In Love With Him

Chapter 59

Chapter 59 – Kennedy’s POV

I don’t think I slept a wink the night before. My nerves were a chaotic mix of excitement, dread, and too many mental replays of the audition song. When I woke up Wednesday morning, I didn’t even feel tired—just buzzing. My stomach was in knots, and my voice felt dry as paper, but I was ready.

Today was the day.

The theater hall was packed. Every girl with a decent voice and a bit of ambition was there, hoping for the same role I wanted—Mrs. Lovett.

I wasn’t delusional. I knew there were a lot of talented girls, and the director was notoriously hard to impress. But I also knew I had something none of them did—a five-octave vocal range and a hell of a lot of passion for this part.

Finn gave me a reassuring thumbs-up as we waited our turns. Marty was flipping through her sketchbook with her foot bouncing like she had caffeine in her blood. I sat silently in one of the back seats, mouthing my lines and softly humming “The Worst Pies in London” over and over again.

When they finally called my name, my knees nearly buckled.

I walked onto the stage. The spotlight was bright and hot. My heart hammered against my ribcage, and for a moment, I thought I might forget every single word I’d rehearsed.

But then I saw it.

The chair. The fake rolling pin. The piano cue in the corner of my eye.

And I became her.

Mrs. Lovett.

I slipped into the role like a second skin, dropping my voice into a thick cockney accent and flitting around the stage like a mad baker with a thousand schemes. I belted the song, put every ounce of energy into the performance, and when I hit that ridiculous high note toward the end—I held it.

When I finished, the auditorium was silent for a beat.

Then applause.

It was just the director and a couple of teachers, but it was applause nonetheless.

As I walked off stage, I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face. I did it. At least... I felt like I did.

The rest of the day dragged like molasses. I sat through every class pretending to care about world history and geometry when all I could think about was that damn cast list.

By the final bell, it was me, Finn, and Marty standing outside the theater office waiting for the results to go up like we were waiting to hear if we made it into college.

When the door finally creaked open and one of the stage managers taped the list to the wall, we shoved our way to the front.

Finn gasped, “I got Anthony!”

Marty shrieked, “I’m head of costume and makeup—hell yes!”

My hands trembled as I scanned the names. Then—

Mrs. Lovett – Kennedy Smith.

I screamed.

I didn’t even care who was watching or that the hall was packed. I hugged Finn and Marty so hard we nearly toppled over.

We celebrated all the way to the parking lot, singing Johanna and dancing like idiots. I barely made it through the front door of the house without tripping over myself.

“I GOT THE ROLE!” I shouted as I burst into the foyer.

Helen came around the corner first, her face lighting up. “I knew it!” she said, throwing her arms around me.

My dad followed behind her, grinning ear to ear. “There was never any doubt, sweetheart,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You’re gonna blow them away.”

I looked around, smile still plastered to my face. “Where’s Dominic?”

Helen raised her eyebrows. “He went out for a bit. Said he’d be home later.”

My heart sank slightly. Not in a disappointed kind of way—more like... I wanted him to be the first person I told. I wanted to see his reaction. I wanted to hear him say he was proud of me, maybe pull me into one of those warm, grounding hugs of his.

But instead, he was gone.

And I couldn’t help but feel that strange ache in my chest again—the one that only seemed to show up when he wasn’t around.

Still, I forced a smile, hugged my dad and Helen again, and told myself it didn’t matter.

He’d find out soon enough.

And when he did... I hoped he'd smile. Just like I had.

---

Dominic's POV

I didn’t want to go.

But my so-called friends wouldn’t take no for an answer. One minute I was sitting in my car outside the mall—debating whether to go in and buy that leather-bound Edgar Allan Poe collection I’d been eyeing for Kennedy—and the next, I was being dragged out to some random house party across town.

I used to live for this kind of thing.

Drinking. Hooking up. Losing myself in noise and bodies and the numbness that came with it. That was the old Dominic—the guy who didn’t give a s**t about anything or anyone, especially himself.

But now? I just wanted to be home. On the couch. With Kennedy curled beside me in one of her oversized hoodies, arguing about whatever show we were bingeing. Probably Euphoria. Hell, I’d sit through a musical marathon if it meant being near her.

I stood in the kitchen of the house, ignoring the thumping bass that rattled the windows and the crowd of sweaty college students grinding against each other in the living room. I leaned against the counter, arms crossed over my chest, the cheap LED lights above making my skin look pale and sickly.

I told myself I wasn’t drinking tonight. Because every single time I did... something happened. Something bad.

Still, that didn’t stop the girls.

They recognized me the second I walked in—like sharks scenting blood in the water.

One blonde leaned into me, her hands already on my chest. “You disappeared, Dominic,” she purred. “Missed you.”

Another girl trailed her fingers along the back of my neck, whispering something about taking the edge off.

I didn’t even answer.

I didn’t want them.

Didn’t want anyone but her.

I sat in the corner of the couch, tuned out, while the party moved around me like a movie on fast-forward. My thoughts were far away, stuck on Kennedy and Christmas.

She mentioned Poe once. Just once. Said his writing was “dark, twisted, but beautiful.” Her eyes had sparkled when she said it.

And just like that, I remembered it.

That’s what she deserved—something thoughtful. Real. Not the meaningless crap I used to buy for girls—lacy things that ended up on my bedroom floor faster than they were unwrapped.

This was different.

She was different.

I was still sitting there, debating if the bookstore would still be open tomorrow, when the guys found me again.

“Bro,” one of them said, slapping a hand on my back, “what is wrong with you tonight? There are girls everywhere dying to get with you.”

I shook my head. “I’m not feeling it. I think I’m gonna head out.”

Collective groans erupted.

“Come on, man, just have one drink. For old times' sake.”

I sighed. Maybe if I gave them one drink, they’d leave me alone. “Fine. One.”

They cheered and handed me a red Solo cup. The liquid inside tasted... off. Sweet but metallic. I wrinkled my nose but said nothing.

Five minutes later, everything began to unravel.

At first, I just felt... light. Like my brain was floating in a bubble.

Then came the slow realization that I couldn’t feel my hands. Or my legs.

Then I couldn’t feel anything but heat.

Like someone else had taken the wheel, and I was shoved into the back seat of my own body.

My vision blurred. People moved too quickly, too slowly. My mouth acted on its own. Smiling. Kissing. Letting hands slide up under my shirt.

I tried to stop it. Tried to scream from inside my own head, but nothing worked.

Then I blinked—

And I was on a bed.

A girl was on top of me.

Not just any girl.

Amber.

Kennedy’s tormentor.

Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders as she moaned my name and whispered things like “I’ve missed you so much,” and “You know you wanted this.”

I didn’t want this.

I never wanted this.

I begged my body to move, to stop, to do something.

But I was trapped. Helpless.

Then—

Darkness.

Complete, suffocating blackness.

---

Pain.

That was the first thing I registered.

A stabbing, pulsing, splitting kind of pain that wrapped around my skull and pounded behind my eyes. I groaned, turning my face deeper into the pillow as I struggled to remember where the hell I was.

Everything was blurry.

I tried to open my eyes, but even the faintest light sent a bolt of pain through my head. My mouth was dry, my throat sore, and my stomach churned with nausea.

Then I felt it.

A warm body, curled against me.

Soft breathing. Skin against skin.

For half a second—just one fragile second—I thought it was Kennedy.

My hand drifted across the body beside me out of reflex, hoping for the familiar silky texture of her skin, the faint smell of vanilla and coconut that always lingered on her hair. I prayed I’d feel the curves I’d memorized, the softness I ached for.

But it wasn’t her.

The skin was too rough.

The scent was all wrong—cheap perfume and stale alcohol, not Kennedy’s subtle sweetness.

My eyes snapped open.

Blinking through the pain and fuzziness, I turned my head and felt my heart drop straight through the floor.

Amber.

Naked. Tangled in the sheets next to me. Her blonde hair a mess, her lips swollen. Her eyes fluttered open when she felt me move.

She smiled.

“Good morning,” she whispered, her voice laced with smug satisfaction.

No.

No no no no no.

I pushed the sheets off and sat up so fast my head spun. I looked down—and my stomach turned. A used condom still clung to me, sticky and uncomfortable.

At least it was protected, my brain offered uselessly, but it didn’t help. Nothing would help.

“Wait—where are you going?” Amber asked, sitting up and trying to reach for me.

I ignored her.

I stumbled out of the bed and yanked my jeans on, my hands trembling. My heart raced like I’d just run a marathon. Flashes from the night before came rushing back like a tsunami—dizzying images of lips, hands, laughter I didn’t remember participating in. My body had been on autopilot, my brain locked away in a box.

“I don’t—” I swallowed hard. “I don’t remember… last night.”

Amber tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “You were into it. Don’t act like you weren’t. You kissed me first.”

No, I thought, I didn’t. I couldn’t even feel my damn hands.

I grabbed my shirt off the floor and tugged it over my head. “What the hell was in that drink?”

Amber shrugged, unbothered. “Your friends said it was just to loosen you up. Chill out, Dominic. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before.”

That stopped me.

Because this—whatever the f**k this was—had never happened before.

Not like this.

Not when I was in love with someone else.

Kennedy.

I yanked my boots on without tying them, avoiding the mirror because I couldn’t face the man staring back. I couldn’t even look at myself.

Amber’s voice followed me to the door. “Don’t act like this didn’t mean anything! You wanted me once—maybe you still do!”

I stopped with my hand on the knob.

“No,” I said coldly, my voice low and cracked. “I didn’t want you. I want her.”

And then I left.