Greg—he remained silent, listening to every word I said. And when I'd finished pouring my heart out to him, he just looked at me, a sad smile on his face. "You know what you need?" he said.
I shook my head.
He smiled. "A banana split."
So that's what we did.
I texted Lexie and told her I was safe, and that I'd call her later.
Greg took me to the grocery store and bought all the ingredients to make the perfect banana split, the same type they make at the steak house he worked at. We then went back to his apartment, which he shared with two other guys, and he proceeded to cheer me up.
By the time the sun came up, we hadn't even realized how much time had passed. He drove me home and asked if he could see me again, it didn't even have to be a date, he said. He just enjoyed my company.
The rest of the summer, he made every effort to woo me. He'd surprise me at my work with flowers, and called or texted regularly. He told me often that he missed me, and at one point he even said the he was falling for me. And soon after that, I found that I was beginning to hate myself less and less. The guilt of what I did to Ty was slowly fading, and even though I thought of Logan often, I began to not hate him as much, too.
I didn't even think about how a maybe relationship with Ty's best friend would affect Ty. Like I said—stupid.
By the end of summer bonfire party, Greg and I had unofficially become exclusive. We spent as much time together as possible, and he even made an effort to hang out with Ethan and my friends, which is why he was there at that party. He was almost 21 - and could really do without the high school parties, but still—he was there.
And so was Logan.
As much as I could try to deny that seeing him that night didn't affect me, it really did. It brought back memories of that one night we had together, and all the feelings I had when I decided to break up with someone that could have so easily been my future.
Greg knew something was up the rest of the night. I don't know if he knew that it was Logan I was speaking to when he interrupted us, but he didn't ask any questions. He just allowed me to drink away my emotions. Looking back on it now, it was almost as if he encouraged it.
I decided to stay the night at his house, too ashamed to go home in my drunken state. Even though Mom was probably passed out on the sofa, worse off than I was.
That night, he climbed into his bed with me and he held me, and then he told me that he loved me. And I needed it. I needed it more than anything in the fucking world. I needed someone to love me, and he said he did.
So I slept with him.
And then I must have passed out.
Because I don't remember him pulling the covers off me.
I don't remember the flashes as he took the pictures.
And I sure as hell don't remember him fucking me without me knowing.
Or taking more pictures of my most private parts as he was doing it.
What I do remember—is loud banging, and then Ethan, his best friend Tristan, and Lexi kicking down his bedroom door.
I remember Lexi wrapping a sheet around me and then helping me walk out to the car.
I remember throwing up on the way there.
And I remember Ethan coming back with a cut lip, broken nose and blood all over his knuckles.
I couldn't look at him—too much blood.
"What happened?" I said to no one in particular. My head was throbbing. I finally managed to face Ethan, "What happened?" I repeated.
He didn't say anything, just wrapped me in his arms. I could feel his body trembling, and he started to cry.
Ethan never cried. Ever.
Not when dad left.
Not even when we were twelve and he pushed me out of the way of an oncoming car and got hit.
Not even when he broke so many bones in his lower body that they broke skin, and blood was everywhere. It's the reason I can't stand the sight of it.
He didn't even cry when he had to have surgery to put pins in his hip and all throughout his legs.
But now—he was crying.
"What happened?" I asked again, my voice strained from holding back my sob.
He held me tighter. "I'm so sorry, Dimmy. I'm so fucking sorry." He repeated the words over and over.
Then he showed me the pictures on his phone.
I spent the next two days and nights throwing up.
And the next two weeks in a zombie state. I didn't eat. I didn't sleep. I didn't talk to anyone.
Ethan begged me to press charges, but I just wanted to forget it. He said I was stupid, and we fought about it. I didn't say goodbye to him when he packed up and left for college.
I didn't take care of my mom, who hadn't even realized that something had happened to me.
Ethan drove two hours home, almost every day to take care of me.
And then one day, out of nowhere, I picked myself up, sold all my shit, left mom behind and flew to New York.
I knocked four times before Ty answered. And when he did, he was shirtless, his jeans roughly pulled up, his fly undone. But that's not what I noticed. All I could see was the girl in his bed, with the sheets pulled up to her neck, hiding what I'm sure was her naked body.
"Dimmy?" I heard. I knew it was Ty, but he sounded far away. The girl in his bed's jaw dropped, her mouth forming a perfect O.
"Dimmy?" she repeated.
"Huh?" I said, then managed to pull my eyes away from her to look up at Ty. I don't know which one of the two hurt more to see.
"Tyson?" the girl asked. Her voice was laced with confusion, but behind that, there was a plea.
He stood there, between his past and his future, looking from one to the other.
Finally, I spoke, "I'm sorry, Ty," I said, looking him clear in the eyes. And then I turned and walked away. He called out, but I didn't stop. I just wanted to be somewhere else. I didn't know where I would go. I didn't want to go home. I couldn't face it another day. I couldn't stay in New York. And I was broke. I left his dorm and sat on a bench just outside, waiting for something to change. Hoping that something would happen soon. Because I wasn't sure how much more I could take.
It was only a few minutes before he came out, bed girl in tow. I watched as he kissed her goodbye. I could see the panic on her face, but his body language was re-assuring. He kept shaking his head, holding her hands in his. He walked her to her car and waited until she drove away before looking around. I saw his body visibly relax when he saw me, his hand going up in a small wave. I tried to smile, I just couldn't.
He took a seat next to me and nudged my leg with his. I didn't speak, and neither did he. Not for the first hour.
"Where are you staying?" he asked quietly.
"Hotel," I lied. I had no idea what I was doing.
"Have dinner with me first?"
I couldn't. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Ty, with your girlfriend and all."
"Yeah," he agreed. "Ali—that's her name."
I nodded and tried to compose myself. Seeing a girl in his bed hurt, but not as much as him admitting that he belonged to her. Ali and Tyson. I rolled their names around in my head.
I shook my head.
He smiled. "A banana split."
So that's what we did.
I texted Lexie and told her I was safe, and that I'd call her later.
Greg took me to the grocery store and bought all the ingredients to make the perfect banana split, the same type they make at the steak house he worked at. We then went back to his apartment, which he shared with two other guys, and he proceeded to cheer me up.
By the time the sun came up, we hadn't even realized how much time had passed. He drove me home and asked if he could see me again, it didn't even have to be a date, he said. He just enjoyed my company.
The rest of the summer, he made every effort to woo me. He'd surprise me at my work with flowers, and called or texted regularly. He told me often that he missed me, and at one point he even said the he was falling for me. And soon after that, I found that I was beginning to hate myself less and less. The guilt of what I did to Ty was slowly fading, and even though I thought of Logan often, I began to not hate him as much, too.
I didn't even think about how a maybe relationship with Ty's best friend would affect Ty. Like I said—stupid.
By the end of summer bonfire party, Greg and I had unofficially become exclusive. We spent as much time together as possible, and he even made an effort to hang out with Ethan and my friends, which is why he was there at that party. He was almost 21 - and could really do without the high school parties, but still—he was there.
And so was Logan.
As much as I could try to deny that seeing him that night didn't affect me, it really did. It brought back memories of that one night we had together, and all the feelings I had when I decided to break up with someone that could have so easily been my future.
Greg knew something was up the rest of the night. I don't know if he knew that it was Logan I was speaking to when he interrupted us, but he didn't ask any questions. He just allowed me to drink away my emotions. Looking back on it now, it was almost as if he encouraged it.
I decided to stay the night at his house, too ashamed to go home in my drunken state. Even though Mom was probably passed out on the sofa, worse off than I was.
That night, he climbed into his bed with me and he held me, and then he told me that he loved me. And I needed it. I needed it more than anything in the fucking world. I needed someone to love me, and he said he did.
So I slept with him.
And then I must have passed out.
Because I don't remember him pulling the covers off me.
I don't remember the flashes as he took the pictures.
And I sure as hell don't remember him fucking me without me knowing.
Or taking more pictures of my most private parts as he was doing it.
What I do remember—is loud banging, and then Ethan, his best friend Tristan, and Lexi kicking down his bedroom door.
I remember Lexi wrapping a sheet around me and then helping me walk out to the car.
I remember throwing up on the way there.
And I remember Ethan coming back with a cut lip, broken nose and blood all over his knuckles.
I couldn't look at him—too much blood.
"What happened?" I said to no one in particular. My head was throbbing. I finally managed to face Ethan, "What happened?" I repeated.
He didn't say anything, just wrapped me in his arms. I could feel his body trembling, and he started to cry.
Ethan never cried. Ever.
Not when dad left.
Not even when we were twelve and he pushed me out of the way of an oncoming car and got hit.
Not even when he broke so many bones in his lower body that they broke skin, and blood was everywhere. It's the reason I can't stand the sight of it.
He didn't even cry when he had to have surgery to put pins in his hip and all throughout his legs.
But now—he was crying.
"What happened?" I asked again, my voice strained from holding back my sob.
He held me tighter. "I'm so sorry, Dimmy. I'm so fucking sorry." He repeated the words over and over.
Then he showed me the pictures on his phone.
I spent the next two days and nights throwing up.
And the next two weeks in a zombie state. I didn't eat. I didn't sleep. I didn't talk to anyone.
Ethan begged me to press charges, but I just wanted to forget it. He said I was stupid, and we fought about it. I didn't say goodbye to him when he packed up and left for college.
I didn't take care of my mom, who hadn't even realized that something had happened to me.
Ethan drove two hours home, almost every day to take care of me.
And then one day, out of nowhere, I picked myself up, sold all my shit, left mom behind and flew to New York.
I knocked four times before Ty answered. And when he did, he was shirtless, his jeans roughly pulled up, his fly undone. But that's not what I noticed. All I could see was the girl in his bed, with the sheets pulled up to her neck, hiding what I'm sure was her naked body.
"Dimmy?" I heard. I knew it was Ty, but he sounded far away. The girl in his bed's jaw dropped, her mouth forming a perfect O.
"Dimmy?" she repeated.
"Huh?" I said, then managed to pull my eyes away from her to look up at Ty. I don't know which one of the two hurt more to see.
"Tyson?" the girl asked. Her voice was laced with confusion, but behind that, there was a plea.
He stood there, between his past and his future, looking from one to the other.
Finally, I spoke, "I'm sorry, Ty," I said, looking him clear in the eyes. And then I turned and walked away. He called out, but I didn't stop. I just wanted to be somewhere else. I didn't know where I would go. I didn't want to go home. I couldn't face it another day. I couldn't stay in New York. And I was broke. I left his dorm and sat on a bench just outside, waiting for something to change. Hoping that something would happen soon. Because I wasn't sure how much more I could take.
It was only a few minutes before he came out, bed girl in tow. I watched as he kissed her goodbye. I could see the panic on her face, but his body language was re-assuring. He kept shaking his head, holding her hands in his. He walked her to her car and waited until she drove away before looking around. I saw his body visibly relax when he saw me, his hand going up in a small wave. I tried to smile, I just couldn't.
He took a seat next to me and nudged my leg with his. I didn't speak, and neither did he. Not for the first hour.
"Where are you staying?" he asked quietly.
"Hotel," I lied. I had no idea what I was doing.
"Have dinner with me first?"
I couldn't. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Ty, with your girlfriend and all."
"Yeah," he agreed. "Ali—that's her name."
I nodded and tried to compose myself. Seeing a girl in his bed hurt, but not as much as him admitting that he belonged to her. Ali and Tyson. I rolled their names around in my head.
