He makes a strangled noise in his throat.

“I didn’t even come out to anyone but my family until I was in high school ‘cause I was scared I’d lose another friend over it. Or worse, I’d...I’d fall for someone who couldn’t love me back the way I needed.” My breath hitches.

His arms twitch, and one for one hopeful second, I think he might reach for me. Pull me to him. But he doesn’t, and I wish I could say I’m not disappointed.

I wish I could say I hate him for it.

“Jesus, for a while there, I couldn’t even fuck a guy unless he was a solid six on the Kinsey scale and proud as a peacock about it.” I chuckle bitterly under my breath. “So yeah, maybe I am projecting my shit on to you. After all, up until Zayne killed himself, you were the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

He whimpers, and I watch as the first tear falls as I pull back.

Who’s breaking who now, Waylon?

“So it makes sense, right? Replace one loss with another, far less painful one?”

“Will,” he croaks.

I smile through my own tears. “At least there’s still hope for you. At least you’re still breathing.”

His face breaks fully then. A sob ripping its way out of his chest.

I don’t take my eyes off his as I push to a stand. My fingers drag over his knees before withdrawing completely. I stare down at his bowed head, watching with what feels like knives in my chest as his shoulders quake with his near-silent cries.

I take a much-needed step back. Another breeze filters through, and it’s only then that I realize my cheeks are wet too.

Twice in one morning. I’d like to say it’s a new record for me, but after this year, that would be the biggest lie I’ve ever told.

“I’m sorry,” he slurs through his tears. “I’m s-so s-sorry.”

I rub a fist over my sternum and look away. “Me too.”

Compared to the heart-wrenching sobs and broken screams last night, you’d think this would be easier. But all it does is twist the knife in deeper. His pain once again calling me on a visceral level that has me kind of wishing he’d try to hit me instead. Call me names and stomp on my heart.

Still, I can’t find it in me to regret what I said.

Deep down, we both know this has been a long time coming. We needed this if we have any chance at moving on. He needed to know how much he hurt me back then—how deep that hurt ran—and I needed to finally face those ugly parts of me head-on. Because I was a victim too, and knowing what I know now doesn’t just erase that fact.