𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

So I take some offense
when you say,
no regrets
-boygenius

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

It isn't like the meetings Emily had me attend. There, I was surrounded by people twice my age. Someone would stand in front of the crowd; they would cry and deliver a monologue about how they'd lost their job and their children brought them back down to Earth. I didn't relate to anyone there.

But here, there are seven of us, sat in a circle. I recognize a boy from last year's English class, and I have the same top as the girl to my left. No one person takes the floor; they bounce off each other, talking about classes and uptight professors.

Ash introduces me. "This is Violet; she works in the bookstore."

They say hello; I nod in response. And they don't ask anything more of me; they don't point out my bare feet or my tear-stained face. They just go back to their conversation, like it doesn't matter to them if I'm there or not. I settle into my chair.

"My grandma called last week," Ash says, and the others nod in sympathy. "She said my mom asked about me, and I've been having a hard time wrapping my head around that. Because if she really does still care, why can't she just call me herself?"

A girl places a hand on Ash's knee. Ash turns to look at me.

"My mom kicked me out of the house, my senior year of high school," Ash explains. "She caught me with a girl, and it clearly didn't go over well." I nod; I try to understand. "When I had nowhere else to go, I ended up coping through drugs, alcohol...you know, the usual."

That I do understand. I give a soft smile. "I'm sorry, Ash."

"It's okay," they say. "Because when I came to college, I found other people like me. And I became comfortable with the person I am, and I learned that I don't have to hold onto my mother's shame—and I don't need to feel guilty for no longer wanting someone in my life who doesn't know how to love me."

I nod. I want to understand that feeling too. I wonder how I've known Ash for two years and somehow knew nothing about their life. I wonder why we've never talked about anything other than books.

"We should talk more," I say. "Maybe outside of the bookstore, for once."

And Ash nods, smiles at me. "I think I would really like that."

I call Tenny six times on the way back to Pittman. He doesn't answer, but I'm also not sent straight to voice-mail. I tell myself that counts for something because at least his phone isn't dead. And I think that means he's had to of charged it at some point, by now.

Frankie runs to me, as soon as I open our door.

Her arms are around me, and she's checking my face for some sort of damage. "Violet, we've been worried sick," she says. "The boys have been searching for you all night."

"I'm okay."

She looks at me; her eyes are welling up. "You don't look alright, babes," she tells me. "What is going on?"

And there's so much explaining that I have to do. The drunkenness, the sobriety, the failed sobriety, the relapse. I put my head into my hands. It seems to weigh a thousand pounds. "Frankie, I'm so sorry for all of this," I say.

She wraps me into her arms. She makes a call to Khalil, tells them I'm home and alright, though the term is relative. They say they'll keep looking for Tenny; I tell them it's okay. Tenny doesn't want to be found.