Get out of my head!

I've reread the same damn sentence in my history textbook five times. Five fucking times! This must be some sort of record. I have never been so distracted in my life. And the most frustrating aspect of my current predicament is that I'm not even distracted by the fact Sawyer thinks I have no heart or that he's probably genuinely in love with Corrine. No, that's not the issue. I wish it were the issue, that would make sense, that would be logical.

But no.

The source of my scattered concentration is him. Stupid, tall, 'maybe forgetting is the right thing to do', him.

"Fuck," I grumble, slamming my textbook shut as I check the time.

Great. Now I've got to go and spend several hours locked in a studio with a guy who makes me crazy. Crazy!

What is there even to forget? Hmm? Nothing happened. We didn't do anything. I mean yeah, maybe it felt a little bit nice when he held me, and yeah, maybe I didn't want him to let go, but I was upset and distraught and vulnerable. And feelings that arise during times of heightened emotions are not to be trusted.

At all.

Oliver wants me to forget? Fine. Forgotten. Door closed. Windows freaking shut. No road ahead.

Dead end.

I loop the camera bag I borrowed from Photography over my shoulder as I look at my reflection in the mirror. Damn it! I reach into my pocket and apply one more layer of pink lipstick. This is not for him. No. It's for me.

Exiting my dorm room, I head to the studio, hoping that Oliver shows up on time. With his band practices and my commitments, I was lucky to be able to book a time slot when we're both available.

"Kennedy, wait up!" Sawyer calls out, jogging towards me in his football gear.

This is getting out of hand.

"What do you want, Sawyer?" I ask, stopping in the middle of the hallway.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he says, catching his breath. "I shouldn't have said what I said, KC. I was just-" He lets out a groan, not caring that people are staring at us. "I was angry and I said shit that I didn't mean." He drags his hand across his lips, his hooded eyes on mine. "I'm sorry for hurting you, really I am, that wasn't my intention when I said I wanted to talk."

But he did mean it. I know he did. It took several days and infinite crying sessions but I've accepted it. The whole time we were dating, I thought we were on the same page, that we were both in love and happy and everything was fine. I was wrong. I was oblivious to his pain. I didn't see it. Maybe I didn't want to see it.

"What do you want from me, Sawyer?" I sigh. I don't have the energy for this. "Do you want me to forgive you for yelling at me? Is that what you want? Alright, I forgive you, okay? Just stop texting me, stop trying to talk to me, just stop."

"But you don't forgive me, do you?" Sawyer asks, his tone low. "You're still mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you, Sawyer," I admit, my head starting to pound. "I mean, at first yeah I was but I'm not anymore. I just wish you told me how you felt sooner rather than dump me out of nowhere with no explanation when clearly you had many reasons."

"I didn't know how to tell you," Sawyer says. "I didn't want to hurt you, I knew it would."

"So you just didn't say anything? That hurt more," I say, sucking in a small breath. "Honestly, Sawyer, it doesn't matter anymore, we're not together." I pause, scanning his face. "I'm- I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asks, his brows pinching together.

"For being a shitty girlfriend," I say.

"You weren't a shitty girlfriend, KC," Sawyer swallows.

"Well, apparently I wasn't a good one either," I say, casting him a weak smile. "You deserve to be with someone who can love you the way you need to be loved and I'm sorry I couldn't be that person."

Sawyer nods slowly, an unreadable look on his face. "Just 'cause we're not dating, KC, doesn't mean we can't be friends."

I let out a quiet chuckle. "Yes it does," I say, my phone vibrating in my hand. I ignore it. "We have too much history to be friends and I'm sure Corrine would rip my head off if she found out you were even talking to me."

"She'll get over it," Sawyer says. "Let's just go for a coffee or something. Like old times."

"No," I say, shaking my head. "If you and I start hanging out, that'll ruin things with Corrine, we both know it-"

"Ken-"

"Let me finish," I say, holding up my hand. "You seem happy now, Sawyer, and I don't wanna mess that up for you so just leave me alone, okay?"

"No," Sawyer whispers, the clicking of high heels echoing in the distance.

"Babe!" Corrine calls out, her hardened gaze darting at me. "Oh, Kenny, what a treat." She purses her lips. "What're you two talking about?"

"Nothing," I sigh as she loops her arm through Sawyer's. Maybe he sees something I don't. Or maybe he sees what I used to see. Who knows. "I was just leaving." I glance at Sawyer. "Good luck tonight."

"Thanks," Sawyer mutters as I walk away.

Maybe I didn't have a heart before but I do now. And my heart wants him to be happy but it doesn't want him. Not anymore. And honestly, that's kind of a relief.

I manage to get halfway down the stairs before Corrine's voice chirps from behind me, "Stay the fuck away from my boyfriend, Kenny. Got it?"

"Not a problem," I sigh, continuing down the staircase.

"I'm serious, Kennedy," Corrine states, grabbing my shoulder and spinning me around. "He doesn't love you anymore, he loves me, so just stay away."

"I know that," I say in a calm tone. Nothing. It doesn't hurt. "Don't worry, Corrine, he's all yours."

Corrine frowns, eyeing me warily. "Really? You expect me to believe that?"

"No, I don't," I sigh. "Believe whatever you want." I check my watch. "Can I go now? I'm late."

Corrine crosses her arms. "What were you talking about? Tell me."

"Ancient history," I mutter, my phone vibrating again. I pick up the call from Oliver. "Hey, I'll be right there."

"Tardiness is not tolerated at Hilton," Ollie teases. "If you're not here in thirty seconds, I'm leaving."

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I say, rolling my eyes before I hang up. I look up at Corrine. "Anything else?"

She narrows her eyes at me. "I'll be watching you, Kenny."

"Whatever, Corrine," I murmur, turning my back on her.

God, she really is insecure. At least that hasn't changed.

When I round the corner to the studio, I find Oliver leaning against the classroom door, a pair of headphones covering his ears.

"Well, well, well," he tuts, pausing his music as I approach. "Look who finally decided to show up."

"Yes, I'm late, sorry. Move please," I say, pushing him to the side so I can unlock the door. "We only have thirty minutes so let's get started." I twist open the handle, entering the studio and turning on the lights. "Who's going first? You or me?"

"This is your shoot, Kennedy, not mine." A mischievous grin spreads on his face. "I have other plans for you, my little model."

"What are you talking about?" I ask, pulling the DSLR from the camera bag as we walk over to the white backdrop. "You don't want to use the professional studio equipment?"

"My project, my choice," Ollie smirks. "Don't worry though, love, it's not far, we can walk there."

"We have to go somewhere?" I ask as I switch on the studio lights, positioning them according to Mr. Takanaki's textbook instructions. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just love seeing you flustered," he smirks, nodding at the backdrop. "Alright, boss, where do you want me? What's your vision? How do you plan on capturing my- as our professor put it- my essence."

I snort. "I think I'm going for a 'he's overly cocky and kind of a dick' vibe so all you gotta do is just stand there."

"Do you want me to smile for the camera or shall I give you a more brooding glare?" he teases, adjusting the lapels of his leather jacket.

I roll my eyes. "Just stand sideways and pretend that you're thinking about something complex, I know that might be a challenge for you, but try."

Oliver casts me a playful glare before following my instructions. I pull up the screenshots I took of the textbook for reference and begin shooting Oliver's portraits, repositioning him every few clicks. Surprisingly, he takes direction much better than I anticipated.

I might just get an A after all.

"I think I'm going to edit them into black and white," I say, flipping through the fifty or so photos I snapped. "But the lighting looks good."

"It's not the lighting, love," Ollie says, peering over my shoulder, his breath tickling my neck. "It's me." I lightly jab my elbow into his kidney, suppressing a grin. "Okay, it's the lighting, Christ, you're aggressive."

"Is there any shot you like in particular?" I ask, craning my neck towards him.

"Nuh-uh," Ollie hums, grabbing his film camera from the table before helping me turn off the studio lights. "If I were to help you that might be considered cheating and I am a stickler for the rules." He tosses me a wink. "Academic integrity and all that crap."

I blink. "That's hardly cheating, I just asked for your opinion."

"You must submit a photo that you think best represents me," Ollie says, his eyes gleaming with humor. "Seeing as I am the subject, I'm not nearly objective enough to make that decision."

"God, you're annoying," I grumble, shoving the camera back into the bag. "Everything's a joke, isn't it?"

"Life's a joke, Kennedy!" Oliver says, handing me the lens cap. "We might as well laugh."

"You're in a real chipper mood today, aren't you?" I ask, draping the camera over my shoulder. "What happened?"

"One of us needs to be," Ollie says, holding the door open for me. "And seeing as you're a bit frown-y today, I thought I'd step up and take one for the team." He motions to the hallway. "Let's get a move on, it'll get dark soon."

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, following him outside. He doesn't respond as he speed walks out of campus. "Oliver! Where are we going?"

"To a park," he says, waving me over. "Hurry up, the sun is setting."

"It's cold," I complain, catching up to him. "You should've told me we were going to be outside, I would've brought a jacket."

"You want mine?" Oliver asks, stopping at the crosswalk.

"No," I whisper, tugging my cardigan over my chest. "I'm fine for now."

"Well, let me know if you change your mind," he says, crossing the street towards Hyde Park. "This way." Oliver leads us down a dirt path towards a clearing past several oak trees. The setting sun illuminates the sky, its vivid colors complementing the scattered dried leaves on the ground. "Alright, we're here."

"Great," I say, placing the camera bag on a tree stump. "Tell me what to do."

"Oh, I will," Ollie grins, taking two steps towards me. "First of all, this needs to go-" He curls his fingers around my hair tie and pulls it away, my hair falling down my face. He pushes back a strand, dragging his fingers along my temple. "Shake it out a little, love."

"Like this?" I ask, shaking my head, my stupid heart battering in my chest.

"Perfect," he smiles, his grey eyes flitting across my face. "One more thing-" He fishes out a napkin from his pocket, bringing it up to my lips.

"What are you doing?" I whisper.

"You don't need this," he states, arching down, his gaze locked on my lips as he carefully wipes off my lipstick. Oh, God. Forget. He takes a step back, tilting his head. "There, better."

"Not a fan of the color?" I ask, swallowing back a ball of sudden nervousness.

"It's a fine color," he says. "But you don't put a bumper sticker on a Bentley."

I blink. "What-"

"Shall we get started?" Ollie interrupts me, clearing his throat. He takes the lens cap off of the Canon A1 and adjusts the settings. He glances up at me. "Relax, Kennedy, just act natural."

"Natural?" I ask, unsure of what to do with my hands. "Do you want me to pose?"

"That's the opposite of what I want you to do," he says, bringing the camera to his eye. "Spin around, jump, throw some leaves, do anything you want, just don't pose."

"Throw leaves?" I ask, eyeing the ground. "They're dirty."

"My assignment, my rules," he says, nodding to a pile of withering red and orange leaves. "Go on now, pick 'em up and toss 'em in the air."

"Oliver-"

"There's no one around, Kennedy," he says. "No one's watching except for me. Just do it." He pauses, his eyes softening. "Please?"

"Fine," I concede, giving him a tiny scowl as I collect a pile of leaves. "Tell me when."

"When," he says. A lopsided grin clips the corners of his lips as I toss the leaves into the air, spinning as they cascade around me. His laugh and the clicking of his camera are the only thing I hear as I act like a complete idiot, repeatedly showering myself with nature's carcass. "Brilliant, Kennedy, you look like a little woodland fairy, all you're missing is some animal friends."

"A woodland fairy?" I ask, letting out a chuckle. "Nice, it's like a dream come true."

"Keep going," he pushes, changing angles every few shots. He pauses, checking the roll count on the camera. He clicks his tongue. "And that's all she wrote."

"We're done?" I ask, dusting bits of leaves off of my sweater. "That's it?"

"Unfortunately yes," he says, the roll winding backward. "One of the downsides of a film camera."

"And the fact you can't see the photo until it's developed," I add, walking over to him. "Why don't you use a digital camera? What's so special about film?"

"So many things," Oliver says, adjusting the tattered camera strap around his neck. "Film blends light and color much better than digital, it's more forgiving when it comes to overexposure, and I like the grain, it adds character and texture to every image." He scans my face. "Film is raw, Kennedy. It's unpretentious."

"It's more real," I muse, my pulse quickening as he picks a leaf out of my hair.

"Exactly," he whispers, dropping his hand. "And real is always better, Kennedy. Always."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Are you implying that I'm not real?"

"I didn't say that," Oliver says, his tone unconvincing. "We're talking about cameras, are we not?"

"Are we?" I ask, confused.

"You tell me," he says, hanging me my camera bag. "Let's head back now, yeah?" He glances at me. "You cold? Do you want my jacket now?"

"No, I'm fine," I say, forcing a smile as we head back towards campus. My phone rings. I frown when I see that it's my father calling. Great. "Hello? Daddy?"

"Kennedy," he says, his tone stoic, even, emotionless as always. "I'm calling to inform you that I will be working over Thanksgiving. If you wish to still come and visit DC, Tracy has agreed to keep you company."

"You're working? I ask, my jaw clenching. "But I haven't seen you in months, daddy."

"We will see each other at Christmas, Kennedy," my father states. "No need to get emotional, it is just a holiday."

"I'm not getting emotional," I say in a tight tone. "It's just that you made me a promise and now-"

"I do not have time for your theatrics, Kennedy," he sighs. "If you want to come and spend the long weekend with Tracy, that is an option, if you do not, then I will see you at Christmas. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," I whisper, closing my eyes. "Understood."

"Excellent," he says. "Perhaps you can use the holiday to revise your essay for Harvard. I do not believe you sent me your best work."

"Not my best? I worked really hard on it, daddy."

"Not hard enough," he states. "I must go now, Kennedy. Goodbye."

"Bye," I sigh, hanging up.

"What was that about?" Oliver asks, a slight frown on his face. "You okay?"

"I was supposed to go to DC for Thanksgiving but my dad has to work," I say, letting out a groan. "Shit, Max is going to visit her family, I can't even stay with her. This sucks."

"You can always stay on campus," Ollie says with a casual shrug. "I'll be here."

"You're not going to your aunt's?" I ask.

"Not if I can help it," he scoffs. "I'd much rather be alone than with Bessie and her boyfriend, the man makes protein powder. A total Chad." He runs his fingers through his hair. "If you wanted to hang out or something, I suppose I could clear my incredibly busy schedule for you."

"Oh, you're too kind," I say, suppressing a grin. "Well, I guess you're not the worst person to spend a national holiday with."

"I'll even get us a turkey dinner," he says as we cross the street. "Cranberry sauce and everything."

"You cook?"

He smirks. "No, but I UberEats like no other."

I roll my eyes. "An invaluable skill."

"Practice makes perfect," he laughs. "So you're down? Orphan Thanksgiving?"

I snort. "As long as you buy real cranberry sauce, not the canned shit."

Because like Ollie said, real is always better. I glance at him, sucking in a shallow breath.

Too bad real is not always real.

__________________

Might be my fav #Kollie chapter so far....

Predictions??? THOUGHTS??