Page 31 of Rewriting the Story

She only nods as she sits on the floor at the end of my bed. I join her immediately. Neither of us speaks for the first few moments, and I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff, waiting for a small gust of wind to blow me over the edge. I knew this would be hard, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to talk without crying.

Sure, I’m close with the other girls, but Paige was… She was everything. My best friend. The other half of me, really, and I hurt her.

“Hads and Ella told me about their conversations with you.” She stops to sniffle. “I figured you were struggling, so coming to you felt easiest.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I was having a hard time figuring out how to approach you. Every time I think I’m ready, the guilt is so heavy and overwhelming.”

She takes a big deep breath before she speaks again. “You hurt me, Amelia. You really hurt me. You were my best friend, and you disappeared. For the first few months, I thought I had done something to you. I kept searching my memories, trying to figure out what I could have said or done to make you leave. I still thought youwouldcome back.” She turns to look at me, tears already falling down both our faces. “Hads, Ella, and even Oliver were pissed at you, and I kept making excuses on your behalf. You weren't even around, and I was still hoping, still believing, that you would reappear one day, but you never did.”

I can’t even say anything to justify this. Ihatemyself. I hate what I did. I should just leave.

No. No. I’m not running again. God, I hate that leaving is always my first reaction to everything. How fucking long is it going to take to rewire my brain to think differently?

“And then, I got worried something happened to you. I kept telling myself the reason you weren't texting back or answering our calls was because you were hurt somewhere, and do you want to know what made me realize you weren't dead and you were simply ignoring us?”

I’m not sure I want to, but I nod, her stare drilling into me.

“I used to check your music profile,” she says with a scoff. “I saw that you were still making your normal monthly playlists. I saw you were active when new albums came out that we used to have listening parties for. You were still listening to the music without me—without us all.”

“Paige—”

“Just let me get this out, please,” she says through her tears.

“Sorry,” I say, wiping some of my own. “Go ahead.”

“Did you see me listening to the same music? Did you see me trying to manifest you back into my life by listening to the albums and artists you recommended to me all throughout college? If you did—which I assume you did, hence the guilt—why didn't you reach out? Why didn't you feel the same gut punch I did when I saw your profile picture staring back at me, taunting me because my best friend could somehow keep up with music, but she couldn't bother to reach out and talk to her friends?”

And then, the two of us sit and cry on the floor, not reaching for one another because neither of us knows what to say or do in this situation.

“It hurt, Amelia. God, it really fucking hurt what you did. You should know how much your silence smacked me in the face after everything we had been through, after all the promises you made to never fully leave.”

“I’m sorry, Paige.” Those three words are all I can seem to get out. If I try to say anything else, I might collapse into guilt. But again, it’s myfault I feel this way. All the girls have done is tell the truth about how they felt when I disappeared. It’s not like they’re lying about any of this. It all actually happened. They’re not saying all of this to hurt me; they’re simply telling me how my actions affected them, and I know I’m strong enough to hear them, sit with them, and not let it set me back months in growth.

I grab one of my makeup brushes, needing something to stop my hands from shaking.

“I can forgive you, Amelia. Maybe not fully now, but I can find my way to forgiving you if what you say is true,” Paige says, her voice low as I go to grab the tissues from the desk, handing her a few. “Thanks.”

“You can? Forgive me, I mean,” I say as I grab a tissue, my makeup probably running down my face, but I don’t care. “If I were you guys, I would have kicked me to the curb the minute I showed back up after all I did..”

“But that’s where we differ. We’re not you,” Paige reminds me. “When things got tough, we ran toward one another, not away.”

Again, she’s right. I’m a runner. I always have been, but I’m trying to stop. Now, I have a reason why I’ve done all these things in my life, but it still doesn't change the fact that I fucked up. I have better coping mechanisms now, thankfully, but those aren't some magic eraser to fix all my fuck ups.

“Okay, I’m done, I think,” Paige says with a sad smile.

“Saying I’m sorry doesn't really feel like enough,” I tell her as a few tears fall. “I fucked up, Paige, and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to prove to you all that I’m not going to leave again. For the first time ever, I’m trying to fix all my faults, because the last year I spent in England was horrible. I was down, and I couldn't pick myself back up. I thought leaving was the best thing for my career, but my career isn't everything, at least not to this version of myself. Moving to England and going through everything I did over there was the wakeup call I needed, and it’s a chapterof my life I simultaneously regret and am thankful for. I regret leaving my best—” My throat decides to close at the worst moment, but Paige grabs my hand. I almost pull away at first because of how shocked I am at her sudden touch, but her grip is firm in mine.

“It’s okay. Take your time.”

I take a moment to collect myself, the tears still falling as I somehow get the words out. “You guys were the best part of my life for four years, and what I did to you guys was horrible.”

“Forgive yourself,” is all she says. “Us girls are slowly forgiving you if your actions really do match your words, and they have, at least from what I’m starting to see. So, feel how you feel, but at some point, you’re going to have to stop focusing on the guilt. You made a mistake, Amelia.”

“Well, not just one. I’ve made about a thousand of them,” I laugh at myself.

She giggles across from me, her hand still in mine. “So have I, and so has everyone else on the planet, but there’s a big difference between you and some of those other people.”

“And what’s that?”

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