Kenzie Love Pov [updated] [ TRENDING ]

It’s a lie. I am drowning. But I’m also stubborn.

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. kenzie love pov

It’s 11:47 PM, and I’m sitting on the cold tile floor of my bathroom, my back against the tub. The party is still roaring on the other side of the door—bass thumping through the walls, laughter echoing up the stairs. I should be out there. I’m the one who planned the playlist. I’m the one who bought the extra guacamole. I’m the one everyone expects to be smiling. It’s a lie

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.” I’m staring at my phone screen

And here’s the thing about being Kenzie Love: people assume I’m immune to jealousy. I’m the “chill girl.” The one who laughs off drama, who says “it’s fine” when it’s absolutely not fine. I’ve built a whole identity around being low-maintenance, easygoing, a safe harbor for other people’s storms.

I grab my phone, shove it into my back pocket, and open the bathroom door. The hallway smells like cheap vanilla candles and expensive regret. I walk toward the stairs, toward the noise, toward E. I don’t know what I’m going to say. I don’t know if I’ll say anything at all.

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.