Page 74 of Faux Real
Sawyer shrugs, his tone defeated. “She was there for me. When my grandpa died, she was there. She came to my house, she took the time to check in on me, to talk to me. She—she cared about me. She put me first and we weren’t even fucking dating.”
“She’s not a good person, Sawyer,” I croak, my chest tightening. Not anymore. “How can you not see that?”
“Corrine can be a little mean, I know that, but do you knowwhyshe is the way she is? ‘Cause she’s insecure, Kennedy, everyone can see that.” He pauses. “What’s your excuse?”
I blink. “What?”
“You’re no fucking saint, KC, you’re just as bad as she is. So yeah, Corrine might have a lot of faults, but she has one thing that you will never have—” His icy gaze kills me when he says, “A fucking heart.”
No heart? I have no heart? That’s not true. It’s not. I have a heart. I can feel it. I can feel it shattering into a million fucking pieces. He’s felt like this the whole time? Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t he say something? I would’ve tried harder. I would’ve given him more time, more love, more whatever he wanted.
I wasn’t enough for him.
Footsteps approach from down the hall as I try to formulate a sentence, but I can’t. I can’t talk. I can’t breathe. I can’tsee.
“Oi, what the fuck is going on here?” Oliver asks. “What did you say to her?”
“The fucking truth,” Sawyer says and walks away.
The truth.
Is it?
Is he right?
“Kennedy, are you okay? What did he say to you?”
“No, I’m not okay!” I sob, pushing past him and running down the hall.
I need air.
twenty-three
Misery Loves Company
OLIVER
Bloodyhellshe’sfast.
What in the fuck did that twat say to her?
I’ve seen her cry. I’ve seen her on the verge of crumbling a couple of times. But this time it’s different. She’s not just crying. She’s hurt.
And I fucking hate that.
“Kennedy!” I shout, running through the quad as I try to catch up with her. “Kennedy, stop!”
“Go away!” she wails, latching onto the railing of the staircase as she heaves to catch her breath. “Go away!”
“No,” I say, walking down the stairs toward her, the crescent moon hanging above our heads. “I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.”
“I don’t want to talk,” she whispers, sinking down on the dirty steps.
“Fine,” I say, sitting down beside her. “Then we’ll just sit until you’re ready to talk.”
Kennedy rests her forehead on her knees, quietly weeping as silence surrounds us. She has no reason to tell me, no reason to confide, and yet, I need to know.
“What happened, Kenny?” I whisper after a few minutes, sidling closer to her and putting my arm around her shoulder. “What did Sawyer say to you?”
