She sits silently instead of answering, imploring me with her eyes to continue.
“Anyway, I broke up with Jared a little after my sixteenth birthday, and then summer rolled around again. I told Chase everything, and he… He slammed the door and left. He didn’t come back for a week. I sobbed like a freaking idiot, making it impossible for anyone to console me. I was always pretty dramatic,” I confess, trying to lighten the mood.
Whit just stares, sipping her coffee in silence and making this all so much more awkward.
“Somehow we moved past it, and by mid-June, we were us again. Then one night on the roof, he asked me to… Well, you know. He also wanted us to be loyal to each other if we took that step. No more doing our own thing during the school year. Summer we’d have each other, and the rest of the time we’d be waiting for summer. That was the promise.”
She nods slowly, still watching.
“He was so sweet, always holding me, touching me, kissing me in a way that made me feel loved. When I had sex with him, it didn’t feel wrong. You probably don’t want to hear this, but it was years ago. I couldn’t get enough of him back then. When summer ended, it felt like my heart stopped beating. It was all I could do to get through the school year, but at least he sent me letters. He didn’t have a phone at that time.”
“He wrote you?” Whit whispers, her eyes wide and mystified.
“I wrote him more than he wrote me. He was saving his money, so buying a lot of stamps was an issue. Sometimes I sent him stamps in the envelopes just so I’d get to have more letters from him. I loved his words in writing, even though most people would consider it cheesy nowadays. He was working in the off season at a restaurant as a busboy—I was saving up most of the money Dad paid me for working odd jobs on the ranch. But during the summer Chase was mine and I was his—no work. We only had just under three months together, so we spent every second making it count.”
She clears her throat. “You said it was intense,” she states in a hushed tone. “Both of you. Sounds more like it was epic. What happened? What really happened?”
A tear rolls down my cheek, and I sigh while wiping it away.
“My parents divorced. Long story short, my mother lost it a little when my dad remarried, and she wouldn’t let me come back the next summer. I knew Chase was hurt or mad because he hadn’t written any letters to respond to mine. I stopped hearing from him just before summer. By spring, I was desperate to see him and explain what had happened. I didn’t care if we had a night or a week to be together before my mother sent police. I honestly even thought about quitting school and talking him into running away with me.”
Tears gather in her own eyes as she listens attentively.
“I drove, managed to make it down here in record time, and I went straight over to his house. There was a party that night, though. And I got to see why I hadn’t heard from him. I got to see why he wasn’t responding to all the letters I sent him about how much I loved him… About how much I missed him… About how much I couldn’t wait to be with him for longer than summer…”
My words get choked on the way out, and Whit tenses.
“What happened?” she prompts.
Swiping away another tear, I take a calming breath.
“He was with another girl. They were all over each other. At one point she even had her hand down his pants. I watched it like I couldn’t look away until… finally I was able to. Then I drove straight back home. The end.”
A tear falls down her cheek, then another. In a moment, she’s sniffling and dabbing at the onslaught of tears.
She didn’t even have to hear the worst part. No one should know the worst part. That part was just teenage drama and heartbreak that I over-exaggerated. It’s what teenagers do. It wasn’t as intense and epic as my mind led me to believe—because that sort of love doesn’t exist.
Dr. Kravitz assured me of that. Even Dr. Stein agrees that I romanticized all my feelings to the nth degree. While losing Chase was painful, it wasn’t nearly as painful as everything I endured after the night that changed my life.
The real nightmare came later. It’s not often something shapes your life and changes the way you have to look at absolutely everything.
“So why come back? Obviously he destroyed you. Why come back?” Whit asks, drawing me out of my reverie.
I shrug, staring down at the bar. It’s a ludicrous explanation to a sane, rational, healthy person. She’d never understand. So I give her the philosophical version instead of the fucked-up truth.