Sydney: How old are you?
Me: 24.
Sydney: Please tell me 24 is a lot better than 22.
Me: 22 will be good for you. Maybe not this week or next week, but it’ll get better.
She sighs and puts one of her hands up to the back of her neck and rubs it, then begins typing again.
Sydney: I miss him. Is that crazy? I miss Tori, too. I still hate them and want to see them suffer, but I miss what I had with him. It’s really starting to hurt. When it first happened, I thought maybe I was better off without him, but now I just feel lost.
I don’t want to be harsh in my response, but at the same time, I’m not a girl, so I’m not about to tell her that what she’s feeling is normal. Because to me, it’s not normal.
Me: You only miss the idea of him. You weren’t happy with him even before you found out he was cheating. You were only with him because it was comfortable. You just miss the relationship, but you don’t miss Hunter.
She looks up at me and cocks her head, narrowing her eyes in my direction for a few seconds before dropping them back to the computer.
Sydney: How can you say I wasn’t happy with him? I was. Until I found out what he was doing, I honestly thought he was the one.
Me: No. You didn’t. You wanted him to be, but that’s not how you really felt.
Sydney: You’re kind of being a jerk right now, you know that?
I set my laptop beside me and walk to my desk. I pick up my notebook and a pen and go back to the bed and take a seat next to her. I flip open my notebook to the first set of lyrics she sent me.
Read these, I write at the top of the page. I set the notebook in her lap.
She looks down at the lyrics, then takes the pen. I don’t need to read them, she writes. I wrote them.
I scoot closer to her and put the notebook in my lap, then circle a few lines of her chorus. I point to them again. Read these as if you weren’t the one who wrote them.
She reluctantly looks down at the notebook and reads the chorus.
You don’t know me like you think you do
I pour me one, when I really want two
Oh, you’re living a lie
Living a lie
You think we’re good, but we’re really not
You coulda fixed things, but you missed your shot
You’re living a lie
Living a lie
When I’m certain she’s had time to read them, I pick up the pen and write: These words came from somewhere inside you, Sydney. You can tell yourself you were better off with him, but read the lyrics you wrote. Go back to what you were feeling when you wrote them. I circle several lines, then read her words along with her.
With a right turn, the tires start to burn
I see your smile, it’s been hiding for a while
For a while
Your foot pushes down against the ground
The world starts to blur, can’t remember who you were
Who you were
I look at her, and she’s still staring at the paper. A single tear trickles down her cheek, and she quickly wipes it away.
She picks up the pen and begins writing. They’re just words, Ridge.
I reply, They’re your words, Sydney. Words that came from you. You say you feel lost without him, but you felt lost even when you were with him. Read the rest.
She inhales a deep breath, then looks down at the paper again.