Grey Waters

25: Kennedy

I really hope Sanders isn't secretly Ted Bundt because he's leading Sam and I through a deserted looking basement and won't tell us where we're going. If that's not Ted Bundy I don't know what is. Just kidding I think he was really charming or something...

I've asked him twice why were down here and he said "it's too secret" and "don't ask questions you don't want the answers to, Kenny." You can't tell me those are ominous and worrisome. So now I'm got a hold of both their arms, and am talking like normal so he'll think we're friends and he can trust me. Interrogation 101.

Sanders pulls us to a stop and turns to me, "Kenny, you can stop plotting how to get the answers out of me, I can hear you thinking. We're here."

As I look around I feel severely underwhelmed by his choice in murder spot. We're at the end of the hall way with doors on both side and there's nothing noteworthy about either of them. That is until one of them opens to reveals Greyson hitting a punching bag.

I walk through without looking for who opened the door and watch Greyson intently. His punches look both effortless and powerful enough to move the entire bag and his form—that I don't actually know anything about—looks pretty fricken good to me.

He hasn't noticed me yet, so I take the chance to stare at his tattoos that I can see. He has some sort of angel on his left bicep, a flower just below it and some sort of script on his forearm, but I can't make out the details. His other arm has more small tattoos, including a few different scripts and a few flowers of some sort. The biggest one on his right arm is a skull with what looks like butterfly's coming out of the eyes.

I don't know how long I stare at him, but when I zone back in on life, Sanders is talking to some guy, who I assume was the one who opened the door, and Sam is still in the door way.

"She can't be in here." The guy says, sending me a dirty look that I shrink back from.

"And I already told you, yes she can." Sanders rolls his eyes and turns towards me, but the guy isn't done.

"He never lets his fuck buddies in here and he's not about to start. Get her out."

He never lets his fuck buddies in here. Fuck buddies. Fuck buddies. Fuck buddies.

I'm so hung up on his words that I don't know Greyson's moved until his shoulder brushes my back.

"Get out." His voice is devoid of emotion and so low I almost don't hear it.

Get out.

I try to suppress the sudden surge of tears by pressing my lips together, but it doesn't seem to help.

"I told you, man, shouldn't have brought her here." Door asshole says, making me want to cry even more.

Again, Greyson's proven that he doesn't want to be my friend. And again, I feel like absolute shit. I avoid everyone's eyes and tilt my head slightly towards Greyson.

"I'm sorry." I don't want him to get the satisfaction of seeing the years in my eyes, but even more, I don't want him to feel bad about them. It's not his fault if he doesn't want to be my friend, even if his way of showing it is being an asshole. I know I can be a bit much, and he's... quiet. My cheeks heat with humiliation as I take a step forward, only to be filled back by the waist of my pants.

My back hits Greyson's chest and I look over my shoulder at him in shock.

He's staring down at me, brows furrowed and lips turned slightly down.

"Not you." His gaze hardens as he looks at door guy. "You, out."

The guy sputters for a moment before releasing a shocked laugh, "Dude, what—"