If Only They Knew.

Stories.

So happy 2014, Merry Christmas and all the things I forgot to say because im a horrible updater and dont give you presents. Hope you enjoy this chapter. (:

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"Remember when they were 8 and-" my mom couldn't finish her story. She laughed beautifully, at the memory, but rather obnoxiously.

I glared at the carpet. Since Cullen and I had walked down the stairs, our parents had started drinking wine and beer. They weren't over the top drunk and I didn't mind their drinking, but man! Were they embarrassing?! Story after story, sip after sip, laugh, laugh, laugh, and soon they were tipsy and telling stories about when I was younger.

We all sat in our small living room. My dad had sat in the love seat by the window, Cullen's dad on the couch feet on the coffee table, and the moms occupying the rest of the couch. I sat at my dads feet on the ground on the opposite side of the room as Cullen. He sat leaning against a bookcase, his knees pressed to His chest.

Cullen's dad almost spit out the beer he was drinking when my dad told a memory about when Cullen and I figured out what made a boy a boy and a girl a girl. The moms tried to hide their laughter behind their hands but ended up bursting out in laughter.

Many weird comments and jokes bubbled up after each story, and those lead to even more stories. I looked at my father not believing the crazy things he said. Him and Mr. Jameson were most of the time serious people, so this was a different thing for Cullen and I.

Another inappropriate story was shared by Mr. Jameson. I could feel my eyes widen and I furrowed my brows. I looked at Cullen amazed in a bad way, and he stared back equally disgusted. He blushed when his dad mentioned more things about us.

Yes me and Cullen had a childhood together. Yes we had embarrassing moments, but mostly we were normal kids!

He was like my big brother. He would protect me, but tell me he would beat me up. He would help me, but destroy things to make me cry. I would try to impress him, and he would tell me crazy things. He would make up a fact and I would believe him. I would play with boy toys like cars and g.i. Joes and he would play dress up and barbies with me.

"Remember when Cullen pushed Arabella off the ladder!" Mrs. Jameson chortled. The other adults joined in. Their varieties of laughter rang through the house. The truth was, though, that I did remember all the things they mentioned.

We used to be neighbors when we were younger, and we were always together. There was a tree that divided his home's yard and my home's yard. It was big and our dads made a tree house in it for us. It wasn't much, though.

It was a wooden platform balanced on the branches, and a ladder that was nailed to the trunk of the tree. It had a trap door in the floor ,where the ladder was, and 4 mediocre walls. The ceiling was sheets of ply wood that quickly rotted, so it was covered with a blue tarp. There were 2 windows that I had placed curtains in, even though Cullen hated them.

We had bean bag chairs and toys in the treehouse. There was a bookshelf that I put in there because I had always loved books. It had a rug, and blankets, and that's all we had to keep it warm in there. We would play in that house everyday. I rarely played in my room because the tree house was more special.

Our summers consisted of bike rides, tan skin, sleep overs, and fireflies. We lived the life. Everything was so worry free and happy.

We had a friend rule that we made. I made a poster and it hung in the tree house. The rule was that if one kid hurt the other, then the other kid has a right to hurt them back. We both had signed the poster as a sort of contract. Our moms didn't like the rule, but it made sense to us. Cullen always hurt me more then he intended to because he was older and now I realized how unfair our rule was.

Even though we were constantly hurting each other we always recovered, and while we were recovering we had fun! The memory the parents were laughing at, was when Cullen pushed me off the ladder to the treehouse and I got a concussion, so I pushed him off also. My little 9year old girl strength was no match for his 10 year old body so he never had a concussion but told me he had one so I wouldn't push him again. I always thought I was stronger, and he was afraid, but that was not true.

Cullen actually chuckled at this memory, and soon I joined remembering how innocent and funny we were as kids.

"They were such great friends," My mom cooed, pinching Cullen's cheek when she walked past him to get more wine.

"Then cooties happened," Mr Jameson faked sorrow, but ended up giggling loudly. The others joined in except me and Cullen.

I stared at Cullen. He looked at his hands almost ashamed. I studied his flawless face. His eyes hid behind his eyelashes ,which were very long and dark. His cheeks and chin were chiseled and defined. Even his eyebrows were perfectly placed, sized, and shaped. Even his pimple on his left temple looked good.

His looks were perfect, but behind them was an unspoken evil. The words his dad had said proved he never told anyone the real reason we stopped talking. The only people that I know, that know his secret is Cullen, his best friend, and me.

Our falling out wasn't as painless as just growing up and thinking there were cooties. It wasn't as innocent as cooties, oh, if only they knew why we actually don't talk.

The Jameson's had moved when Cullen was in 5th grade, due to a job loss. I never went in the tree house after he was gone. The day he moved we played one last time in the tree house.

That day he dared me to kiss him, but when I tried he screamed at me claiming I had cooties. It hurt my 4th grade heart, so since he no longer owned half of the tree house,I told him he wasn't aloud in it. Even though he still came over almost everyday I never let him into my tree house and I never went in there either. That is what our parents called the "beginning of the end of a friendship". Other events happened that tore our friendship apart and made me fear Cullen Jameson.

He looked up at me. Everything had clicked inside of him. It was as if I was so easily forgotten, that my childhood friend forgot why we weren't friends anymore. His eyebrows furrowed at me. I shook my head side to side and broke our eye contact.