All These Broken Pieces

chapter four.

NOW.

When Kennedy Mcmillen opens her door, she finds Colette Evans standing outside. Her eyes are as grey as the thunderstorm raging outside, her beautiful blond hair blowing behind her. She reaches out, fingers about to trace the corners of Kennedy's face. She opens her mouth, and her words come out as a strained whisper.

"I'm sorry."

Kennedy wakes up with a start, sweat lining her forehead, hands crumpling her blanket. She pants, reaching out for her glass of water and chugging it down. That's another thing Colette Evans had robbed from Kennedy - sleep. Ever since the shooting, she hadn't been able to close her eyes without death staring right at her. Behind those shut lids always seem to be a new nightmare; Colette, the kids she shot, the past she couldn't cling on to, the old Kennedy, the day of the shooting.

But Kennedy Mcmillen sleeps anyway, because a part of her is certain that her dreams hid some repressed memory. She refuses to believe that Colette had transformed before her very eyes, and she did not see a thing. She refuses to believe that Cole was hiding that monstrous part of her. She refuses to believe that she hadn't known her best friend at all.

Kennedy sits up, one leg dangling off her bed. She reaches out and grabs her rose-gold picture frame, holding a photograph of her and her friends. Colette is beaming, her blond hair messy but still beautiful, her body the perfect frame for her tiny gingham dress. One arm is snaked around Khalid's waist; to which he seems utterly pleased about, with his lips pressed against Colette's flushed cheek, his jawline accentuated. Cordelia DeLuca is in the photo too, alongside Amelia Dawson, Veronica Santiago, Marisa Lee, Cory DeLuca and Marcus Andrews.

But what strikes her the most is herself; the old Kennedy staring right back at her. She thinks it's terrifying and amazing how she can exist as two separate entities simultaneously: there, in the photograph, is the Kennedy-that-was with her wide smile and confidence and here, herself, a shell of that girl. The Kennedy-that-was and the Kennedy-that-is stare at each other, somehow connected and separated by time and space. She wishes the two could merge, that they could meet in the middle of ecstasy and depression, and find comfortable happiness.

She loves Colette, and she resents her and most of all, she misses her so damn much. Every inch of her, every layer, every piece - they crave their other half. They crave Colette Evans.

Kennedy reaches out for her phone, fingers trembling.

kennedy; 3:09 am;

hey, you awake?

Kennedy lies back down, waiting and hoping for her screen to light up.

khalid:

hey, yeah. can't sleep?

kennedy:

not a damn blink.

khalid:

same here :( wanna meet up somewhere?

kennedy:

i'm down. gridstreet's open 24h, if you want?

khalid:

sounds good, see you in 5.