Loving Kinnick

Do You Think I Don't Know How To Break Into A House?

Kinnick called my name from outside of my window. He knew I wasn't sleeping. That didn't mean I flipped my light on so I wasn't consumed by darkness. After an hour of trying, he left. Then the phone calls started. The countless messages he sent blew up my phone - and it is not like they kept me up because the nightmares did a good job on their own - but with every ding of my phone, more weight pressed down on my chest.

I didn't want him asking about my shaking hands or about dinner and how it went. I preferred to stay in my comforter, hidden behind mountains of cotton, where I could watch movies as they came and gone. I watched movies that normally wouldn't hold my interest, but even boredom was better than nothing.

Michael's questions about my mom last night shocked me. He knew what happened, yet, he found himself interrogating me. In my house. At my dinner table. And dad got mad at me for snapping. He expected me to be okay. People expected me to move on - I can't.

School started getting worst. I went from failing a few classes to all of them. My professors emailed me, wondering why I failed to show up today. They wanted to know how it was possible to fail when I showed up every day, so I stopped showing up.

Footsteps. I heard my steps creaking.

My body shot up when my bedroom door flew open. "What the fuck? Why didn't you come to school? Chrissy told me you're failing. That is not like you, Bo."

"How did you get in?" I stared at Kinnick with shock. "I locked the door."

"I'm a criminal," he shrugs. "Do you think I don't know how to break into a house?"

"You broke my door?"

He scoffed. "No, I popped it open with my bank card."

"What?" My eyes widened in shock. "How did you do that?"

"That is beside the point," he waved me off. "Why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not."

"Really? I know you heard me pounding at your window last night."

I rolled my eyes. "You got me there."

"Cut the shit," he snaps. "What is going on?"

"I don't want to talk -"

"Don't," he warned. "At least tell me what is going on, so I can understand why you're acting this way."

"What's with the groceries?" I stared at the bags in his hands.

"Seriously?" He sighed. "I bought you blueberry muffins. This is my sorry."

"Why?"

"Because you've been avoiding me again, and I've felt like a dick," he states the obvious. "You haven't been answering my phone calls, either."

"Really?" I gasped. "I had no idea."

"You clearly haven't been sleeping."

"What makes you think that?"

"Chrissy's mom, Karen, said you haven't been picking up your sleeping medication."

"I didn't know you and Karen were so close," I furrowed my brows. "Plus, I'm not tired. I've gotten plenty of sleep."

"Stop lying," he snapped. "You have bags under your eyes, you're pale, and you look you're going to drop any second."

"Well, I have been in bed all day."

"Funny," he rolls his eyes. "Get your ass up from the bed. I have cinnamon rolls in the oven."

I watched him turn around, walking away from me as I stared at him with shock. I didn't hear him come inside. I definitely didn't hear him pull out any pans. Yet, here I am, watching him open the oven door to check on the pastries. The yellow oven mitts on his hands protected him from the hot metal.