comfort {complete}

47

Becca and I are sitting in the living room, ignoring each other as we wait for my mother to pick her up for gymnastics. I was invited to watch my sister practice, but Becca looked like she really didn't want me to go, so I'm staying here. Katherine and Griffin are at Yale, oohing and ahing over the campus, and the others are out having social lives, so here I am; alone—well, not yet, but once Becca leaves, I will be.

"Why don't you talk to me anymore?"

Becca's eyes lift from her phone and she looks at me. "What?"

"Why don't you talk to me?" I repeat. "I know the rape thing is weird— "

"It's not weird, it's awful!" she exclaims. "I liked Brian when I first met him, Steph, and you certainly did, and every time I look at you, I feel guilty for not hating that asshole the second I met him. I should've known the type of person he was, but I didn't, and I should've protected you from him, I shouldn't have let you go to his house when I knew his parents weren't there. You told me his parents weren't there, you told me what you were planning to do with him, and I was happy for you, and then you came home sobbing, and I just— "

I gather her into my arms because she's weeping now. Her tears dampen my t-shirt, but it doesn't faze me and I'm crying, too. I don't know if it's because I haven't heard his name in two months or if her confessions are this moving, but either way, I'm blubbering.

"You shouldn't feel guilty," I mumble into her hair, my voice muffled by my tears and her curls. "I knew what I was getting into, and he was never that sweet, Becca. I should've known more than you should've. All you ever saw was the way he acted in front of you, and I guess he was perfect then. It's not your fault."

"It's not yours, either."

I say, "I know," and I'm not lying.

a/n: this is kind of a mess, but *shrugs*