"Especially something that occurred to you at that young age," he continued. "It fucking hurts. Something about high school, where every emotion feels magnified, where you're still figuring yourself out, it just amplifies everything we went through during those years. It's more intense and cuts deeper. Way deeper."
The odd softness in his voice was so strange, as if he was capable of feeling any sympathy toward what I'd gone through.
And there was something else in his tone I couldn't quite pinpoint. Vulnerability? Was that it? What on earth didhehave to be vulnerable about during those years?
"You say that like you experienced bullying too..." I said, knowing full well he didn't. Who would have bullied the hottest, most popular person in the entire school? No one would have dared.
He sighed. "Not bullying. No. But..."
His voice trailed off, piquing my curiosity. I just had to know what sad tale Tristan D. Hawthorne would spin about his teenage years.
"But what? What happened?"
I held my breath, waiting to see if he might actually answer.
"Just my home life."
Ah, his home life. So he was obviously talking about his parents. "Your mom and dad I'm guessing?"
A heavy sigh came from his end. "You guessed it. There were constant battles at home. Any time they were together, it was just insanity. So I avoided it like the plague, did everything I could not to go home at night."
That explained why he'd thrown himself into sports and been on every student committee imaginable, not to mention a fixture at all the major social events.
"And that's why I've been so involved with Archie," he went on. "I'll never forget how that experience made me feel and how hard it was to go through it, so I'll fight to the death so it doesn't happen to him, so history doesn't repeat itself."
"I get that." If I ever had a child, I would doeverythingin my power to make sure they weren't bullied.
"But enough about me," Tristan said. "I'm really sorry that happened to you."
This was the strangest conversation I'd ever had. "Thank you," I whispered, dying to know if he would feel the same way if he knew my real name.
"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"
"Um, yeah?"
He laughed. "And you must know how much I like talking to you, especially at the end of the day. It just feels right."
Did it feel right? Yes and no. And there was that weird conflict inside me rearing its ugly head again. "I feel the same," I said, because I was a master at playing this game. An absolute master.
"That seriously makes my day. No, my month, my fucking year, to hear you say that."
His voice was so earnest and sincere, anyone else on the planet would have believed him. But not moi. I was too smart for that. So I smiled, then laughed a little, trying my best to move on from the weirdness of before. For my own sake, I had to let go of the awful memories and all the feelings they dredged up.
"How did our conversation get so serious?" he asked, filling the pause that followed his last statement. "The last thing you need during such a busy, stressful time is to have such an emotionally grueling conversation."
"I'm okay."
Was I? Leaning back, I did a mental inventory and found that I was actually okay. Wow.
Hearing Tristan's apology—even if I had my doubts about his sincerity, obviously—had helped me. Weirdly.
And even stranger, he hadn't even apologized in the way that he truly needed to, only saying sorry that it had happened to me.
God, this whole thing was just so weird.
"Good," he said. "Maybe it's time to change the subject to something lighter like..."
Right. Remember the plan. I had to. "Like?"
