Tightrope

I Trust You

"I can never show my face again!"

My mascara was smudged and my curls had tangled, leaving me looking every bit as frazzled as I felt. My hands pressed heavily into the vanity as I examined my reflection; the hair that Hartley had dragged his hands through, the jaw that he'd kissed along, the lips that he'd pressed his own against, over and over and over, the same ones that had cursed him and befouled his reputation. And now everyone knew about it.

Excusing myself to the bathroom amidst my shame wasn't the most mature and brave response to the discrediting of my reputation, but it stopped me from feeling like I would hurl on my expensive carpets.

I leant forward. "I'm going to have to move to Ibiza. Seriously. I'll hide my identity as a prostitute named Candy. I'll make bank, and I won't have to face our friends ever again."

Through the reflection, I could see Knight behind me, sitting in the bathtub with his legs crossed. "Personally, I see you as more of a Mercedes," he said.

"Thank you for the tip, I will keep that in mind."

Knight looked at me sympathetically. "It's really not that bad, you know."

I whirled around to face him, the hard stone of the countertop holding me up. "How is it not that bad?" I groaned. "It's mortifying."

"But, like, is it?" said Knight.

"But, like, yes."

Knight leaned back against the wall of the bathtub, stretching his legs to the end and making himself comfortable. I was glad to see that he was enjoying the show of my mental breakdown from a comfortable seat. "Okay, well, I look at it this way. Jace is, objectively, deeply attractive, correct?"

"I subjectively don't think he's attractive," I said. Knight shot me a deadpan look. I waved him off. "Okay, fine, yeah. He's hot. I guess. From, like, some angles. I am saying this as a friend, though, who has some objective friendship eyeballs."

Knight didn't bother to try to correct me, but the expression of disbelief effectively told me he didn't believe me. "Uh, sure. Okay. So, what, then? What's so bad about making out with an objectively attractive guy that you are now friends with?"

"But I hated him for years!" I burst out. I thought about the shocked looks on my friends' faces, the taken-aback stares, the hints of a smile that spoke of teasing and taunting to come. I was usually good at taking it; friendly bullying was my main form of interaction. But... "The things I've said about him. For my whole life. It makes me look weak."

"You are friends with him now, Lena. You like him as a person, even if you still want to pretend you don't want to do him on every surface of the house," said Knight. "No one is going to judge you too hard for hooking up with him. Because it's not weak to change your mind about a person and own up to it. That's far harder, far braver, than being stubborn, and you know it."

"But I'm so good at being stubborn."

Knight grinned. "Don't we all know it. But maybe you should think about being brave instead. You've already admitted that you like him, in a friend's kind of way. So maybe just own the fact that you made out in the heat of the moment and realise that there's nothing to be embarrassed about."

I wiped at my smudged mascara with the edge of my hand and stared at Knight with awe. "Did you just contribute some thoughtful and mature advice to this conversation?"

"Are you suggesting that this is rare from me?" said Knight with offense. "I'm deep."

"I've seen puddles in summer deeper than you."