32

I sit there, hiding my head between my knees. But, I still feel sick. My stomach burns and my throat and my heart. My boots are wobbly and suddenly everything feels like it's turning. I groan.

"That's what you get for betraying me." Her boots are ones that I don't recognize. They scream revenge. Kill. Dead. I'm dead.

I push myself up against the stall door, keeping quiet. If I pretend I'm not there, then I'm not there.

Her eyes meet mine over the door. "Let's take a walk." She's vulnerable even though she's never the vulnerable one. And that scares me more than anything.

"Geography—"

"—finishes in like ten minutes."

I sigh, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Okay." I realize that there's no escape. And maybe I don't need one.

"Good." She's all smiles, but there's hurt within that deep coffee eyes of hers. Hurt that I may be responsible for.

We take a taxi home, slipping away to the forest. The walk is long and lonely as if she's on the other side of the forest and not beside me. The wind blows through her hair. It withers in the wind, a pond afloat amid the blue. She stares at me staring at her. And I can't help but flush in the face.

"How have you been?" she asks when we sit down in the treehouse. She being insincere and I can tell that she wants to talk about the notebook.

But, I just sit there, melting into the familiarity of the beanbag. She stares, a bit sharp, fitting her hair neatly behind her ear.

"I suppose, you know," she says. "Not that it matters anymore."