Chapter 8

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Even though me and Glen are incredibly close, we have never discussed my past relationships. It's something that I tend to discuss with all my friends. Mostly because those that I do talk about it with were there during the onslaught. So they practically know everything anyway. And half of them never actually talk to me anymore. So, in fact, I very rarely ever talk about it anymore.

Glen has either never been interested in my romantic past or doesn't feel comfortable talking about it. Either way, I can't say I'm overly bothered. That's a part of my life that I don't want him to know. I have that horrible feeling that if I lay my heart on the line like that, it could backfire. Don't get me wrong. Glen is an amazing guy, and I've never been so close to anyone ever. I just...I don't know.

All these things are going around in my booze riddled brain when I wake up one morning. I find it extremely soothing to go over my deepest worries when I have a raging headache and a snoring Irish fellow next to me.

I hear a small groan next to me and turn my head. Glen is finally waking up. He turns his head towards me and rests his head on his arms.

“You alright?” he mumbles. I nod. “Man, last night was a cracker.” I chuckle.

“You were smashed.”

“So were you.”

“In your company, it's hard not to be smashed.”

“True.” He closed his eyes for a second. “You were going on about some guy though to me.”

Oh shit. Oh shit, shit, shit. What was this about not wanting him to know...

“Who?”

“Ryan.”

My heart leapt to my throat. I could have handled talking about Nick. But Ryan...

“I don't really remember too much about it, but you were pretty pissed,” he continued.

“Right.”

He opens his eyes again and I look away. I feel him shift.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

No. I wasn't okay. How was I meant to tell this guy that meant so much to me about someone who had done me such harm? Tell this guy who is slowly starting to knock down the walls that I've built about the one that had caused me to build them in the first place? I didn't ever want to think about him, and yet I had gone and drunkenly run my mouth about him. It was unthinkable.

“Emie?” I can hear the concern in his voice.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Emie, if you need to talk...”

“Glen. Drop it.”

“Seriously Em...”

“Drop it.”

He doesn't say anything. I can feel him staring, but I'm not going into this conversation with him. Not now. I can't bear it. Eventually I feel him get up, get dressed and leave my room. For fucks sake...

******************

Glen's pretty much been frosty with me since this morning. Every time I bumped into him in the hall, he avoided eye contact with me. Christ Almighty, he really won't let this go.

I just couldn't bring myself to relive what happened. A sixteen year old should never have had to go through that. Not from her own boyfriend. But they do say that talking about it makes it easier to let go. I thought I had gotten past. Evidently not.

So now I'm stood outside his door, waiting for him to come home from the shops. If he wants to know the whole story, then fine. He can have it his way. He will just have to deal with the consequences, whatever they may be.

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