Where the Stars Fall

23 | Tearing scars

"SO HOW DO YOU think that made me feel, huh?" she cries, her hands shaking, her voice failing her.

Right now, I don't have an answer. I'm still trying to make some sense out of the insane story I've been listening to the past five minutes.

The moment of truth finally arrived, and I thought I was ready for it, but I'm not. Her words are burning in my core in a hundred unimaginable ways.

"Brian? Aren't you going to say anything?"

No, I'm not. What I've just heard is so absurd I don't even have the words to describe what I think about it, what I'm feeling. I need five seconds to cool off and gather my thoughts.

I get up from the sofa and head for the window, where I lean over the old, rusty balcony rail and look down at the sunny Verónica Square.

There's a bunch of British tourists sitting at the outdoor café, sipping beer and talking loudly and cheerfully, searching for something on a map. Ten to one, they're looking for a way out of this goddamned labyrinth of narrow streets and crammed buildings.

My eyes shift to the young couple – really young, probably as young as we were back then – seated on the stone steps next to the building of the former School of Arts and Crafts. They're all wrapped up in love, one can see by the smiles on their faces, still so full of hopes and dreams. If they only knew...

Olivia comes up behind me and rests her hand on my shoulder. "I know I should have handled it differently back then. And throwing it in your face now, it's just as stupid. I'm sorry. But we were kids, and that's what kids do, dumb things. Please, come inside."

"No, Liv, what's really stupid is the fact you didn't even consider the possibility I'd never do that to you," I say without even looking at her.

"We should leave it at that, what's the point? It's all water under the bridge. I don't want you to feel awkward; and honestly, I don't need any lame excuses either. It's been ages, who cares now?"

"Lame excuses?! You have to be bloody joking!" I finally turn to face her. "So let me see if I got this right: some moron I don't even remember told you... no, wait! It's crazier than that!

"Some random chick told you she'd heard some guy boasting he was going to have his way with you? The hottest and wildest ride between-the-sheets. And he came to such a conclusion because?

"Of course, I'd bragged about it. That's what all guys do: tout their own accomplishments to one-up their mates! Right?"

Fury has filled my mind and a wave of sheer anger is rippling through me. No, something fiercer than anger, a feeling of absolute disappointment and rage all swirling around at the same time.

"Why would I keep it to myself and not spill it all out? Run my mouth about shagging some hot girl? I'm a narcissistic son of a bitch as it is – why wouldn't I want the other guys to know about it and admire me? Why wouldn't I play that card? It would surely raise me a few rungs higher on the cool guys' ladder!"

Easy, you're losing it.

"I really don't appreciate the sarcasm, Brian."

Oh, sod it. I've got shit to say!

"Oh, you don't appreciate the sarcasm. I'm so sorry," I blurt out with an extra dose of irony charging my tone. "Then this guy tells me he wants to be the next in line to stick his tongue into your throat and screw your brains out and, obviously, I say 'Go for it!'? I was leaving the next day anyway and you were just a summer fling! Like I cared, right?"

"Brian, stop."

She tries to hold my hand and calm me down, but I brush it away. Leaning in, I tell her with a deep harsh voice, "And all that crap made perfect sense in that crazy head of yours, correct?"