BURN (Wattys2015?)

that summer

We didn't tell anyone what happened that summer.
You were always away at boarding school, so I never really got to know you. All I knew was that she loved you dearly, but hated you because you were always the favorite.
You had come down to stay with your grandparents for the last few weeks of the summer, and I had seen you just a few times. I didn't pay you much attention, but I knew about the attention you paid me.
It was a hot, lazy day. It was your last day in town, so your grandparents threw a big family dinner for you. It was fine, at first, but she was in a mood and made everything so damn awkward.
She and I had just had another fight. She and I were always fighting though. We loved it, craved it even. But it made you feel uncomfortable. She ignored your discomfort, but I felt a sense of compassion for you.
She had stormed off, gathered her things and threatened to leave me and everyone else permanently. I told her she was being stupid, and out the door she went. I was angry, of course, but I felt such a sense of calm that I hadn't felt before.
I went out back to smoke, and you awkwardly followed me, uncertainty and discomfort in your eyes.
"I'm...sorry." You attempted to start a conversation. I glanced at you through the corner of my eye. I would never tell you why we fought, because I knew it would hurt you. After all, we did fight about you. She knew you had a crush on me, and I knew it, too. She wanted me to kick you out, but I was too soft for that.
"She'll be back." I sigh, breathing out a puff of death. "She always comes back."
"Do you...fight a lot?" You stare down at your uniformed Mary Janes. She hated those shoes when she had to wear them, and hated you for liking them.
"Yeah, it's sorta our thing." I grin.
Later you would tell me it was the mischievous sparkle in my eye that encouraged you. I had always wondered why you did what you did.
"How long will she be gone?" You take a step closer, lowering your voice.
I know exactly what you're doing.
"A while." I study your face. You're about my age, but you look so innocent. And you look just like her. I find myself watching your lips, so much like hers.
"Kiss me." You say.
And I did.
An hour later she returns, throwing herself at me crying how she's sorry (she was always so sorry). She apologizes to me, and to you, and to your grandparents. And then she and I are gathering our things, and we're gone. She had no idea what I did to you and what you did to me. She never found out.
You wouldn't look me in the eye as she and I walked out the door. You didn't say goodbye like everyone else did, and I didn't see you for five years.
Now she still doesn't know what you have done to me this summer, or what I have done to you. And she never will.