Page 100 of The Way I Used to Be
“Who?”
I feel the tears working their way up from the pit of my stomach. “I can’t tell you that,” I say automatically.
“Why?”
I pull at a strand of yarn that’s coming loose from my scarf.
“Why, Eden?” he repeats.
“Because I just can’t.”
“Do I know him, is that why?”
My brain fights against my body. I tell it to remain still, to not give anything away, but damn it, it won’t listen. I nod. And the tears, they roll down, falling faster than I can wipe them away. I can’t do this.
“You can,” he says, as if he can hear the thoughts in my head, “really, you can tell me.”
“You won’t believe me,” I sob.
“Yes, I will,” he says softly. “I promise.”
“I know that I’ve lied about things before, but I wouldn’t lie about this, and I know that everyone thinks I’m a slut and I probably am, but this happened before all of that. I mean, I had never even been kissed—you were my first real kiss, you probably didn’t know that. I never even held hands with a boy; I had never even so much as given out my phone number! I was just a kid—I—I—” I have to stop, I can barely breathe I’m crying so hard. I look at him, but everything’s blurry through my tears.
“I know. I know. Here.” He hands me a McDonald’s napkin that was hiding somewhere in the car.
“This isn’t who I was supposed to be. I used to be so nice. I used to be a nice, sweet, good person. And now I just—I just—I hate. I hate him. I hate him so much, Josh. I really do.”
“Eden”—he turns me toward him, smoothing my hair back from my face—“look at me. Breathe, okay?” he says with his hands on my shoulders.
“I hate him so much that sometimes, that”—gasp, gasp, gasp. “Sometimes I can’t feel anything else at all. Just hate”—gasp—“hate, that’s all, that’s everything. My whole life is just hate. And I can’t—I can’t get it out of me. No matter what I do, it’s always there, I just—I can’t—”
“Who is it? Just say the name, please, Eden. Just tell me.” He’s gripping my arms so tight, he’s actually hurting me, and all of this pressure builds inside my chest, inside my head. “What’s his n—?”
“Kevin Armstrong!” I scream it. Finally. “It was Kevin! It was Kevin.”
His hands ease up. “Armstrong?” He lets go of me. His brain is working something out, I can’t tell what. “Armstrong,” he says again. I don’t know if the disdain in his voice is because he thinks I’m lying or because he believes me. I open my mouth to ask, but he brings his fists down against the steering wheel. Hard. He mutters something indecipherable, and then, “... Fucking son of a bitch... that fucking...” He shakes his head back and forth, and he wraps both his hands around the steering wheel so tight, I think he might rip the thing right off.
“You believe me, don’t you?” I ask, desperately needing someone on my side.
He jerks his head up, and says, “I’m going to fucking kill him, Eden, I swear to God I’m gonna kill him.”
“You believe me, right?” I ask again.
“Eden, of course I believe you, I—I just...” He inhales, and exhales slowly, trying to calm himself. “I just—you could’ve told me—you should’ve told me. Back when we were together. Why? Why didn’t you ever say anything? I would’ve believed you then, too.”
God, I almost wish he didn’t just tell me that. I wish he’d said that he wouldn’t have believed me, because then I could feel justified in not telling him. I just look down at my hands, shake my head.
“There were so many things that never made sense. About you, about what happened between us. God, it seems so obvious, I should’ve known. Eden, I was with that guy like every day. I mean, we were on the same team. Kevin Armstrong, I—”
He reaches out and takes my hand. I lean my head against the headrest and close my eyes. Breathe. Just breathe. “I’m so exhausted,” I whisper.
“Do you want me to take you home?”
“I can’t be there right now,” I tell him, my voice so quiet.
“School?”
I open my eyes. “You’re kidding, right?”
