Sure, I was envious. I huffed as I eyed a photograph of us from the photo booth on my wall, resisting the urge to tear it down. I wasn’t going to deny my jealousy—not when it was bubbling up inside me, swelling up with every passing thought. What would Connie say if she saw those sentiments stored up inside of me? Smirk, probably, I decided. She lavished in my jealousy, my impatience, my desire. It would exhilarate her. I was allowed to be jealous, I decided. Jealousy was normal. It was completely warranted and all the sulking and huffing in the world wasn’t going to change that. If I dared to think of some boy with his hands on her where my hands should be, or of her eyes brimming with lust as they looked on someone else—

Connie owed me nothing. That—what we had that night—was all we would have. And it was enough, it had to be.

I didn’t hate her, I concluded. No, I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I would make peace with my own inner turmoil. I knew the rules, after all, and my own struggles were not her burden to bear. Friendship had to be enough—especially when it was this, or nothing. I could accept at that point knowing that she was never going to be mine, completely, the way she ought to have been. I could accept knowing that I would never be hers.

It must have been close to midnight when the doorbell rang abruptly, waking me from my restless slumber. Somewhere in the back of my groggy mind I knew it would be her even before I opened the door to find her skulking on the porch, shoulders hunched and eyes tired. In silence I stood to the side as she stepped into the hallway, leading me up the stairs to my own bedroom without so much as a word. And I followed her willingly, almost obediently and without question. She perched down on the edge of my bed and sighed, running a hand through her wind-swept hair.

“It’s freezing in here,” she muttered, glowering at me as if it was my fault. I eyed her light denim jacket, hardly appropriate for the weather outside. “Get me something to wear, would you?”

It was still silent as I rummaged through the wardrobe, tossing her a pair of fluffy bottoms and a woolen jumper I wouldn’t have been seen dead in. I assumed they must have belonged to her in the first place anyway. She grunted in thanks before she began to strip off her jacket and shirt, followed by her high-waisted denim jeans. I made myself busy looking at the calendar above my desk.

When the silence became too much, I made a show of clearing my throat obnoxiously, clenching my fists beneath the sleeves of my hoodie where she wouldn’t see them. I waited until I could feel her eyes on me. “Good night?” I asked, hating myself for being unable to disguise the bitterness that seeped through.