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My old hometown.
Hiding under their noses, as Harper calls it.
I’m not sure what I’d call it. Self-inflicted pain? Learning to coupe? Closing the past so I can truly start a new chapter.
"I only have one burner phone; if you use it, that's the only call you get until I can buy another," Harper's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts, snapping me back to the present.
"Do you want me to turn around?" she offers, the question hanging in the air, a lifeline I'm tempted to grab.
Yes, a part of me screams. No, the rest of me whispers.
"No. I think I need this. I need some time to think. I just need to tell Julian that," I say, resting my elbow against the car door, my gaze fixed on the endless road ahead.
"I feel like I keep screwing everything up, Harper. I get a taste of something good, and poof, it’s gone," I continue, my voice a mix of frustration and defeat.
Harper's response is immediate. Her hand finds mine, her grip firm and reassuring. "You didn’t do anything. Andrew did. This is his manipulation," she says firmly, her voice steady even as her expression betrays the anger simmering beneath.
"Did he," she hesitates.
"Just ask."
"Did he tell you things like that after he hit you? Did he make you think it was your fault?"
I roll my lips into a tight line. "Yes," I reply so low the car engine drowns out my words. Harper is smart; she didn’t need a reply. She just wanted me to admit it to myself.
"Don't fault yourself for falling for that. Too many women do." Harper replies, "Contrary to what women's rights have us believing, we are not the same as men. We're so easily broken. Men aren't. That doesn't mean they are stronger or better, just different. Men are hard of hearing. Women hear everything. Sometimes, we shouldn't. We should learn to ignore those who try to tear us down and listen to those who build us up."
I gulp.
I think my axis just shifted.
Harper’s right. Per usual. Don't tell her I think that; her head will only poke through the atmosphere.
"Are you moonlighting as a therapist now?"
She glances at me and grins, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her blue eyes are cold and arctic, lost in whatever thoughts she has about my past with Andrew. "I wear many hats."
"It amazes me that you found a hat that fits your gigantic head," I joke. "I swear it grows bigger every year."
She looks back at the road. "I’m sorry. I never saw it. I never noticed what Andrew was doing. I… I was having… I was in… I was just," she continues to trip over her words.
"It’s not your fault."
"It is. I’m your best friend. I knew I hated Andrew, but you seemed happy at first anyway."
"I was happy at the beginning."
"I should have noticed the change. I was just in a mess of my own."
It’s true; during my time with Andrew, Harper and I became more distant in the sense that we didn’t know the color of the panties we each put on every day. We’re close like that, and with Harper as a roommate, it's impossible not to see her getting dressed every day. She loves to walk around in the nude, and I became immune to seeing tits along with my morning breakfast. But when I started dating Andrew, Harper and I became two ships sailing past each other. We occasionally stopped and traded gossip; then we set sail again. We saw each other less, and I regret that. It was the first sign I should have noticed. Andrew tried to change my friends; he tried to separate Harper and me, and I let him.
"I was kind of seeing someone," Harper admits.
"Who? Was it Tommy Callahan again?" I roll my eyes.
"Ugh, as if."
I elbow her. "As if," I repeat. "I had to hear about Tommy for five weeks during senior year. So don’t 'as if' me. Who was it?"
