Tru wasn’t alone because he didn’t have options—he was alone because he chose it. As if sitting there by himself was some kind of punishment he deserved. Or maybe one he wantedmeto notice. It made something ugly twist in my chest. Like he was saving that empty space for someone who didn’t deserve it.
And the worst part? It worked.
He had friends. Acquaintances. Art kids who banded together over shared interests. But none of them knew him the way I did.
They didn’t know his favorite cartoon or that he’d pick his mom’s grilled cheese over the juiciest burger on earth. They didn’t know the little things. They didn’t know the parts of him that were supposed to be mine, even if I’d never admit that out loud.
There was a stubborn streak in me thathatedto see him so solitary. He used to be so full of life, always laughing and smiling. Talking with his hands. Lighting up every room we stepped into together. Making life bearable.
It didn’t sit right with me. But also, fuck him.
Hedid this.
It washisfault we weren’t speaking.
He didn’t have to kiss me in that closet.
He didn’t have to make melike it.
All he had to do was sit with me in the dark for five fucking minutes. Was that too much to ask? Could he not justsit with mein the quiet without touching me? Without showing mewhat it did to his body when our lips touched? Or what it would do to mine?
My body betrayed me that day. Reacted in ways I didn’t give it permission to. Hardened with want. Hummed like something alive and breaking open. And the thoughts that lingered after that kiss made me questioneverythingI thought I knew.
Made me hate myself in ways I never had before.
I didn’t even know what to call it at thirteen—shame, anger, want, fear—all of it smashed together until it came out wrong.
And I hatedhimfor that.
I blamed Truen for upending my life. For turning me into someone I didn’t recognize. Someone with secrets I had to keep buried from my parents, my friends, and sometimes even from myself.
He just had to prove my dad right—that boys couldn’t be that close without… without there beingmore.
He wasn’t the only one who felt lonely.
Even when I was surrounded by people—loud voices, laughter, slaps on the back—I felt like the only person in the room. As if I’d fallen so far down into a hole no one even knew I was missing.
Isolated in a crowd.
A stranger to myself.
People looked at me, but they didn'tseeme. They listened to what I said, but they didn't hear what Imeant. Because inside my head, there was a voice that never stopped screaming:
“You’re not who you pretend to be.”
And no one could hear it but me. Sometimes, I thoughtmaybe Tru heard it. Or maybe he just sensed it. Only the people closest to you can hear you when you’re quiet.
And I hated him more for that. Because the only person who understood what was wrong with me was the last person I could talk to about it.
I didn’t want to hate him. God, I didn’t. But I was furious. Furious that one stupid night had unraveled everything we’d been.
So I sat with my secret in silence, chewing on doubt until it tasted bitter. Sometimes the anger flared up because it was easier to cope with than the thing under it. I wanted him to know how much he’d cost me; to feel the loneliness and confusion I walked around with every day.
I caught him at his locker.
Not on purpose. At least, that’s what I told myself. But my feet always seemed to carry me into his orbit. He was bent over, rearranging his books, hair falling in his face.
He raised his head when he noticed me standing there. His eyes flickered with hope, a raw, vulnerable moment he didn’t have time to hide.
