Feeling: ...
Listening to: Belle & Sebastian - Nothing in the Silence
Reading/Watching: Georgette Heyer - "The Nonesuch"

Last night, I told her.

She screamed. And cried. And told me to leave her apartment, never come back. I plopped on the floor like a stubborn little bitch and refused to go until we'd talked about this.

Leaving, we agreed to give it some time. She is not going to let him come between us, although she now hates him to unimaginable levels. And I thought she wasn't going to hold this against me... it's what she said last night, when we finally reached peace and I was amazed at how she'd grown up so fast in two hours of grief.

But today, in church, she would not look at me. Her mother would not look at me, the woman who told me I didn't need to ask to come spend the night at their house, didn't need to knock to come inside. The woman who teased me about being their adopted daughter. Would not look at me.

Halfway through the communion hymn, my voice was shaking too hard to hide anymore, and it was all I could do not to cry, although the priest watched the contortions of my face with the kind of concern that makes me want to break. I can't seem to take it when people give me those sympathetic eyes. Afterward, Bri approached him, wanting to have confession, but then told me to stay and listen to what she had to say.

She feels betrayed. She feels that the boy didn't come between us; I did. She doesn't want to forgive me, thinks I have been plotting this for a long time. Thinks I used her to get to him. Thinks I was trying to patch things up between them so that she could handle my dating him easier. She told me I could not have them both, could not like him and be her friend. I apologized to Father and excused myself from the room.

Held myself together as I drove to the dorms, like I'd told him I would last night, to see if they wanted to hang out that afternoon and play D&D (which they initiated me to last week), but also to get a chance to talk to him face to face, maybe (hope against hope) find comfort from someone I still regarded as a friend.

I knocked on his door, and it was forever before he unlocked it. I had been about to walk away, assuming he was sleeping. He was lying in bed still, looking at me. Timid, I said, "I just got out of church. I wanted to say hi."

"Hi." And he rolled over and faced the wall.

I have lost them both.

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