’m sorry about—” He pauses. “But I like you too, I—”
“What?” I blink. “Youlike me too? Oliver, you were just making out with another girl! How could you say youlikeme?”
“It was a mistake,” he whispers, bringing his hand to my face. I step away. “Kennedy, please don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Like I—” He swallows, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like I cheated on you or something. We’re not— I mean, it’s not like—”
I nod, stifling a manic chuckle. “Like we’re dating? That’s what you were going to say?”
“Well, yeah—” he stammers, wincing. “Fuck’s sake.” He meets my gaze. “I’m sorry, okay? I really am.”
I scoff. “Why are you sorry, Oliver? Huh? If we’re not dating, then you have nothing to apologize for, right?”
“Well—”
“You know,” I muse, remnants of strawberry floating around my mouth. “I think that this little arrangement of ours is over. I’m done with this.” I look over Oliver’s shoulder at the black-haired girl walking out of the bar. “You’re free to make out with whoever you want now.”
“No.” Oliver shakes his head. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you. Only you."
“Ollie!” the girl calls out, swaying side to side. “What are you doing? Come back! I miss you!”
“Right,” I say, resolution in myne. “Only me.”
“I’m serious, Kennedy,” Ollie says, trying to take my hand again. “She means nothing to me. I promise it was one time. I wasn’t thinking, I was just upset and mad that you didn’t show up and—”
Everyone has problems. A story. A past. Demons. I have plenty. The burdens. The pressures. The weight of expectations. They follow me every day.
I don’t need more problems.Hisproblems.Hisdemons.His burdens.
It’ll kill me. It’ll destroy me.
