Everything I Never Say ✓

[ eighteen ]

He can't know, he can't know, he can't know. Nobody can know, nobody can know, nobody can know. It's wrong, it's wrong, it's wrong.

Bash only laughs further. "No, seriously," he shakes his head, "it suddenly slipped into my mind when I saw this photo of you in that horribly bright yellow dress. Remember? It was Noelle's birthday—you were only eight, I think. Your parents were there too. And something happened—I can't remember what and it's horribly annoying—but I remember you saying you felt funny things in your stomach when Daniel was around."

"Yeah," I snort, "the urge to puke, probably. I couldn't stand him, remember? We hated each other back when we were little."

Lies lies lies lies lies lies lies lies—

but did I really admit that to Bash? Back when I was just a kid?

"I doubt it," Bash mutters as I grab a kitchen towel and rub at the stray drop of creamy icing. "I mean, I can't remember anything of the night or what our entire conversation was about — but if I'm pretty sure that it was along the lines of you having a crush on my cousin, then that's probably what it was." He lifts his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "Why else would I recall it in that way, then?"

I want to travel back in time and kill my eight year old self? What right did that kid think she had to ruin an adult me? What was I thinking that night? Why did I ever—

I inhale deeply and then release that breath with caution.

I was eight then; a child. A little girl who probably felt her heart race for the very first time, who probably didn't know what it was like to have butterflies in the stomach, and who probably stared wih wide eyes at her reflection that showed off unusually red cheeks.

I was a little girl who didn't know any better, with her head in the clouds and her heart on her sleeve.

And so right here, right now, I choose to forgive the little girl I once was. Because she is a memento of the innocence I once possessed, and innocence shouldn't have to be a crime, shouldn't have to be something that needed apologising for.

"No way," I laugh shortly and dismiss his words like they don't light me up in all the bruised places. "I mean, even if I did, that was way back then, Bash. Before my parents died. When him and I were friends, not siblings."

Does Bash notice I can't say your name out loud? I haven't in ages, Daniel. Ages. Does Vivian notice? Does Mathew?

"But you guys aren't siblings," Bash frowns, leaning forward and placing the cherries around the cake.

Something surges through my chest, flaring up within me in a single, burning streak.

"What?" I ask, keeping my face impassive.

"Well, yeah, you aren't siblings," he shrugs, "its not like you asked to lose your parents at such a young age. You didn't ask to be adopted by the Harringtons out of all the families in this country."

It makes me so, so happy to hear Bash's words, but I remind myself it's not something I can voice. "Seriously, Bash. I don't remember ever saying that to you, but if I did, it was a silly confession from a silly eight year old. Means nothing now."

Means everything, everything, everything that I'll never be able to put into words.

"I know that, Deb," Bash chuckles. "Just telling you what I recalled last night. I told Dan, too. He was sort of awkward at first but then he laughed it off."

My heart freezes.

"You did what?" I hiss, lips turning down in a scowl. "Bash, what the f—"

"Would you relax? He's a grown up man, for crying out loud! He didn't even take it seriously, knowing that we've all done or said some stupid shit when we were kids."

"Whatever," I mutter, carrying the cake over to the circular tray standing next to the sink, all washed and dried to be ready for use.

"Don't make a big deal out of it, seriously," Bash waves his arms in the air. "You just tend to over-think a lot. If Hadley brought a girl home and told me that I once confessed wanting to marry her when I was just a eight year old, I probably wouldn't even react. Loosen up, Deb."

But you aren't just a boy who the eight year old version of me admitted to feeling funny things in her stomach for.

You are the boy who the twelve year old me felt her heat skip beats for despite the braces, the glasses, and the height that was shorter than average. You are the boy who the fifteen year old me felt her breathing falter for when we were anywhere within the line of sight of each other. You are the boy who the eighteen year old me broke her own heart for in an attempt to pluck out all the emotions she felt growing their roots within her. You are the boy who makes the twenty-one year old me cut open her chest and allow the words she can never say bleed into paper instead.

You—you are Daniel Harrington, and you are my first love.

× × ×