"How do they know? "

My words come out as more of a choked whisper. I can't exactly bring myself to meet her, not that she is looking at me anyways.

When my eyes do rise back up to her face, they fixate on the other places. Her cheeks, the slight bags under her eyes, even her hair line. In situations like this I can never seem to focus on the big things, I can't really hear what she's saying or take time to analyze her body language too much. Right now all I can see is the little things, and I'm doing it again, tuning things out and biting my cheek until I can convince myself this is just a fever dream.

Then suddenly she explodes, "What do you mean how do they know? ", launching herself out of her seat and circling around the bed until she's behind me. I still just sit there pathetically with my head down, like a puppy who knows they've done wrong waiting to get hit with another strike.

"You make it pretty obvious don't you think? Why would you do that? Why didn't you just talk to me instead of pulling some shit like that in front of everyone. "She's getting more angry. I can't see her, but I know her well enough. I can just tell she has her fingers deeply tangled in her hair, pacing back and forth with this directionless look in her eyes. She did the same thing when her parents took her phone a year back and found out about her boyfriend, including all the pictures they had been sending each other. That's what she does when she's panicking and has no earthly clue how to get out of the situation that she's in right now. Just one of the many things I know about her.

Usually right now would be when I try to help her, I'd be her rock. But it's hard to be the rock when this time I was the entire reason she was in so much distress.

I think she can sense that in me, that I'm too weak and confused for me to have anything to say back to her. So she keeps going, scolding me in the nicest way possible to tell me how badly I've ruined her reputation. So when I do speak she freezes almost like she was shocked I could gather up the strength to say anything to her right now.

"I didn't want it to be like this. This isn't how I wanted things to come out. "I can't imagine I sound very strong right now but I turn around quickly after I say it. I'm kind of pleading with her now. Begging her to just treat me with some more sympathy. I get up and stand a little bit away from her. I anchor my toes into her beige rug, and maybe I do it for some security but the sensation brings memories flooding back into my brain. Good memories but ones I can feel are turning sour the longer we speak. The first moments flashed in my head sweetly. I picture her little smile, and the way her lips part when she's thinking about something really deeply. We spent a lot of time here, especially over the past couple months when this was all starting.

"What? When did we talk about it coming out at all? When did you ask me? Do you ever take other people's feelings into consideration? "She takes a defiant step closer to me, and I'm thankful I am so deeply rooted into the tendrils of this rug. If I wasn't I think I would have tipped over.

I look her in the eyes now. I expected to see anger, burning rage and fury ready to tear me to absolute shreds. Instead I see fear, the most poignant, vicious and unforgiving fear.

She points a finger so hard into my chest that I think she's trying to tear me apart. Maybe she's hoping if she jabs it in hard enough that I will just disappear, and all these fears and doubts she has will disappear along with me. I guess I never realized I was the source of so much of her pain.

"Did you ever think if I actually wanted it? "

She says this low, almost under her breath, and her eyes fall as she says it. She shifts on her feet. She's unfocused, and for a moment, just a moment, I can feel her backing down. Just for that second I feel guilt radiating off her.

Her words knock the air out of my lungs, and suddenly I am not so stable anymore. Suddenly I am not rooted in those good memories, I am just a floating unwanted thing getting ready to be swept out of the window with a gust of her breath.

I blink hard, and my arms finally fall from where they sat crossed against my stomach. My guard is down. For a second I think she will see all the pain in me and stop. But once again to my surprise she raises her eyes to mine, and that defiance is back.

"I never wanted it. "She says it a little louder this time, but still low. I take a step back.

"I never wanted it. "She's speaking loudly now.

"I never wanted it. "Now she's practically yelling, taking steps toward me and I can feel that finger she has planted to dutifully on my chest begin to carve deep into me. I can feel it puncture my heart, and slowly drag it out.

She repeats the wicked phrase once again in what I can only describe as a scream.

"I never wanted you. "

For a second I am not sure why, she must've known that I heard her the first time, and even the second time. Then I realize it wasn't for me, or even her, it was for our audience.

That's all she cares about, if our audience is very clear of her feelings, or lack thereof.

Right now I have a couple options. I could run. I could give an apology. Or I could yell back and remind her of all the times she's trying so hard to forget.

Remind her of those nights I would feel her shuffle in the darkness. Those nights she would turn around to me, the outline of her face illuminated with the soft glow of her hanging lights. The nights I could so clearly remember the vulnerable look in her eyes. Those nights that she would lean over me, and without any words press her lips to mine. The nights she would kiss me so intently, and cling onto me like she needed me. Those nights I knew better than to mention anything or ask any questions, the nights where I could feel her losing herself. Those nights I could see that same fear, but a milder form of it, come to life in her touches and gasps.

I wonder if she even remembered. I wonder if she remembers the very first times, and how painfully nervous I was. I wonder if she remembers this situation was all her actions coming back to bite her. I wonder if she thinks we would've kissed at all if she hadn't turned over that night. But now it's my fault, my burden to bear, and I am crumbling under the pressure.

The sick part is I still care about her even now as she's turning the blame around on me. I still care even though I know she's screaming all these nasty things for the ears pressed against her bedroom door.

So I don't say a thing, I snap out of my head pressed against a wall, her still going on and trying to dig her perfect reputation out of the gutter. I finally feel myself start to cry, and as she sees the tears well up in my eyes she suddenly stops.

I must have been making it easy for her. Just standing there and taking it and not fighting back, maybe it was like practicing her lines in front of a wall. Maybe she was just yelling these things for those ears to hear, and later tonight she would climb in my window again and hold me like she needs me. Like she always does.

I turn my face and walk out. I pick up my shoes but none of my other things. I'd rather she just burn them as a further public display of my sin. A part of me expects her to walk after me, to stop me and tell me everything is going to be okay. She doesn't.

As I get closer to the door I hear manic footsteps and panicked whispers. I shove open the door and walk past the sea of people. Some of them try to act like they weren't listening, some of them are blatantly looking at me with this face of bewilderment. Some whisper, but I can't focus enough to hear what they are saying. Some of them even have their phones out filming me stumble down the stairs.

The music had stopped, no one was dancing, and no conversations were being had. It was like the whole world had stopped to watch my heart unfold.

On the bright side, at least there weren't any more secrets.

There's a sense of finality as my hand touched the cold metal of the doorknob, it's like it's temperature had shocked me back into the reality of this. I turn my head with tears streaming down my face to look up at her bedroom door.

For some reason I expect to see her there looking at me walk away. A part of me thinks maybe our secret can still continue and can just give me a sign of us being how we used to be. A part of me thinks maybe she lied to me up there in her bedroom. A part of me thinks she is going to watch me leave with longing eyes as the party buzzes around her, looking beautiful and sad all at the same time. She doesn't.