“I wanted you to hate me,” she says, looking up at me. She says it so quickly I almost miss it. “There. Happy?”
“What?” It’s like she just punched me in the chest.
“I wanted you to hate me because I knew I’d never be good enough for you.”
My blood runs cold, freezing over and halting any flow to my heart. How could she think that? She was Emma. She was the only person I can honestly say I was close to growing up. Did she really think one mistake would erase everything we had?
“How could you think that?”
“Because it’s true. I hurt you.”
“Pushing me away hurt me more,” I say. It flows right off my tongue like I’ve been waiting to say it forever. It was locked and loaded, firing at the first opportunity.
She bites her lip and shakes her head. I’m not sure if I’m imagining it or not, but her eyes seem to be strained. “Come on. We were already drifting apart.”
I think back to my freshman year and how little we saw each other. Was she right? Was our relationship already ruined by that point? “I thought you didn’t want me around.”
Her eyes water and she looks up at the ceiling. “I didn’t know how to handle my mom leaving, and I didn’t know how to talk to you about it.”
The conversation I overheard yesterday replays in my head. My heart aches when I think about how much her mom hurt her. She’s been carrying so many negative feelings with her these past years, and it’s starting to make sense.
“You should've told me,” I say. There’s an ache in my chest, wishing I could comfort her better, but nothing I can say will change the past.
“I thought you’d be happier without me.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Are you sure? You seem fine. When you went to high school, you moved on and made new friends. Back then I feltguilty when you spent time with me because you’d act all awkward and uninterested, like you’d rather be somewhere else. We probably would’ve drifted apart anyway.”
“I wasn’t acting that way because I didn’t want to be around you,” I say.
“Then why?”
My cheeks burn, heat rising to my face as my heart pounds. How could she possibly think I didn’t want to be around her? She’s all I thought about. Her smile. Her laugh. Her.
“Because I liked you,” I say. “And that scared me.”
Her head snaps up.
I have her attention now. Her face pales and her eyes widen like a deer in the headlights. She searches me with her eyes in a frantic way, never staying fixed on one point for very long.
“Say something,” I whisper.
She blinks, then she takes a deep breath.
The wait is agonizing because for the first time I’m fully exposed. All of my feelings are sprawled out in front of her, and the only thing I can do is sit here.
“How could you like me?”
“Are you serious?”
“I was a mess. I still am, and I always will be.”
I hit the floor. “Stop talking about yourself like that.”
“But it’s true.”
I throw my head back. “I swear, Emma, you’re impossible. You are the most stubborn, strong-headed person I’ve ever met.”
