Kennedy does love you, though she doesn't act like it. She loves you, in some crazy, messed up, all sorts of wrong way. You were the only person to hold her, to come back to her no matter what, no matter how often she screamed or yelled or said she hated you. You didn't recoil from the taste of nicotine on her lips, didn't pull away even when she bit hard enough to draw blood. Every time you leave, she accepts your apology and welcomes you right back into her arms - where you belong. That's love, right? She loves you, though she'd rather die than tell you.

You're so good, and it scares her. Sometimes, she secretly hopes you'll get addicted to the nicotine off her lips, just so that she can be sure you'll come back. Then again, sometimes she'll turn and hope that you finally listen to your friends and leave her to find someone better. She's not waiting for the call, just because she knows that it'll come. She knows you'll call her in the darkest hour of the night - and she'll answer. Because no matter how hard she tries to pretend she doesn't need you, she needs you just as much as you need her.

She knows you need her, because even though you'd stormed out of her apartment crying about how she “doesn't respect you” or something like that, it only took a grand total of one night for you to text her with those three little words - I miss you. She's not shocked when, a few minutes later, her phone lights up with your caller ID. She lets it ring for a bit, just to mess with you, then she picks up with a mumbled “What.”

Her voice is raspy from sleep, or maybe from the half-smoked cigarette lying in the ashtray on her nightstand. She hears you talking - she's not really listening - but when you finally shut up, she states, “My door's open if you're done having your little temper tantrum.” The smugness in her voice is unmistakable, yet it's become so common that it's not even cause to bat an eye. She hangs up before you can really process her words, then she waits for the knock on her door she knows is coming.