“Mary, I swear on my mother’s life, I didn’t know.”
“You’re telling me you saw what I drew you and it didn’t click? Me and you, an Xbox controller, the stars?”
I didn’t. I didn’t remember a single thing about what was in that notebook.
“I… I don’t know what to say. I was an idiot, a fucking kid, okay? I thought you were some random girl with a crush on me and I was afraid my friends would make your life a living hell so I just blew you off. I mean, I didn’t know it was you but—”
“They did,” she said, her bottom lip trembling. “They did make my life a living hell. And you did nothing about it.”
“I didn’t know.” The words were a cry, a plea.
“So, you didn’t see the fucking flyers they printed out of my face and my drawing? Didn’t catch the nickname they gave me that I never escaped?”
This time, I really couldn’t place what she was talking about. “What? When?”
“Right after it happened!”
I frowned, shaking my head, and then I grabbed her arms and held her so she’d look at me, so she’d see the sincerity in my eyes when I told her the truth.
“Mary, I didn’t notice anything that entire fucking year. Okay? I was sick over losing you. I was… I don’t even know, paralyzed by the loss of you. I barely passed my classes that semester. I had the worst season of football of my entire life. I spent every waking minute that I wasn’t at school or at practice trying to find you.”
She tried to scoff and brush me off, but I held tight, carefully bringing my knuckles to her chin and tilting it up to look at me again.
“I never would have hurt you on purpose,” I swore, and I prayed she felt it, that she believed me. “But I’m sorry I did. I’m sorry, Mary. I’m so, so fucking sorry.”
Her face warped, like my words had speared her, and I knew without much rumination that she had to have been waiting years for me to say them. While I was missing her, wishing for her, she was trying to recover from the ugliest side of me. It killed me to even consider, to know those guys I’d called friends had made her suffer.
That I had made her suffer.
I’d hurt the one girl I’d ever cared for, all without even knowing it.
My stomach rolled at the thought, and I had to hold her. I had to hold her and pray that she felt who I really was, that she’d believe I never would have done this to her had I known.
I pulled her into my chest, squeezing my eyes shut as the overpowering feeling of having found her settled over me. She was stiff in my arms at first, but then she melted, her hands fisting in my shirt. I squeezed her tighter, wanting so badly to kiss the crown of her head, but refraining only because I knew I had a long way to go to earn back her trust.
If I ever even had it in the first place.
“You really didn’t know?” she asked, her voice muffled by my shirt.
“I swear, Mary. I had no idea. If I had, I would have pulled you into my arms and claimed you for everyone to see.”
She sniffed, burying her head in my chest. “No, you wouldn’t have.”
I pulled back on a frown, sliding the pad of my thumb along where a tear had streaked her cheek. “Are you crazy? You meant everything to me.”
“I saw it on your face when we met, though. I wasn’t good enough for you.”
I tilted her chin again, finding her gaze with my own. “You were too good for me. I was an idiot for not seeing that it was you.” The truth of that hit me like a tidal wave, the fact that I’d put us both through years of misery all because I didn’t realize…
I shook my head, determined not to dwell on the past, on mistakes I couldn’t take back.
She was here now, and I had the chance to fight for her.
I’d die before I’d let her slip through my fingers again.
“Come home with me,” I said, searching her glossy eyes. “I know I have a lot to prove to you, a lot of pain to heal, a lot to explain.” I swallowed. “Let me start tonight.”
Mary rolled her lips together, eyes flicking between mine.
Mercifully, she nodded.
And when I took her hand in mine, the piece of me I’d been missing for years quietly snapped into place.
Mary
I woke late the next morning, my body aching as if I’d run a marathon, throat scratchy and eyes puffy and raw. Leo and I had stayed up until almost dawn. We’d talked a little, but were both so drained from the emotions we expelled outside the bar that, mostly, we just existed together, like neither of us could believe we’d found our way back to each other.
I knew I couldn’t.
I never considered telling Leo about what happened. To me, that ship had sailed, and I’d firmly put him in the box of assholes never to be trusted again. I knew he didn’t realize who I was now, that I’d lost weight and fixed my teeth and cleared up my skin in a way that made me look like a completely different person.
But last night, when the truth did come out… I never expected him to say he hadn’t known it was me all those years ago.
I’d considered it, once, that night he cooked tostones for me. But it had been such a brief, stupid thought that I’d shoved it away as soon as it made itself known.
I couldn’t believe I was right.
My head still spun with everything he’d revealed to me the night before as I winced and pushed myself up to sit against the headboard. I didn’t remember Leo even leaving the room. What I did remember, what I’d never forget, was the look on his face when he swore to me he didn’t know it was me the day I’d thought he rejected me.
All this time, I thought he knew.
I thought he took one look at me and was disgusted.
So I’d blocked him, burned him, removed him from every inch of my life and made sure there wasn’t so much as a crack for him to weasel his way back in.
I felt sick now that I realized if I’d have just talked to him, if I’d have just asked him to explain why he blew me off… I would have found out that he didn’t. Not really.
What would have happened then?
What would our lives have been if he’d known it was me?
Maybe he still would have rejected me. Maybe he was lying last night when he said he would have held onto me and never let go. How could he say that, when he didn’t even really remember what I looked like or who I was?
But maybe…
Maybe we would have been together.
Would we have dated, held hands in the hallway? Would I have worn his jerseys at the games and had his jacket wrapped around me late at night?
Would we have broken up, gone our separate ways after a young love burned out as it so often does?
Would we be together still?
I groaned, digging the heels of my palms into my eyes and pulling my knees up to my chest. I was so nauseous I didn’t want to chance moving any more than that.
There was a soft knock on the door, and then before I could answer, it creaked open just enough for Leo to look in. He paused at the sight of me, something unreadable in his expression before he nudged the door the rest of the way open.
My heart surged in my chest, a mixture of longing and warmth combatted by fear.
His hair was an absolute mess, likely from the amount of times he ran his hands through it last night. Even with his eyes red and swollen like mine, he looked like a cozy dream in his sweatpants, sleeves ripped off the old, tattered NBU t-shirt he wore, his rib cage visible through the gaping holes and his necklaces gleaming around his neck. He had a mug of coffee in each hand, the liquid steaming as he carefully walked over and handed one to me.