Ctrl + Alt + Dalt (BxB)

Ctrl + Alt + Dalt + 9

"Something meaningful... That's a little hard for me to accept, when I truly feel as if I'll never see you again," I finally admit what's been bothering me for so long.

"I can't stay—"

"I know. That's just how I feel."

"Would it cheer you up if I made you a promise? Because I promise to visit you again and you're always welcome to visit me as well."

"I suppose that I can hardly ask for anything more," I say, smiling, genuinely happy and grateful for the promise of continued effort toward building our bond—but deep down, I hide the pain of knowing that promises are easily broken and difficult to keep, especially where fame is concerned. I hide the rather selfish feeling that visits can never be enough, however long any one of them might last, they will always remain merely a visit—temporary in nature—fleeting in comfort. Most of all, I hide the deep, dark, crushing loneliness that reminds me, makes me fear, and makes me believe that I will always be abandoned by every meaningful person in my life. In one way, or another, nobody stays and, in the end, I deserve to be with no one.

"Was that the reason you were so quiet yesterday?"

"No—yes," I say, trying to save myself from having to tell him what I'm dealing with in regards to Jordan, but I think it's too late now. I can't come up with anything else to mask my first slip of an answer and he'll surely ask what I mean. I certainly don't want to expound my deeper fears born of my loneliness, simply because it wouldn't be fair to him nor would it do any good to make myself out to be so desperate, especially considering that he's already promised that we can visit each other. He couldn't possibly do anything more to alleviate my newly-found fear of abandonment, nor could I ask.

"Well, which is it?" he asks, raising a puzzled brow.

"Yes, it was one of the main reasons, but it wasn't the only one," I admit, looking down at the sandy stone beneath my shoes, still hoping that I can think of a way out of talking about the topic that I've so deeply wanted to avoid altogether.

"I'm sorry for overstepping, we can leave it alone," he says, apparently acknowledging my hesitation and my vagueness of words.

"No, I might as well share it because you actually aren't overstepping—seeing as he is your friend as well, or, at least, he seems to be."

"Jordan? Are you saying that he's merely pretending? I find that very difficult to believe. He seems rather genuine enough to me."

"I thought so too, but now... I don't know what to believe—or who to believe. Maybe he's genuinely your friend, but with me—well, I'm not so sure anymore. He could be my friend, or he could be—I don't know—playing me—stabbing me in the back—or maybe he just stabbed me in the back once and for all and he's over and done with it, which I deserve, but still..."

"Perhaps you should slow it down, before you've lost me entirely. You've said, 'who to believe', which implies that there is another person involved, other than Jordan, himself. Am I correct?"

"It was that phone call."

"Your father had told you something about Jordan?" Edmund sounds utterly confused.

"No, I was only pretending to be talking with my father, but it wasn't him on the other end, it was Brogan," I admit.

"Ah. No doubt, he must have started with something immediately concerning in regards to Jordan. I understand why you hid it, then. You were weary that we were both close enough to hear, even if unintentionally."

"That's another weird thing. Jordan kept looking at me the entire time as if he suspected something was amiss, almost as if he knew something was being said about him. It was almost as if I could feel his guiltiness. Brogan told me that Jordan was the one who outed me."