“I am happy,” I said. “I have you.”
“Lame,” he countered. “I was happy with you, too. Then I fell in love with Oliver and it’s like all my happinesses are amplified. Like, being in love with him makes it easier to love everyone else even more. And I want that for you. I really do.”
“I don’t need a boyfriend.” My voice was harsher than I wanted it to be. I don’t need to be vulnerable again—that’s how you get hurt.
“No. No, of course not. Neither do I. We’re all totally stable and steady adults and we don’t need anyone or anything beyond ourselves. But I can tell you like him. I’m not stupid—I know you better than you think. You totally steal glances at him when he’s not looking and he totally steals glances back. It’s like watching a damned tennis match. So why not just go for it? What do you have to lose when you know he won’t reject you?”
Nothing that wasn’t already taken by Brad.
“Ethan . . .”
“What did he do to you?” he whispered. It wasn’t an accusation; this was a question he’d clearly been dying to ask for months. There was more hurt in his words than I could bear.
And that did it. Tears formed in the corners of my eyes as Brad’s smile came back, the scent of his breath as he pressed me to the wall. . . . Ethan put a hand on my wrist, anchored me down.
“You can talk to me,” he whispered. “Please. I feel like you’ve created this persona and I don’t get to see anything that everyone else doesn’t already see. And I know there’s more to you than that. I know you’re hurting and I know you don’t want me to see it. But I do. And I want to be able to support you and help you through it.”
I wiped the tears and sat up, pushing myself back on the bed so I could prop myself up against the wall and pillows. He shifted and crossed his legs, looking at me head-on. His gaze didn’t break from mine.
This was not the conversation I wanted to have. This was not the ideal way to wind down the weekend before my show. But he was right. A week ago, someone was ripped from my life. In a few months, Ethan would be out of my life as well. Did I really want to have secrets from him? When I grabbed my diploma and parted ways with this place, did I want to look back and wonder if things would have been different if I’d opened up?
“His name was Brad,” I said. Even just saying the name was like aiming a gun at my forehead. “I met him my sophomore year . . . we were in pre-calc together. He was charming and a jock and he knew I didn’t really have any friends. So I guess he knew I was an easy target.”
This made Ethan’s eyebrows furrow.
“Things were great at first. I mean, I thought they were great. He took me on real dates where he’d pay for food and then take me to the movie theatre. Super respectful. I told him I wanted to take it slow and he said that was okay, he was fine not having any pressure. I wanted it to be like all the TV shows and movies, where the nerdy girl gets the guy and rules the school. Hopefully after some really cool makeover montage.” My laugh was bitter.
“We were together a few months and it was . . . I don’t know. It wasn’t perfect, I guess, but it was all I’d known up to that point and I figured that’s just how all first loves went. And yeah, I actually thought I loved him. Isn’t that stupid? I wanted someone to care for me so badly, I just let myself fall for him without thinking twice. He’d buy me things and leave me notes and it made me feel wanted, you know? Like finally, someone out there really cared and saw me for who I was and wanted to be with me in spite of it. But even though I loved him, I think a part of me was always convincing myself that it was love, like I needed a reminder that this was what everyone told me I wanted. But there were times when he’d look at me, or put his hand on my shoulder, and it just felt like I was a prize to him, and I couldn’t figure out why. I remember . . . he got me this necklace, right? Simple gold chain and a little heart charm. For our two month anniversary. And when he put it around my neck and kissed me it felt like he was putting on a collar. I couldn’t explain it, but I thought that’s just how dating was, you know? Our first kiss was terrible and I always felt a little awkward, but I was the awkward girl and he was the pretty boy and I figured it always worked out in the movies so maybe it would work out for me. He could have anyone in the school. He picked me. And that meant I was special and important and better than everyone else, which wasn’t something I’d ever felt before. We did everything together—homework and dinner and movies, and not once did he make a move, even though he kept hinting that he wanted to, saying I was beautiful or sexy or whatever. But I was scared. Even though I loved him, even though I thought it was what I wanted, a part of me didn’t want to trust him.”