Sunrise

She believed in me in a way no one else ever has and no one else ever will, and I betrayed her. The worst part is she doesn’t know. She still thinks that I am the same person she met freshmen year; stumbling under the influence into her cramped dorm room, demanding something to eat. She thinks that I am the same girl who comforted her when the boy two floors below broke her heart, the same girl who would mark her present in class when she would skip to meet him behind the Miller parking lot. She thinks that I am her roommate from sophomore year, when we lived in that four person suite with the cramped kitchen and tattered, blue couches; the one who left her “Have a good day!” notes to find around the bedroom, the one who would always split the bottle of Jägermeister with her, the one who would raid her closet every morning before class.

To say that a boy came between us would be akin to saying that the hare took a nap, and never explaining the whole notion of ‘slow and steady wins the race’.

He was as handsome as he was aloof. He had golden hair and firm hands. He took me on a long drive, after an after-party that left us crossfaded and me, a little in love. We sat on the hood of his Cherokee and waited hours for the Sun to come up. We never checked our phones and so, we didn’t know that it was only 3 am. It was a clichéd night, but through it all, I saw his green eyes, staring at me longingly, hungrily. I saw the ocean relentlessly making love to the shore, despite being sent away a hundred times. I heard nothing, for silence was mangled with furious blood, thumping away at my temples. I felt heavy, and then… as soon as it had started … I felt light again.

The next morning, I looked into her tired and worrisome eyes, and lied, no trace of remorse. I brushed away her concern and scolded her for losing sleep over my whereabouts. I told her nothing of the Plan B, nothing of the beige cardigan I had borrowed from her, the one I had left in the backseat in my hurry to leave the vehicle, to leave him, to leave the smell of the ocean behind. I told her nothing of him. I made up one lie, and then another. Then, I said a third one to bring it all together. She doesn’t, will never know.

She will hold my sorority friends responsible for us drifting apart. She will tell our other friends that I have changed. She will room with someone else come junior year and register for classes alone, instead of with me. She will probably feel confused and blame herself, and then me, and then everyone else. Eventually, she will move on. But she will never, cannot ever know about the boy that she warned me against.

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