Free Bittersweet Symphony by J.L. Beck

up in my throat. I’m totally being a pussy assed bitch right now, but I don’t care. I just want to find her and make it better. I don’t want to lose the one true friendship I have with someone before it even starts.
    “Uhh…” Mimi says grabbing at her head. “She lives in the east wing, room 212, I think.” The minute she rattles off the numbers, I send her a gracious thanks over my shoulder and head out the door.
    I take the stairs, burning off some adrenaline. God, I’m so fucking stupid. I regret very few things in my life, but I regret telling her to leave. She poured herself out to me, and I fucked up again.
    When will you get it right, son, when? How many times do I have to pound it into your head?
    I clench my teeth together as I clobber my fist on the wall. I hate him. I hate that he’s made me this way, and that I don’t feel like I’m good enough for anyone, that every choice I make isn’t right.
    “Why can’t I just live?” I roar out, my voice echoing off the walls. My breaths are heaving and my knuckles are busted open again. Fucking great.
    “You can if you let go of whatever it is that’s holding you back.” Kennedy’s voice vibrates through my body, singing to me. I turn around startled to see her, but happy at the same time. What’s she doing here? Probably coming to see Mimi.
    She gives me a shy smile as she walks down the remaining steps. Before I realize it, she’s directly in front of me, and it takes everything in me not to hold her to my body to hear her shallows breaths and feel her heart beat next to mine. Pussy… my ego taunts me.
    “You really should think about punching something much softer next time you want to lash out!” she exclaims, taking my hand in her small one to examine it.
    “Why would you do this to yourself?” She peers up at me over the rim of her glasses. A frown mars her beautiful face, and I hate to see it there. I especially hate that I put it there.
    “The pain. It makes it better,” I say hoarsely, grappling with the fact that I probably shouldn’t have said that. One question leads to others, and I don’t know if I have the strength to not tell her. Hell, I don’t think I have the strength to tell her.
    She lets out a quiet laugh, “Pain makes the anger better? Putting yourself through more hurt makes the hurt better? That is completely absurd.” She releases my hand, the warmth leaving me. Even in my darkest moments, I know Kennedy can pull me out of it. We all need someone in our lives like that who pull us from those moments when we have completely lost hope.
    “The pain reminds me that the hurt is real, Kennedy.” I try to hide the anger from my voice because I’m not mad at her. I’m mad at myself for being the bastard my dad always said I would be, for living up to his gracious beliefs of the person he wanted me to be.
    “Does your brother know about this? About what your dad did, or still does, to you?” I push her against the wall out of plain anger and rage. A gasp leaves her mouth. Would I hurt her? I can practically hear her heart beating out of her chest.
    “No one knows, just you and me,” I say menacing. All I see is blind rage right now, but yet my touch is gentle as I grip her chin to turn her to face me. Her lip is quivering in fear, and I start to hate myself for putting those walls back up.
    “You won’t be telling anyone will you?” I hate instilling this fear in her, but if I didn’t… then my secrets could escape. 
    She shakes her head back and forth, small wisps of hair fall onto her forehead. I release her chin and slam my fist into the wall. Again, and again. I can feel her fear, tears leak from tightly closed eyes. I nestle myself into her neck, taking in her scent. She doesn’t shudder away from me, so I assume she’s okay. I thought wrong.
    “Don’t… Don’t touch me. I’ll scream.” She lets out a ragged sob out of fear, I’m sure. Her tears somehow bring me back to the surface and I