I started to gag and then I threw up.
I threw up all over my shoes and on my pants.
“That’s fucking nasty!” Dania said, backing up.
I kept throwing up. I felt so bad.
I was still crying. Why were they always so mean to me?
It was my birthday!
It was my special day!
“You lied!” I screamed at Ellie who had stopped laughing.
Dania and Stu were gone. I don’t know where they went.
Ellie’s face was wet.
“Flynn. I’m sorry,” she said.
“Mom was right! You aren’t my friend. You’re a bitch!”
Ellie’s face looked sad. I didn’t understand. I was sad. Not Ellie. She was mean.
I wiped my mouth and picked up my book bag. I ran away from her.
I hurt so badly I couldn’t breathe.
“I hate you!” I yelled back at her.
“I know,” she heard her say.
-Ellie-
It was hard to describe what Flynn and I were becoming to each other. Since that night with him and Murphy we started spending more and more time together. I would go to his house after work and we’d watch television. Sometimes I’d bring food; sometimes he’d make me something to eat.
I was surprised to discover that Flynn Hendrick was an amazing cook.
It was with startling ease that the two of us fell back into old comfortable patterns. But with some very significant differences.
The first being that now there was kissing involved. Lots and lots of kissing.
I was attracted to Flynn. Very attracted. Sure, he was strange and awkward and his manners were worse than mine. But I wasn’t looking for a gentleman. I wasn’t looking for someone who would hold the door open for me or say bless you when I sneezed. That stuff was really unimportant.
Because what Flynn was outweighed that trivial bullshit women think is essential in the men they want in their lives. Flynn was tender. Flynn was kind. Flynn wanted to make me happy.
Flynn forgave without question, even when my reemerging guilt told me I didn’t deserve it. Because the lingering knowledge of my crime hung heavy over me. I couldn’t forget that Flynn had no idea what really happen all those years ago. The night that ruined my life and killed his dog.
It threatened to overshadow everything. The closer we became, the more I wanted to tell him. But I was scared. I didn’t want to lose the way he looked at me. I didn’t want to lose this growing relationship that was becoming the deepest experience of my life.
I was selfish. Was there ever a doubt? I was thinking only of myself. What it would mean tomeif Flynn were ever to discover the truth.
I wasn’t being fair. He needed to know. But I just couldn’t tell him. Not now.
We didn’t talk much about high school and the way I had treated him. Part of me wanted to avoid the topic all together. I wish I could go back to pretending I hadn’t been a heinous bitch. For years I had justified my behavior. I had convinced myself that Flynn hadn’t really been my friend. That our relationship hadn’t mattered to me at all. I had forced myself to forget the details. It made it easier for me to accept that I had caused immeasurable damage for no real reason at all.
Flynn would mention things sometimes that reminded me of how good things had been. He brought up the time I had taught him to play the guitar.
