I didn't reply to him, just gave him my much practiced "Tell Me What You Want And Leave" look.

     He shifted uncomfortably, and said, after hesitation, "So you're not straight, right, you're... you know.. a lesbian?" I stared at him. Up until right then, I'd been sure that almost everyone in the school knew that I liked girls. Not in a good way, of course, everyone but my friends laughed about it as I walked by them.

      Or worse, they'd stop laughing as I walked by, and then giggle nervously after I'd passed.

      "Yes," I said, once I'd recovered from the shock.

      "Oh," he said. "Well, um, hi, my name's..."

     I didn't pay attention. Last year, I'd known his name. Four months ago, I'd known his name. Then he'd started going out with Lindsay, hurting my feelings, and crushing my crush. Since then, he was known as That Boy.

     And even now, after I'd realized that Lindsay was a bitch.

     And even now, after Lindsay had left him in hopes of getting to me...

     He was still That Boy.

     I twisted in the uncomfortable seat, the next day at lunch. I was eating with my friends, but I wasn't paying attention to any of them, as they talked about what had happened in First. I didn't care much what happened in First, I cared about Lindsay. Well, not about Lindsay herself, but I cared about myself, and Lindsay apparently wanted something from me...

      She'd passed me a note in math, but I'd crumpled it up and threw it in my open bag, which had been beside my chair. Then I'd casually given her the finger, but probably too casually, as no one noticed, including her. What I myself had noticed was how sad whatever guy she'd been passing notes to, only for days ago, looked.

     He'd looked close to tears. Which was kind of sad. Maybe somehow I should explain to him that he could have Lindsay. She wasn't even fucking bi..

     I was in the middle of thinking this all, when Sad Boy sat down across from me at the table. My friends stopped talking and stared. I looked up from the shit macaroni, and stared.

     "Hey," he said.

     Lindsay didn't approach me for three days. It was during PE when she finally did, enjoying the fact that it was obvious I'd been dreading this moment, and we both knew I'd been avoiding her. We were playing dodgeball, as juvenile as it was, and as soon as I got out - which was fairly quickly, I'm not the most athletic person in the world - she purposely got out. She sat down on the bench, innocently far away, but still close enough to make awkward conversation.

    "Hey," she said smiling, her white teeth flashing in the fluorescent lights of our gym.

     "Hi," I mumbled, not looking up from my black and white checkered wristband, that I was pretending to find particularily interesting.       

     "We haven't talked in a while," she said, sliding closer, moving in for the kill.

      "Uh-huh."

     "I feel like eating out tonight, but at somewhere shitty, you know? Like McDonalds, or a Pizza Hut," she said, but I could ignore it.

     She was only hinting at this stage.

     "Wow. You know I hate McDonalds," I finally said, picking some fluff of of my wristband.

     "I know you love Pizza Hut," she said, grinning again. Finally, the last person was out on my side, and it was time to start again. God loves me, I thought, when Lindsay and I were put on different sides, and I silently started making more plans on how to avoid Lindsay.

     A smile spread across his face as he read her note. It was sickening.

     Then again, so was he. And so was she. She was sickening in the way that she would lie to people, use them. The way she could just use people, and no one cared. She was Lindsay. Everyone loved Lindsay. She'd move on to her next target after she'd gotten what she wanted from you, with ease, because no one wanted to get in her way. If you did manage to get in her way, you'd be her new target. She'd move in for you. And she'd take it from you. 

     She took it from me. She snatched up your sense of pride, your dignity. She made a public mockery of you, but in a quiet way, that you knew people were laughing behind your back, but hen you turned to look.. It went quiet. I used to look forward to seeing her alone, apart from all my other friends. Now to look at her face made me feel dizzy and sick.

     "Miss van Sentilson," the math teacher wanted to know. "How is staring off into space going to affect your exam mark positively, may I ask?" Without my knowledge, or apparently, Lindsay's knowledge, the whole class had gone into study mode.

     "It won't, Miss, " I replied dutifully, uncrossing my kilted legs and knowing that my face was turning red. Because I knew that she'd seen me staring. And I knew that it was gonna happen again.

      I'd just gotten in her way.

     I was thinking this because of her.

     Another pointless math class, another pointless lecture, so let's just say that I had enough time and unused energy to hate. I followed her hand as she scribbled a note, glaring out of the corner of my eye. She folded it quickly and skillfully, not surprising as she'd been folding notes for years now, giggling silently as she passed it to the girl behind her. The girl behind her passed it to the boy behind her, who then passed it to the boy to the left of him.

     It was a routine by now, and it fit into the math class stereotype perfectly.

     It was pointless.

     I hated them. They were the elementary school teachers who taught to their students that it was okay to love whoever you wanted to love, but then stare when they saw me kissing a girl on the subway.

     They were the celebrities, who pretended to be gay to send some sort of message to the kids who were reading their lyrics, listening to their songs, giving them millions of dollars that they would go and spend on tons of hookers that were, obviously, of the other gender. Because they weren't really gay, or even bi. It was all fake. Bullshit.

     They were the parents, no they were my parents, the ones that described your latest girlfriend as your friend.

     And they were everywhere.

     He’d pushed his way through the mob of people that cared about Kenzie, all harassing him with questions.

     “Is she okay, man? Is she alright!?”

     He ignored them all, stepped into the hallway, down the stairs, out the exit, onto the street. The late night mid-June air somehow burned his face. He hailed a cab and t swerved to the side of the road. The whole cab ride home, he was planning. Planning something he’d tried before.

     Kyle got home at 3:27 AM, his house deserted. What else was new.

     His dog Shannon came to greet him as soon as he came in. He grabbed the leash, and Shannon jumped up excitedly. “No, girl, not now.” She didn’t seem to understand. Why was she up at 3:30 in the morning anyway. He headed up to the attic, with a pen and paper. He slipped the leash over his head so it fell to his neck.

     He tightened it a bit, holding the paper up to some of the unfinished wood, scribbling something that he’d already thought up.

Kenzie.

You choke me.

I loved you.

     He stared up at the rafters, not nervous, not caring.

     He had nothing to miss, nothing at all.

     All he was leaving behind was his own version of a break up note.

     His own note written in hot pink pen.

     Her words cut into him. They floated around in the air for a bit, after the verbal attack. Kenzie had never been hostile towards Kyle, never when she was sober. She’d mostly avoided him, until it was necessary, then became super polite.

     The again, he was kind of yelling at her.

     But it didn’t matter. The only hope he had left in him had drained out.

     “We can’t get back together. It won’t work. I’ve changed. I’ve moved on.”

     She’s moved on!? He was the one who needed to move on. It was him who’d been hurt. It was him who’d cared. Not her at all.

     “So fuck you, Kyle. Get out.”

     Whatever she’d said before was like a cute little dagger. Now it was a full on machete assault. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it. Not at all.

     Kyle twisted in his chair so he could see her face. So he could see her reaction.

     “They’re sending you to rehab,” he said. She made a face. “Thought as much,” she said. He knew he couldn’t just sit here, and make small talk, unimportant conversation.

     Talking was a gift he’d never received.

     He’d just have to come right out and say it. So he took a deep breath.

     “I think that we should get back together,” he said, then blinked. It had come out so easily, without him slipping up or pausing. It wasn’t like he’d practiced saying it.

     Okay, call him a nerd, he had. But that really wasn’t the point, as all Kenzie had done was shake her head, like she was trying to clear it. “You…” was all she managed, while rubbing the cut up bruise under her eye.

     “Do you seriously think he’ll visit you in rehab,” Kyle couldn’t help but explode. “And he fucking beats you up.” He waved his hand vaguely in the general direction of her cut. She stopped rubbing it, and opened her mouth sleepily. “Kyle,” she said. “Kyle, you’re awesome but we’re not meant to… We can’t…”

     He couldn’t believe this shit.

     “If we’re not meant to be together, then who are you meant to be with? Ashton treats you like shit. You’re just his little dealer with a 100% off discount. And some added-”

     “Shut up, Kyle.”

    Kyle was sitting on the gray chair in the hospital room. He was half asleep, not awake, but not dreaming, when Kenzie woke up. About an hour before that, the nurse had said that it was standard procedure that when they handled a patient who had suffered from an overdose, or who was mixed up in drug addictions, they had to send them to rehab.

     “And,” the nurse had added holding up Kenzie’s wrist, which was thickly covered with scars. “I suggest you get her some help.” She’d gestured to her own head, and quickly exited, leaving Kyle alone with his thoughts and his growing cold coffee.

     It was one of those rare moments when his coffee was still full after he’d had it for more than two minutes.

     She’d opened her eyes, and sat up quickly. As soon as she’d spotted Kyle, she’d looked away, almost like she was sorry. But Kyle knew she was too fucked up to feel anything anymore.

     Then she mumbled something about needing a smoke, and pushed up her pillow so she could sit up with out the metal bars poking into her bony back.

     “Where’s Ashton?” she finally asked.

     “Too shitfaced to visit you,” he said, ignoring the lack of welcome.

      “Oh,” she said. “Oh. Okay.”

    A couple weeks had passed, the weeks turned into a month, and by then Kyle could pretend he was over it, not worried about the fact that Kenzie still was missing. He knew her parents knew where she was, but they weren’t talking. They wouldn’t tell him anything. Every day, secretly, he called her cell, getting the answering machine each time, just listening to her voice.

     He missed that voice.

     At first, he thought it was him. He figured that, seeing as he’d never been dumped before, it would take a longer than while to get over it. Kyle had gotten so used to being the dumper, instead of the dumpee, he was in shock. It all made perfect sense.

     It took Kenzie a lot longer than two weeks to return. It took her about two months. He’d expected to feel some sort of rush of relief when he knew she was home.

     All he’d felt was more pain.

     He’d really been trying to get over her, he’d dated two people, and they’d both dumped him because of how distant he seemed with them, like he didn’t care. The truth was, he didn’t care, he didn’t care at all. And when they would break up with him, it didn’t hurt. Kyle was pretty much numb in the dating department.

     After the third girl, he’d settled for permanent loner.

     It was written in hot pink pen, Kenzie’s trademark.

Kyle.

I’m kind of fed up with everything right now. I just need some time alone.

I’ll be back to school in a week or two, so don’t worry.

But we need to take a break too.

*Kenzie.

     He slid down her door, sinking into some kind of crouching position, and dropping her note. He didn’t understand. He’d read what Kenzie had written over a few times, and it didn’t make any sense. Sure, it made grammatical sense, and the punctuation was fine…

     But the reason was blurred.

     How could Kenzie just do something like that. It was so spontaneous, so unlike her.

     How could she just run away, leaving him sitting on her front porch, just wondering why!?

     It was four months and three days before that, February 7th, and there was a tornado warning. There were so many tornado warnings in that stupid fucking town that no one paid any attention to them.

     But Kyle hated himself for living so far away from Kenzie, literally at the other end of town. He hadn’t gotten a license for some stupid reason he couldn’t remember. And all the buses were shut down because of the ‘tornado warning’. So he was walking to Kenzie’s in the hammering rain. Every droplet that hit his face burned with the cold.

     And the wind wasn’t helping either, as it was blowing right at him. His hair was in his eyes and stinging, or a at least he thought it was his hair that was stinging his eyes. It might have been the rain, that was pumped full of acid.

    He finally made it to her house, and rang the doorbell, shivering, looking like shit and dripping wet. Kenzie’s power was out, so he knocked until one of his knuckles caught on a sliver of wood sticking out of the door. The sliver jammed itself into his fist, so he kicked the door, and it flew open. Kenzie was coming down the stairs, and she screamed.

    Kyle loved that scream. Not only the scream, everything.

    Because Kyle loved Kenzie. Kyle loved Kenzie more than Kenzie ever loved him, as he found out only a few days later.

    The tornado warning had passed, without a tornado, and Kyle was walking up the exact same street, not expecting anything to be different than normal. It was just a normal surprise visit on his girlfriend.

     As soon as he got near the door, he knew something was wrong. There was a note stuck to the front door with his name on it. He took it and began to open it, hoping it didn’t contain what he expected it to.

     As soon as he got into the gray room (that was apparently at one point white), he panicked inside. Kenzie looked perfectly fine, maybe even more beautiful than normal, with her black hair splayed on the pillow, her face lily white. The only abnormality was a little scratch underneath her eye that had stopped bleeding and been cleaned. Around it, a blue-purple bruise was forming.

     He stood over her bed, casting a shadow over her face, and pushed a piece of hair off of her eye without thinking. She kept sleeping. The nurse was talking, but Kyle wasn’t taking any of it in.

     He just wanted her to wake up.

     He just wanted her.

     “Are you okay?” the nurse asked, timidly. No, he wasn’t, but it didn’t matter. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Well, her body just rejected it…” the nurse continued.

    Ashton ruined you. That was all Kyle could think, looking at her, and then letting his eyes slide over the cut. When I met you, you were clean.

     “Makenzie Parks? Anyone here-”

     The nurse cut herself off when half of the waiting room stood up, anxiously. She herself looked suddenly nervous, as if she expected them all to gang up on her, and to break all the equipment in Makenzie’s room. She cleared her throat, ‘Okay, we need the closest family member…” Everyone just looked around, with bloodshot, tired eyes, figuring out that no one had called her parents to tell them what had happened.

     “Her family isn’t here?” the nurse asked, not sounding too surprised. Ashton took this moment to stumble forward. “I’m…” he mumbled. “I’m her boyfriend…” He’d obviously been drinking all night. The nurse looked around the room, searching for some help. “I… I, uh, need someone less…”

     “Wasted?” Kyle supplied from his half broken, piece of shit chair. He stood up. “I’ll go,” he said, suddenly noticing how everyone was looking at him like ‘what about me?’ The nurse tilted her head a bit, like she was trying to figure out if he was on anything. Kyle just walked forward, he’d quit that shit for a while now, unless coffee counted. And it didn’t. “Alright…” the nurse said doubtfully. “This way.”

     He followed her down the long hallway, ignoring the useless attempts the nurse made at a conversation. He was focused on Kenzie, but it wasn’t like that was any bit unusual. Or he was trying to focus on her. For one, he was nervous for her, and the hallway smelled like Purel. He hated Purel, but he loved Kenzie more than that.