Leave votes! :)
----
The pain in my side hadn't decreased even a little bit. Baby and his sister were now assisting me out of the airport, both of my arms slung over their shoulders while I try to hold in my grunts. I feel nauseous, like the kick pushed all the food I'd eaten up to my throat. Fucking gross.
"Just a bit more," he mutters.
We walk towards the parking lot and I direct them to where I parked my Corolla. Once there, I lean against the car door, my hand experimentally pressing against the spot. As soon as my fingers poke the skin, excruciating pain shoots up from that area, making me bend forward then stand straight again when that angle hurt more. Jesus, she went hard.
"You alone?" Baby asks.
It's fucking weird to call him that.
"Yeah," thanks for rubbing it in, I want to add but keep my mouth shut instead. I wince again when I attempt to step forward. I give them a small smile that I hope didn't look like a grimace. "Thanks for helping me out there."
"No problem," he says, running his eyes over my body, successfully making me uncomfortable. Then he snorts as if reading my thoughts before pointing at my stomach. "That's quite a shoeprint."
I look down, only now noticing that my black hoodie had a remnant of the girl's shoe. My hand raises to brush it off, but I let it down when I remember just how painful it was to even have the slightest contact in that area. Did she kick my intestine flat with that blow?
His sister slaps his bicep. "The lady gets mauled and that's all you have to say? Moron."
He laughs, rubbing the spot his sister hit. "I wouldn't have commented on it if it hadn't been so darn obvious."
She rolls her blue eyes, and only then do I take in her features. She's basically her brother's twin, with the same high cheekbones, straight nose, and full lips. The only very noticeable difference between them was their hair—while his was a mix of gold and brown, hers was a shocking forest green, momentarily bringing me back to my wild hair era not so long ago.
"I'm Alexi. What even was that back there? Why'd those girls attack you?"
I shift my weight to the other foot, looking for a way out of the conversation without lying or telling them about Harry or me being a Youtuber.
God knows how grateful I was for their intervention, but they were still strangers. And if there's something I've learned in watching endless Disney movies, it's that strangers get you into trouble in the long run—unless they're fireflies, dwarves, or fairy godmothers—which they are anything but.
"She mistook me for someone she knew," I say simply.
I mentally pat myself. That wasn't the exact truth, but it wasn't a lie either, and judging by the look on their faces, they seem to accept that explanation.
"Bitches. Well, are you okay now?" She asks, "We can bring you to the hospital if you want. Or we can have them detained for assault—"
'No!" I blurt, panicked at the idea of this incident being out to the public. Oh, the horror of speculation. I could almost hear the tweets in my head: What had Kennedy been doing in the airport? Obviously, she didn't fly out, so who was she sending off? Why was she so adamant on denying her identity? I shudder. "Definitely not. I'm fine."
Despite the crippling pain in my stomach, I was fine. Well, at least until the shock kicks in. Then I'll probably be freaking out, crying, or having an anxiety attack and will not be able to leave my house for a while.
I'm distracted by the ringing of my cellphone.
I send a reassuring smile their way. "I'm fine, really. Thank you for the help, but I best be driving back."
"To your apartment? You could ride with us," he offers, pocketing his hands and rocking on the balls of his feet. "That must hurt," he says with a nod at my tummy.
I pause, hesitating. It did hurt, like a bitch, but I didn't feel comfortable leaving my car here either. And if in fact I do happen to go into shock, I'd prefer if I was around my family. Considering that, I make my mind up.
"Thanks, but I'm heading home to my Mom's," I nod at them, unlocking my car door, "but seriously—thank you so much for saving me back there."
He nods too, a lopsided smile on his lips. "Alright, if you say so. Catch you later, neighbor." With a wink, he turns and pushes his sister with his body. "Let's go."
I force a smile despite the throbbing in my stomach.
I make it a point to focus on the road while driving, and not on the impending doom about to fall on me. Halfway there, my phone starts ringing again.
"Ugh, can't it wait?" I grumble to no one in particular.
I put it on silent and toss it on the passenger's seat, not wanting an added distraction apart from the strong discomfort I'm feeling.
I arrive home and head straight into the kitchen where I know Brandon is, all the while acting like there isn't a devil having a campfire in my belly. Even breathing hurts.
"Oh hey," he greets, sipping on his ramen and effectively making my mouth water. "The popstar's off?"
"Yup. Are there any more of that?"
He tilts his head. "In the pantry."
I nod, sitting down in front of him just as he sips, the contraction of my muscles making me wince. Mother fudger.
My eyes meet Brandon's and I immediately tense in my seat. He stares at me, suspicious now.
"You okay?" He asks, gaze still trained on my movements. I don't dare move.
"Period."
"What, your period's twice a month now? You had your period last week."
I curse inwardly, choosing to go on the offensive. "It's called PMS—heard about it? Or would you like a first-hand experience?"
He relaxes, laughing. "What do you mean? I've had first row seat to your PTSD every month."
"PMS," I say, pronouncing each letter slowly.
"Same shit."
"No, it's not," I chuckle then stop immediately, clenching my jaw tightly and calling out to all Gods and deities I knew. When it doesn't work, I call to all the demons as well.
Unable to keep it in, I sit on the floor, back against the wall as I squirm to find a less painful position.
"Jesus, Kennedy," Brandon laughs at first, peering over the table to check on me. When he sees I'm not acting and am in actual pain, he's instantly by my side. "Are you giving birth or something?"
"Or something," I answer after a while, breaking into a groan. "Got attacked in the airport. This girl kicked me in the fucking stomach."
His eyes widen. "What the fuck? Do you know who she is?"
"Obviously not."
"Hold on, I'll get you some painkillers. Am I supposed to give you some painkillers? Shoot."
He leaves, whispering the last few sentences to himself, his heavy footsteps distinctive of him almost flying up the stairs in his haste. I take steady breaths to help distract myself.
When he returns, he has Mom in tow, her face a mix between rage, concern, and on the brink of crying—it's chaotic, so I decide to look at Brandon instead, his focused expression making it easier for me to keep myself still.
"Who fucking did this to you?" Mom snarls as Brandon lifts my shirt up just high enough to see the damage.
"What the fuck," he breathes, and I'm almost too scared to look down.
I shake my head at Mom, meaning to answer 'no' but also because I feel myself slipping and the sight of her so enraged that her hands are shaking warms my chest, stealing the words from my mouth. Jesus Christ, Kennedy, get a grip of yourself.
"I'm going to the airport," she announces, already moving. "there is no fucking way that whoever did that to you would get away with it. That's fucking insane!"
"Mom, no—"
"No, Kennedy," she looks at me, her expression screaming there'll be blood spilling. "Nobody messes with my children. Not while I'm alive." She pulls her phone out, tapping away. "Brandon, get Claudia on the phone and get an ice pack pressed on Kennedy."
She disappears, presumably headed upstairs to gather her things.
"Brandon," I hiss, "stop Mom. If this goes out, there'll be more talk."
Poor brother looks frantic between getting an ice pack for me, explaining to Claudia and stopping Mom.
He holds his palm up. "Yeah, Claud, calm down—yes, she's here. What should we do? Yeah, done," he hands the ice pack to me and I take it, pressing it against my stomach and cringing when the cold surface burns my skin. "What else?"
Mom chooses that moment to walk into the kitchen, still fuming. "Where the fuck are my keys? Brandon, what did Claudia say? Is that her on the phone?"
"Mom, relax," Brandon tells her off.
"How do you expect me to relax? Your sister's on the floor, dying, because a random girl decided it was okay to lay a finger on her."
"She's freaking out," he says, still on the phone. "Just get here. Yeah. Okay."
"Brandon, have you seen my keys?"
"Mom, just sit down for a moment. Wait til Claudia gets here," he answers her.
She crouches down, caressing my hair for a moment that it makes my eyes teary. I hold back a sob. "My baby," she says so sadly, her own eyes turning glassy at the sight of mine. Then they turn angry again. "I'll call your Dad. We're sending that person to jail."
I jolt at the sound of that, reminded of the connections Dad has that could very well end the girls' future.
"No, don't do that," I place my hand over her forearm, "I'll explain what happened when Claudia gets here. Just . . . stay here please," I plead.
I see Mom's inner conflict through the looks crossing on her face, so I tighten my hold on her and shift in my position, wincing. "Stay with me," I try again.
I succeed, and for a few minutes, Mom is beside me, asking me about how I'm feeling every thirty seconds with her hand covering mine. Brandon is in front of us, tapping on his phone, glancing from his screen to me every few seconds.
The front door slams open—I didn't even think that was possible until it did—and Claudia and Devorah's voice reverberate in the house.
"I'm going to strangle that motherfucker!" Dev yells, her footsteps telling of her aggression.
"Mom, let's go!" Claudia shouts too.
Mom perks up at that, getting on her feet and I swipe at her hand a little too late. "Are we taking your jeep?" She asks Claudia, her energy back on high.
Claud and Dev walk into the kitchen, eyes straight up looking for me. Dev spots me first and she crouches.
"Kennedy, did you ID her?" She asks, her posture tense with anger. "My Mom's friend works at the airport. We could get a copy of the cameras and nail that bitch in the ass so hard she'll be fucking crawling her entire life."
Although it sent a disturbing thought into my head, I chuckle, tears trailing down my cheeks at the scene in front of me. All of them were watching me with flames in their eyes, but none of it directed at me. They wanted justice for me—would stop at nothing to get the girls to pay for their misdeed.
More tears fall.
Fucking hell.
It took a lot of convincing, but we ended up going to the hospital instead of the airport. I explained it to them as thoroughly as I could, the incident and the consequences of their possible actions as well. They hated my decision, but they chose to respect it.
After taking my blood pressure and seeing that I was hemodynamically stable—whatever that means—I was instructed to fast for a few hours before I take an ultrasound, blood tests, and possibly a CT scan. Apparently, my stability was a good sign in itself.
After meeting with the doctor, we decided to go home to my apartment, cramming ourselves into Claudia's jeep. The pain has eased a little bit—only a little.
They'd mellowed down as well, although they were still on the hunt for those girls in all social media platforms. We were lounging around when Claudia shot up from her seat, showing her screen to Dev.
They huddle closer together, looking like they're comparing notes on their cells.
Cells . . .
I groan, clenching my eyes in irritation. Mom is immediately on her feet, and their eyes fall on me.
"Are you in pain?" She asks.
"No. My phone—it's in my car, back at home. I chucked it when I was driving."
Brandon suddenly glowers. "Does he know you were assaulted?"
The word makes me wince, the term hitting differently. Nevertheless, I shake my head at him. "He was already inside the gates when the girls came up to me."
"Are you telling him?" Dev asks.
Claudia folds her right leg under her left thigh. "You should."
The way they said it made my heart drop. The hardness in their eyes made it very clear how they felt about Harry now, and I see the same on Mom and Brandon's.
"He doesn't need to know," I mutter, leaning my head back against the backrest of the sofa.
"He kind of does," Dev says, because it basically happened because of him, I hear inside my head.
"He definitely does," Claudia agrees.
And I don't counter them, because deep inside I know. I know that a part of me agrees that all of this wouldn't happened if I weren't involved with him. Me being in a relationship with a completely different guy wouldn't have been this dramatic.
Brandon didn't need to speak. It was all in the look he gave me, and he sees the decision in my eyes because he wordlessly went to my room and emerged with my laptop in his hands. He sets it on the couch, facing me.
I reach with my right arm, opening the Messages app.
Before I get around to typing a message for him, I am bombarded by messages from him. Endless facetime calls, texts, and imessages. I read through them all.
7:23PM On another plane to bring me farther from you.
7:25PM I've never hated planes so much.
7:40PM No clouds from this side of the atmosphere, how's the ground?
7:59PM Have you fainted from getting so much texts from me?
8:24PM Are you alright? You're worrying me.
8:49PM I hope you're not ignoring me on purpose.
8:52PM Kennedy, is something wrong?
9:27PM I just read about you being attacked at the airport. Are you okay? Where are you now? Please call me.
I still at the possibility that there might be some article out there or a thread sitting on my feed about the incident. Please God, no.
9:29PM My mind is jumping into horrible scenarios. Please contact me.
9:38PM This is my fault. All of this. I'm so sorry Kennedy.
9:39PM Please forgive me. I don't fucking deserve you, my angel.
9:45PM I cannot even begin to think of the horrors I've subjected you to because of my selfishness. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
10:02PM Being with me only seems to bring you pain and sadness. Jesus, Kennedy, I never want to see you hurt in any way. I'm sorry. I'd make it all go away if I could.
10:31PM Maybe I could.
[I beg you, play the video above, skip to 2:16]
Confused and a bit anxious, I feel my heart rate spike when I see a voice message from him. I click play and his familiar voice fills the air.
Kennedy . . . I—I don't even know how to start this.
His voice is hushed yet loud, a weird combination, like he doesn't want anyone to hear but he wants the message sent clearly.
I guess I'll begin by saying I'm sorry. He sniffs. I'm sorry for this stupid thing I've roped you into. I was selfish—I wanted you so much, I still do, Kennedy. You're beautiful and smart and radiant. You're all I could ever wish for. Another sniff. And I . . . look at what I've done to you. Harry's voice breaks and so does something in my chest.
When all you've done was treat me well . . . God, this is fucking—he stops, and all I could hear is heavy breathing and a ringing in my ears—you deserve the skies Kennedy, the sun and all the good things that this world could give. I'm sorry, angel. This cruelty they did to you has only made me realize that I'm the only one standing between you and that.
Then a pause. A pregnant pause that takes my breath away, and I realize my stomach is clenching because of what is to come but God help me, I'd choose to feel the physical torture a thousand times over this.
So I . . . I'm stepping away.