And despite the accusatory nature of my words, I don’t know that it’s how I really feel. There’s been something drawing me to Mason ever since I saw him on my first day back at school, and it hasn’t gone away. Maybe it’s my childhood memories coming to the surface. Dr. Meyer told me I needed to learn how to access the information that’s stored in my brain and that memories can manifest in different ways.

It could just be that my mind is grasping for anything it can get a proper hold on, and that resulted in latching onto something from years ago, leaving me with positive feelings. But that doesn’t mean something terrible couldn’t have happened between us and been the reason our relationship crumbled.

“I don’t know anything about you,” I conclude, looking at him squarely.

“Know that I would never do anything to—” He exhales, frustrated. The intensity of his eyes on mine makes something burn in my chest, sets my pulse racing. “You don’t have to trust me. But I think believing me would be in your best interest.”

I search for any hints of insincerity on his face, but I’m unable to find them. The silence in the car feels charged, and in spite of my bold words, I begin to give in. “Okay, say I do believe you. What did they do and why did they do it?”

He pauses. “Maybe the fight between you guys went south. Who would want to be implicated in something like that? Your reputation would never recover, and they care a lot about reputation. Either way, they clearly know a lot more than they’re letting on.”

My mind plays through a slideshow of all the times Zoe has told me about the social hierarchy at school as though it were written law and how she explained that the reason Damien is so upset about our breakup is because now his life isn’t quite as perfect as it appears. I can feel myself starting to trust Mason, and the thought is frightening. Am I really ready to admit my only friends might be irreversibly tangled up in what happened to me?

“I spoke to you that night,” he says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “It was brief, but it was the first time we’d really spoken in years.”

“What did you say?”

“You were on your way out,” he explains. “You looked really upset, so I felt like I should ask if you were okay. You didn’t reveal much, but you said you never wanted to see Zoe again.”

I bite my tongue, waiting to hear more before attempting to justify the words, but bold statements like that are sometimes just said for dramatic effect. In my head, I can picture the scene, but it’s more imagination, less memory.

“You told me you were going to ruin her.”

Ruin.