Page 81 of Shadowed Whispers

We sit across from each other, our books open and notes spread out on the table like a battleground. The first few sentences of our joint paper stutter into existence, awkward and tentative. I scribble out a sentence, and Tori revises it. She adds a point, then I tweak the wording. It’s cooperation, if you could call it that—strained and silent except for the scratching sound of our pencils dragging across the paper and the occasional clink of pretzel snacks being taken from the bowl between us.

An hour in, one whole beer later, irritation begins to gnaw at me. Here I am, having poured out apologies and acknowledged my mistakes, and yet Tori sits there with her slate seemingly wiped clean by my confession. It’s as if, in her mind, her years of making my life miserable don’t need to be addressed. She let Chloe and Amanda torment me at every turn, all while she watched from the sidelines with tacit approval.

I can’t hold it in anymore. “You know, this isn’t just about what I did wrong,” I say abruptly, my fingers pausing above my notebook, tension seeping into the silent air around us.

Tori looks up, her eyebrows knitting together. “What are you talking about?”

She really has no fucking idea.

“I mean, yeah, I made a huge mistake with Bishop. I get that. I owned up to it. But what about you? What about all the years you’ve made my life hell?” I can feel the heat in my cheeks as years of frustration bubble up.

She recoils as if I slapped her. “That’s different,” she protests defensively, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“How is that different?” I demand, my tone sharper now, slicing through the ambient noise of the bar. “You and your friends have bullied me since freshman year, and when I thought we might actually be friends, you just let them keep going. You never once stood up for me. Don’t you think you owe me an apology too?”

Tori’s face hardens, and she crosses her arms, leaning back in her chair as if she’s putting physical distance between her feelings and mine. “You sleeping with Bishop isn’t the same as me not... policing every mean thing my friends said.”

“But you weren’t just a bystander, Tori,” I counter, my voice rising slightly. “You laughed with them, and you made comments too. Just because you didn’t start it doesn’t mean you weren’t involved. You hurt me. A lot.”

There’s a long pause filled only by the distant clatter of glasses from the bar and the muted conversations of other patrons. Tori looks away, her jaw working as if she’s chewing over her words. Finally, she sighs, a long, weary sound. “Maybe I did,” she admits quietly, not meeting my eyes. “Maybe I got so caught up in what everyone else was doing, I didn’t think about how it was affecting you. I... I guess I owe you an apology for that.”

The admission hangs between us, surprising in its sincerity. It isn’t all the acknowledgment I want, but it’s a start. Something shifts inside me, a loosening of a knot I’ve carried for too long.

“I appreciate that,” I say after a moment, and I mean it. It’s not wiping all the slights clean, but it’s a recognition, and that’s more than I expected.

Tori nods, looking a little relieved that I’ve accepted her words. “Look, I know it doesn’t change what happened, and I know we’re not going to be best friends after this, but maybe we can at least work on this project without wanting to kill each other?”

I let out a small laugh, surprised by the lightness in it. “Yeah, I think we can manage that.”

“You know…” She blows out a breath and lifts her drink to her lips, her cheeks flushed and her eyes alert. “Fuck.” She takes a long swig before setting the glass down with a soft thud. “Bishop and I were forced together.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Forced?” That feels dramatic.

“There are things you don’t understand yet,” she hedges, tracing circles in the condensation on her glass. “Bishop’s mom thought we’d be a great match, and I latched onto that idea.” Tori shifts in her seat, her gaze drifting toward the window before snapping back to me. “You know how it is when parents get involved. They see things they think are perfect and make up stories in their heads about happy endings.”

I nod, despite having no idea what it’s like to have a parent care that much about you. Mine didn’t even care enough to keep me around. The thought hangs in the air, a silent shadow over my words. “So it was more about pleasing his mom than actually wanting to be with Bishop?”

“It was both,” she admits, tracing the rim of her glass with a finger, her movements slow and thoughtful. “I liked him, sure, but the pressure... It made everything feel more serious than it probably was, and when it isn’t just your feelings but your family’s expectations, breaking up seems like you’re failing more than just yourself.”

The vulnerability in her voice catches me off guard. It’s a side of Tori I’ve never seen—the façade of the confident girl crumbling a bit. “That sounds really tough,” I say, my tone infused with genuine sympathy.

“Yeah, it was,” she murmurs, and then her eyes lock on mine, a flicker of challenge in them. “Which is why what you did hurt so much. It wasn’t just about losing Bishop. It was about everything falling apart and having to face that alone.”

My stomach twists with guilt. My actions hadn’t just been a simple mistake, they had ripple effects I hadn’t considered. “I didn’t see it that way at the time,” I confess, the weight of my words thick in the dim light of the bar. “I didn’t think about the bigger picture. I’m really sorry, Tori.”

She nods, acknowledging my apology with a terse smile. “I know you are, and I’m trying not to hold onto that anger forever, but it’s hard.”

“I get that,” I reply, the weight of our shared honesty making the air between us feel less heavy.

“He loves you though,” she whispers, almost too low for me to hear, but I do, and it sends a chill through me. “He never wanted me. Only you.”

“Well, he has a fucked up way of showing it,” I blurt out, remembering his cold words.

“He’s a good guy. He’d be amazing as a ma—” She cuts herself off. “Give him a chance.”

“What?” After all that?

“Listen, like I said, I knew he’d never love me, and I still pushed for it, and look where it got me.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “Hurt. But he loves you, Frankie. I don’t know, make him work for it.”

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