“I won’t make you any promises,” I tell her. “We don’t know each other well and I guess it would depend on the slip up.” I shrug. Some things are forgivable. Others aren’t. “But if something happens, I can try to hear you out at the very least. That’s what friends do, right?”
Her expression relaxes, and she goes back to eating. “Thanks.”
“Of course.” I’d want the same thing. I wish Kim had been willing to hear me out after Austin lied to her. That she’d bothered to give me the benefit of the doubt instead of believing him when he said I wanted it. That I made it all up for attention because I was drunk and regretted my decisions. That because he didn’t want a relationship with me after the fact, I was crying foul to retaliate.
She believed him right off the bat. I never even had a chance.
“Can I ask a question?”
Adriana’s dark brown eyes flick to mine as she takes another bite. “You just did.”
I roll my eyes. “A real one.”
She shrugs and makesa goahead motion with her burger.
“What do you mean by you have a shitty track record at being a good friend?” I’ve had my share of shitty friends, and while I’d like for Adriana and I to be friends, I don’t want it to come back and bite me in the ass the way it did with Kim and Joelle.
I don’t want to let someone in, only for them to stab me in the back. I’m not sure I can handle that sort of thing again. Not in my current state. I’d like to think I’m stronger now than I was a few months ago, but I’m not sure that’s really true. I think I’m just finding better ways to cope. To survive.
Adriana takes her time chewing and swallowing her food before she answers. “In high school, I slept with my best friend’s boyfriend.”
Damn. That’s … rough. And definitely bad friend behavior.
“Why?”
“You want the real answer or what everyone else thinks?”
“The real one.” Obviously.
She nods. “At the time, my friend had everything I thought I was missing. She was close with her mom in a way my parents and I never have been. In a way I don’t believe we’re capable of feeling for one another now. And she was happy. She smiled a lot. She laughed. She had this boyfriend who used to tell her how much he loved her every chance he got.”
She pauses and mulls over her words. “I wasn’t jealous. Not of him. It was never about the guy. But I wanted to know what that felt like. To be loved. Does that make sense?”
In a weird and sad kind of way, I guess it does. I picture Adriana as a teenager. A little bit lost and confused. She believes she isn’t normal. That she doesn’t think like everyone else. She mentioned a diagnosis, but she hasn’t said what that diagnosis is. Regardless, being told you’re different, it can feel isolating, and when we’re teenagers, I don’t know. Everything feels bigger. More heightened. I don’t agree with her choice, but I guess I can sort of empathize, maybe.
“I was young. Seventeen. And still really naïve,” she tells me. “I didn’t understand that having sex didn’t automatically equate to love. Some part of me thought I could have sex with him, feel what she’d felt, and move on. But?—”
“It didn’t feel like that?”
She shakes her head. “No. It wasn’t anything like I imagined. It was rushed and painful and it left me with this feeling in my chest.” She purses her lips. “It made me hollow.” Adriana absently rubs a spot beneath her ribs. “I thought maybe I did itwrong. When my friend talked about sex, it was this intimate, beautiful thing. But that wasn’t what I experienced, so I tried it again. After the third or fourth time, I realized it was never going to feel the way she’d described it for me. So, I stopped. Or at least, I wanted to stop.”
She takes a sip of her water. “Her boyfriend wanted to keep sneaking around. I didn’t. But he threatened to tell her I’d seduced him if I didn’t keep sleeping with him. It took him saying that to me for me to realize what I did was wrong. And that finding out would hurt my friend.” She shakes her head. “He knew from the start that she’d be upset and he did it anyway. I … I didn’t. I know it sounds like a cop out, and I guess it is.” she sighs. “It just never really dawned on me, I guess. So when I realized my mistake, it was too late and there were no good choices. I took the path I thought would cause the least amount of harm and I let Ryker fuck me when he felt like it. I thought it was the better option at the time.”
“Was it?” I ask, curious if her position has changed at all since then.
“No. She found out anyway and at the worst possible time. Her life was imploding and learning what I did only added to her pain, which was never my intention. She was an important person in my life. What I did, sleeping with her boyfriend, was a mistake. Not telling her what I did, not going to her and being accountable, that was also a mistake. And both of those things cost me. Rightfully so.”
She regrets it. That’s good at least.
“I don’t make mistakes like that anymore,” she tells me. “I learned from it as well as others enough to believe I’m capable of being a good friend now. I might still fuck up.” She shrugs. “But not like that.”
“So is being my friend sort of like an experiment?”
“Sure. Whether or not we’re able to sustain a positive and mutually beneficial friendship can be considered an experiment. Neither of us knows how it will turn out. It makes sense to label it that way. But the same can be said for any relationship if you think about it.”
I mean, she’s not wrong.
“Are there any other questions you want to ask me?” she says, “This is probably a lot to take in. But I hope you’re not reconsidering our friendship. That would suck.” Her expression is blank when she says it, but I don’t miss the flicker of worry in her eyes.
