i sat on her bed, playing with the corners of the sheet that snuck out from under the covers. i could never bring myself to look at her, not if she was talking about her life (before me). even now, when i was twelve it was hard. she was sitting at the far end of her bed, watching me, i could feel it, but i wouldn't look up.
you have to remember, i was young. things were different then.
she shifts uncomfortably at my lack of surprise. even at twelve i was the meanest person in her life. these words you say can hurt. i understood this, and i never hesitated to use it.
danielle. i was eighteen. i had lived in this damn place since i was six years old! i had nothing here except a distant father and a sister who pretended she didn't know me for half of my life. what was i supposed to do? here was this man who asked me to leave, who said he would show me the world. how could i pass that up?
you could have said no. you could have thanked him and walked away. it's not hard, you know.</p>
god, you make it seem like i'm some kind of monster. like i tricked him or some thing.
i sighed a little, the bed creaking underneath me. a girl isn't supposed to hear these sorts of things. they are meant to be whispered over the phone to old friends, if spoken at all. but to say them out loud, to your child? no. no.
so what are you trying to say? you loved him but you didn't love him?
god damn it, don't be so naive. i loved him, i still do. that just isn't the reason i married him.
silence. i have nothing left to say as her eyes burn into my face, frustration. it's amazing how interesting a single piece of cloth can become. (when you're hiding.)
you'll understand when you're older.
but no, i don't think i will. i am twelve years old and i don't understand the difference between honesty and half-truth, between what you have always known and what you may never know at all. i don't understand how it feels to be stuck with a choice to make, where neither answer is right nor wrong. just, there.
but maybe i will understand. when i am older.