Kenzie Love Pov Exclusive May 2026
It’s a lie. I am drowning. But I’m also stubborn.
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.
My thumb hovers. My heart hammers. I can hear my own pulse, loud and uneven. kenzie love pov
Maybe I’ll just stand there, in the middle of the room, and let them see me. The real me. Not the easygoing Kenzie. Not the girl who’s always fine. Just the girl whose heart is a raw, open nerve.
I reread the text I haven’t sent: “Hey. We need to talk about what I saw tonight.” It’s a lie
And for once, I won’t look away first.
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. It’s 11:47 PM, and I’m sitting on the
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.
It’s a lie. I am drowning. But I’m also stubborn.
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.
My thumb hovers. My heart hammers. I can hear my own pulse, loud and uneven.
Maybe I’ll just stand there, in the middle of the room, and let them see me. The real me. Not the easygoing Kenzie. Not the girl who’s always fine. Just the girl whose heart is a raw, open nerve.
I reread the text I haven’t sent: “Hey. We need to talk about what I saw tonight.”
And for once, I won’t look away first.
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.
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.