I set the phone down. Face-down. Because if I see the screen light up with their name, I’ll crumble. And I can’t crumble. Not yet. Not here.
My name is Kenzie Love, and I have spent my entire life trying to live up to my surname.
Too confrontational. Delete. “Are you okay? You seemed… distracted.” Too passive. Delete. “I think I’m in love with you and it’s making me stupid.” kenzie love pov
The Weight of a Look
Maybe I’ll just stand there, in the middle of the room, and let them see me. The real me. Not the easygoing Kenzie. Not the girl who’s always fine. Just the girl whose heart is a raw, open nerve. I set the phone down
I’m staring at my phone screen. The cursor blinks on a half-typed text to a person I’ll call “E.” I’ve known E for three years. We’ve shared a blanket during a power outage. We’ve fought about whether Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is romantic or tragic (I said both; they said neither). And tonight, I watched them put their hand on someone else’s lower back. Just a casual thing. A friendly gesture. But the way their fingers curled? That wasn’t friendly.
But inside my chest, right now, it doesn’t feel like a safe harbor. It feels like a shipwreck. And I can’t crumble
From downstairs, I hear E’s laugh. That specific laugh—the one they only do when they’re a little drunk, a little reckless. The one that used to be just for me.