Somehow we ended up on your bed together. Your uncopyrighted music played gently in the background and your super cool antique lamp shined dimly.
We sat there, silently like we had no idea what to say.
Then Micheal sighed all annoyed like he had the right to feel anything but guilt.
"Where is she, Green?" he asked one last time. "Just, please, tell me!"
"I don't know."
Then we were silent again.
Micheal stared into your lamp, his eyes all dead. He tucked his knees beneath his chin.
"I hate this," he said passionately. "I hate that I can't feel relieved that we found you. I hate that everything is about Valery!"
He didn't care about you, I realized. Instead, he was worried about me...
"No one cares about you," he said. "They don't believe that she's the one who thought about running away. They're blaming you, Green. I know you feel pressured to protect her because she's your best friend, but I only wanted to help you when I told you to leave her be."
"What do you mean?"
"Can't you see it?" he yelled. "She's only using you. She doesn't care about the fact that you love her. All she wants is to get away from here."
"Don't say that—"
He scoffed. "Isn't it funny how you manage to neglect the people who really love you for such...for such a parasite!"
"She loves me," I insisted weakly.
"No," he argued, "I love you."
…
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