Friend Is a Four Letter Word by Steph Campbell

asleep before we really got to talk about anything yesterday. I mentioned that I’d found the word to describe it. She quickly changed the subject and went to bed, so I’m treading lightly here.
    “So you remember how I said that I’ve always felt out of place and never really understood why? How I feel like I’m constantly seeking refuge in places outside of myself?” A flush creeps across her cheeks and even though I know it’s likely because she’s embarrassed to be admitting it again, the color makes her look freaking sexy as hell. I imagine what she’d look like after I kissed her the way she deserves and needs. If I’d be able to make her feel less alone. If I left her cheeks and neck red and raw if she’d still try to hide her real self, or if she’d finally let go.
    “I remember all of that. You still feel that way?”
    “And then some.”
    “Is that why you came out here?”
    “Carter, after you dropped me off that night, I should have gone to bed. It’d already been a shit night, you shot me down—”
    “Hey, easy. I didn’t shoot you down, doll. I just didn’t think it was what you needed at the time. I wanted to—” She rocks back and forth and I can see the shape of her ass peeking out from those tiny cut-offs. God, I wanted to let something happen between us. “It just—it wasn’t the right time.”
    She half rolls her eyes at me. “Whatever. The point is, I’d been rejected. I felt like shit and I went to the pool house since my parents had company and drank some more.”
    She’d already had a pretty fair amount of booze when I left her that night, I want to lecture her about drinking too much, but it’s not my place and I’m the last god damn person on earth who should be moderating alcohol use to others.
    “Okay,” is all I say.
    “I got trashed, ruined my parents party and then I went to bed.”
    It sounds like a rough night, but I’m not really following with how that lead to her showing up in Southern California months later. “Sounds like a pretty crap night.”
    She nods her head slowly. “I decided to go and apologize later on, and heard them talking. They weren’t mad anymore, they were… scared.”
    “Because you were caught drinking?” I ask. Shayna is still technically under the legal drinking age, but at least she’s out of high school now.
    She shakes her head. “They were scared that I’d turn out…” she tilts her head as if she’s weighing her words carefully. “They didn’t want me to turn out like my parents.”
    “Wait,” I say, holding my hand up. “I don’t understand.”
    “My Mom and Dad, the mom and dad I’ve always known at least, were talking that night about how they didn’t want me to end up in trouble like my real parents. The ones they adopted me from.”
    “So, you’re adopted? And you never knew?”
    She gives a small nod. “I just found out that night. I wasn’t supposed to hear.”
    “But you told them you did right, Shayna? You talked to them about it?”
    She stares back at me, wordlessly, her eyes glassy with tears. I do the only thing I can do which is pull her in close and kiss the top of her head. “You haven’t told anyone?” I ask.
    “No,” she says into my shoulder. Her body heaves and her sobs become heavier. I had to push. I had to fucking push. I was stupid enough to think that whatever she was hiding was something that I’d be equipped to handle, but this—I’ve got nothing.
    She cries until the arm of my t-shirt is wet and streaked with black makeup, but I don’t give a shit.
    She pulls back to wipe her face and says, “That’s not why I came though. After I heard them, things became… complicated.”
    “I’m sorry,” I say. It’s a useless thing to say to her but I don’t know what else to say or how to fix this. “I can’t believe you’ve kept that to yourself for this long, Shayna. Why not tell them you knew?”
    “You don’t understand,” she says. That’s an understatement.