Treadmill

XVII.I

Do you consider yourself to be a good friend?

I ask because I think I consider myself to be a good friend. At least most of the time. I try to be there for my friends. I try to do things to help them out. I try to be honest with them and kind to them. I try to make time for them. I try to be loyal and keep their secrets. I think all of those things chalk me up to being a good friend.

But that could just be me being cocky. I mean, look at this: I'm writing this whole thing about myself and what happened to me. You have to be a little cocky to do something like that, right?

But we're not here to talk about me. We're here to talk about Kennedy and the giant mess I inadvertently got myself into with this whole Lydia Farrow shoot. I broke the cardinal rule: you never sign a contract without looking at it first. Especially when it's from a company you've never done business with before.

But that's beside the point. I tend to do that a lot; ramble far outside the realm of what's important to this story. But you're still reading, so you must be at least a little bit okay with it. Right?

Right.

Anyways.

I think that I'm a good friend. I think that most of my friends are good friends. But I also think that I made decisions at this point in my life that resulted in making some friends who were not so good. And this is where nothing makes sense while other things start to make a little sense.

I don't think that anything is going to come of me writing this. I don't think that people are suddenly going to start hunting Kennedy down and hating her. But I hope that it will show how I'm innocent in this entire fiasco. Or, at least...mostly innocent.

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"Knock, knock."

Rebecca hated being that person, but there she was, walking into Kennedy's apartment on Saturday morning before the shoot, saying 'knock, knock' instead of actually knocking on the door.

She walked into a seemingly empty apartment, looking around cautiously. She was never sure of what she would find in Kennedy's apartment when she wasn't expected to be there; she had walked in many a time on Doug and Lyla doing things she didn't want to think about ever again.

Rebecca walked into the living room and found Rian and Lyla sitting on the couch quietly, both girls absorbed in their phones and not speaking to each other. Rian looked up when Rebecca walked in, but Lyla didn't bother.

"Hey, Bec." Rian greeted her before returning her attention to the phone, "Ken isn't here."

Rebecca raised her eyebrows.

"Do you know where she went? We were...supposed to do something today."

In actuality, Rebecca had been in charge of picking Kennedy up and driving the girls to the shoot in Henderson. She figured she could at least make things up to Kennedy by using her own gas to get the two there.

"I don't know where she went." Lyla spoke now, "I told her that Doug was coming over in like an hour and she bolted." She shrugged, raising her eyebrows and scoffing a bit, "Doesn't surprise me."

Rebecca nodded slowly, refusing to get in the middle of the Kennedy-Doug-Lyla sex triangle that was going on. She would say love triangle, but she didn't think there was much of that happening between the three.