The Innocent Can Never Last

Remorse

Emma's POV

I spent the majority of the following day in bed. When I woke up that morning and remembered how I had treated Billie the night before, I decided that I just wouldn't get out of bed that day. Melanie was mad at me, and so was my mom. I could take my sister being mad at me, but not my mother. I looked up to her too much. When she had come home the night before and Melanie told her about how Billie had left the house in tears, my mom came flying up the stairs to chew me out up and down. She said that I was stupid to pick on a boy that had just tried to kill himself less than a month ago, especially when he was my best friend that loved me to absolute pieces. I had cried and told her that I was really, truly sorry, but she still hadn't forgiven me. I didn't blame her for being mad at me; I was mad at myself, but it upset me just the same. My mother was my idol, and since I was constantly seeking her approval, I couldn't bear the thought of her being mad at me. So I simply stayed in bed that day, too ashamed of myself to even look my mother in the eye.

I couldn't blame Billie for what he had done. Most likely, the reason he had waited so long to tell me about everything was because he knew that I would totally freak out...and I had. I was no longer mad at him; I was mad at myself for being so incredibly stupid. Billie really hadn't done anything wrong, and I had totally flown off the handle.

It was around five o' clock that evening as I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, when I heard a sharp knock on my bedroom door, followed by a muffled sounding, "Emma? Can I come in?"
When I didn't answer, the door was slowly cracked open, and Mike entered the room. "Em? Are you awake?" he asked.
"Yeah," I answered softly.
Mike sat down next to me on the edge of the bed. "Your mom told me what happened," he said. "Do you wanna add anything to the story?"
"No, whatever she told you is enough. I don't have anything else to say," I answered.
"Well, what happened to the Emma that I used to know? The one that always had a snappy comeback to explain her obnoxious behaviour," Mike said.
"What do you want me to say, Mike?" I asked. "I was wrong to do what I did. I overreacted completely. I hurt my best friend in the world and I'm...so sorry...but I have no way to tell him that, and now everybody hates me-"
"I don't hate you, Emma. I could never hate you, even though what you did was wrong. You're only human," Mike said.
"But he's my best friend, Mike! And I treated him like crap over nothing! Now he'll probably never forgive me..."I was in tears now. Mike scooped me up into his arms and embraced me into a warm hug. I buried my face in his shoulder and took in the smell of his sweet cologne. Mike rubbed his hand up and down my back, saying, "It's okay, Em, he'll forgive you. Just call him...talk to him. He'll understand. He's Billie."
"But that's just it, Mike! I don't have any way to reach him! Not even a phone number!" I exclaimed.
"Oh, don't worry about that," Mike said. "I've got you covered."

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper with a phone number written sloppily across it. "Here's the phone number to the house. Just give him a call," Mike said, handing me the paper.
"I don't know if I can, Mike," I said. "What should I say to him?"
"Now with that you're on your own," Mike said. "I've gotta be going, I told my mom I would be back by six."
"Thanks for your help, Mikey," I said, standing up to give him a farewell hug.
"No problem, Emma. You know I've always got your back," Mike said, moving over towards the door.
"See you tomorrow?" I asked.
"Yeah, hopefully," Mike said, and I smiled for the first time that day.
"See you later, Mike," I said.
"Later, Emma," Mike said, as he exited the room, closing the door behind him.
I sighed, and looked down at the phone number that I was holding. I didn't know what I would say to Billie if I called him, so I simply dropped the paper on my bedside table and went back to sleep.

Billie's POV

I woke up the next morning and became instantly aware of a hollow, empty feeling in my gut. I hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours, and I had thrown up all of my stomach contents the day before. I was starving. Driven by hunger alone, I threw myself out of bed and staggered down the hallway into the kitchen. My legs were a bit weak and jelly-like, seeing as how I had hardly used them at all the day before. My head was finally clear, though. It didn't hurt anymore and I could think clearly. I really wasn't doing too bad for myself. I had gotten past the first hangover, and everyone told me that the first one was the worst. After that it was all smooth sailing...