Exit Wounds

15 | girlfriend

F I F T E E N

LOS ANGELES, CA

          The whole world threatens to collapse under me with the weight of these words—words that hold such power over me, like I'm just a notch in Adam's immaculate life and record. No one ever bothered to tell me I hadn't ruined his life and that it had been the other way around until I moved to New York and got a therapist to help me function.

          I've only been able to trust two people ever since, not counting my therapist, and one of them doesn't even know why; Nick probably just things I'm being as cutthroat as the industry demands me to be, standing my ground before fleeting things, like fame and reputation and roles can be swept from under me.

          That trust—or lack thereof—extends to romantic relationships as well; after a period of sleeping around and willingly pursuing every person who would have me, a pathetic attempt at regaining control of my life and my body, I realized I was chasing a comet. I was running after a type of connection I didn't want to have, and was replacing romantic intimacy with sexual intimacy, and, though there's nothing inherently wrong with that, in my opinion, I quickly realized I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. I worked through that, but can't seem to take the final step towards finally allowing myself to be happy.

          So, I say the words. I spell it out like it was—like it is. A gross violation of my trust, my boundaries, my privacy, and my dignity.

          Assault.

          I describe it to her, remembering every single detail from that night as though it's playing right in front of us, happening to someone who isn't me. Whenever I thought to myself I would never be that girl again, I was always reminded that's the one part of my past that the world would never let me discard. I will always be the girl who craved attention, who wanted to be wanted—so badly she went to great lengths to get what she wanted and ruined a promising young man's life in the process.

          That is all a lie. It was my potential.

          Michelle stays quiet throughout my whole explanation, and I stare at my lap instead of looking her way. I only acknowledge she's still in the room, sitting right next to me and keeping me at arm's length, when I finish the explanation. Though her hair covers most of the side of her face turned to me, her eyes well up once my words run out, and she rushes to wipe them with her knuckles.

          She doesn't say a word for what feels like an eternity. My heart has shrunk considerably, but the weight on my chest doesn't ease up. Day after day, it feels like it's being crushed by an invisible force.

          "You said no," she eventually croaks out.

          "I did. So many times."

          "And he didn't listen."

          "No."

          "Fuck, Becca."

          Years ago, maybe she would've hugged me. Great emphasis on maybe. Now, she doesn't, but she does reach out for my hand with those cold, wet fingers of hers, courtesy of the tears she's been failing to brush away, and I don't run away from her for once.

          My first instinct is to move my hand away from hers, dodge the gesture, and claim we're not there yet. I'm not sure we'll ever be there, not after I left her all alone, not after I let Adam occupy the empty space I'd left behind, not after all the hurtful stuff she said to me. All those things she said for the sole purpose of hurting me, just because she could, just because I'd hurt her first and, therefore, she found it was justified. I don't know if we'll ever move on from that, regardless of whether she knew the truth or didn't; there's stuff you just don't say to people.