“LOOK, I DON’T know what he’s told you about me,” I said to her. “I know that I’ve called the house over the years. I know I’m a mess, but he’s not innocent. He’s not faithful. At least he’s trying very hard not to be.”
She closed her eyes. Then she smiled. The smile was devastating to me. Those nights at the bar, I liked to make her smile. This was not that.
She peeled her eyes open and sighed. “You know, I always said to myself, if we could just get past this Virginia thing …” She trailed off for a second before coming back. “I mean, Jesus, in high school you were nothing. I guess that’s what he liked, what made you vulnerable. That and your age.”
Mark rolled his eyes and pouted like he had any grounds to stand on, like somehow playing the pedophilia card should be off the table.
“When he left me for you, I went fucking nuts. I was seriously going to be one of those girls setting houses on fire and spray-painting ‘cheater’ on the front lawn, but he had this way, you know? Where he convinced me that if I told anyone, it made me pathetic and immature. Like if I couldn’t handle the breakup maturely, of course he wouldn’t want to be with me. That was what I thought about. Not that he was fucking another freshman.”
It suddenly made so much sense, and I felt like I had been whack-a-moled down a hole I might never climb back out of. He was with Hunter first. He did the exact same thing to Hunter. Then he came back to her, and now he was trying to get back to me. There was not a comparable feeling in the world to what it felt like to learn that what I’d thought was a unique and perfect true love was actually a pattern of abuse.
I turned to Mark. He wouldn’t even look at me. It seemed obvious now. He didn’t end things so that I could find myself. What part of me ever thought he would do something selfless like that? We were young and vulnerable, and without us realizing it, he made himself the center of our worlds. He cut us off from everyone, distracted by the excitement of the secret and the feeling of being special. I was trying so hard not to hate myself in that moment.
It seemed like I should say something to her, but she was monologuing, and what could I contribute? I always thought she barely knew I existed in high school. It was jarring knowing that a part of her had fixated on me and it had brought her a misery matching my own. Maybe it’s why I felt such a connection to her.
“Just get past this Virginia thing,” she repeated to no one in particular before turning her attention to me. “I prayed for you to move away. I wanted so badly for you to get your act together and leave town. I watched and waited. I judged you for not doing something—textbook projection,” she scoffed, finding humor in her own devastation.
“This is the only life I have,” she continued. “And he just did it again. Like it was nothing.” The vitriol in her voice was palpable now. There was nothing for Mark or me to do but let her continue to build. The acid in my stomach was crawling up my esophagus. I was putting the pieces together; I just didn’t know it yet.
She glared at Mark. “There’s no getting past the Virginia thing because it’s not Virginia. It’s you. I finally figured that out the hard way,” she said, staring into his soul.
“He was fucking Jenny,” she blurted out as she turned back to me.
There it was again, devastating news delivered to me without preamble. It came out so fast and blunt, I was still processing the previous blow and had no window to prepare. I never thought it could really be true. Even when I stood on his front porch ready to confront him. Even when I stalked around in the woods outside his house looking for Jenny’s backpack. Even when he admitted she was in his house and knew about us. Never did I really believe he could be fucking her. Hunter, me, Jenny. Three fucking teenagers.
“Well, I guess it was only once,” Hunter clarified. “That’s what they said, right? That she was a virgin before that night? All your hard work finally paying off and then, what? She regretted it? She freaked out? Were you too rough?”
“What the fuck?” Mark protested. “I didn’t touch that girl.”
I just couldn’t believe him anymore. The lie that broke the camel’s back.
“It was so obvious,” Hunter retorted. “You think you’re so smart, but I knew immediately you were having an affair. I’ve already lived through this once, remember? Your charm is also your downfall. To be the center of your universe is so all-encompassing and addicting that it’s so, so obvious when something changes,” she spat at him with such conviction she could convince any jury. Of course, I already knew exactly the feeling she was talking about.
Maybe Jenny discovering my notes wasn’t about blackmail. Maybe the notes were just about her finding out Mark had been with me too. Maybe Jenny took those letters to confront him because she loved him and this was devastating. Maybe my letters told her she wasn’t special, not to him. What would I have done if I had found love letters between Mark and Hunter?
“I thought it was Virginia. I was sure of it.” Hunter shook her head, disappointed in herself. “With your history, the phone calls, the way you ogled at her in town, but I should have known it was another kid. And I waited and I saw Jenny come running out of your house that night, so you can just save your energy. It makes sense now. You had been so distracted. She was basically a brand-new teenage Virginia.”
“It’s not what you think,” Mark pleaded, hoping to deescalate the situation.
“I thought it would be Virginia,” she repeated, this time more insistent, and it was clear that mattered. It mattered that she thought it was me. It was an explanation. An excuse. That night. That night she saw Jenny leave Mark’s house.
“Hunter.” I let my volume build as I spoke. “You saw Jenny that night? After she was here?”
“Jenny left …” Mark blurted out. “And then I saw you in the driveway.” He pointed at her like he was on the witness stand.
“Shut up!” I whisper-yelled. He was in no position to contribute to the conversation, and I wanted him to fucking evaporate into thin air.
“Hunter …” I spoke as carefully as I possibly could given the context. “What happened that night?”