Chapter 29 (part 2)

Chapter 29 (part 2)
That broke me. Not just once—my heart feels like it’s being ground to pieces on the floor.

“So, I couldn’t honestly do anything. We were talking about the crap in our lives—how tired she was, how she wanted to go home and talk to you, and sleep over at your house. She said you were good at singing and writing your own songs. I said, ‘I think I’m going to like your friend.’ We talked for about half an hour about random stuff. When the pool area got crowded, I told her we should find an empty room. We grabbed some beer from the kitchen before heading upstairs. We opened three bedrooms—each one had people kissing or hooking up—until we found an empty one. We continued our conversation. We were talking about Rascal Flatts—”

“Her favorite band,” we said in chorus.

I looked at Harry looking tired. “We finished our drinks. She said she wanted more. I knew she was already drunk—I could see it in her eyes; her voice had changed too. I went down and grabbed another bottle. She was laughing when I came back. When we took a drink, she spit some of it out. ‘What the fuck is that? It burns.’ I hadn’t even looked at the label—I just grabbed it. I looked and saw it was vodka. I said, ‘That explains it—it’s vodka.’ And we laughed again.

We were lying on the floor near the door after finishing the bottle. ‘My God, I hate this country,’ I told her. ‘I want to go back to London.’ I confessed. She said, ‘I want to go back to the Philippines.’ Then we started kissing. We got onto the bed and kept kissing. ‘I never had the guts to tell you how much I love you,’ I told her. ‘Don’t love me,’ she said. I never understood why she said that. There are a lot of things I love about her, but what mattered most was that I had just fallen in love with her.”

He was still staring at the carpet, letting his tears drown him. I was drowning in mine too.

My heart is being tortured by this guy named Harry. The guy I let myself fall for. The guy I love. I guess he only loved me because I was the best friend of the girl he loved first.

“She pushed me and said, ‘Promise me that someday you’ll be famous.’ She smiled the saddest smile. ‘So I can introduce you to my best friend and she’ll be a famous singer too. She’s a good musician.’ I promised her. I said, ‘No matter how hard it gets, I’ll be a famous singer.’ We kissed again, and I just noticed our clothes were on the floor. We were skin to skin. We didn’t know someone else was in the room—someone who took a video using my phone. That’s the reason why everyone thought I was the one who set Britney up.

“The police came, and we were woken up by a classmate. Britney was asleep in my arms. I shook her gently. She was a little sober when she woke. ‘What’s happening?’ she asked. I said, ‘We have to go now.’ She panicked when she realized we were both naked. I told her, ‘We have to go—I’ll explain.’”

Harry finally looked at me, eyes red and wet. They were beginning to swell from all the crying. “I told her what happened. She said, ‘I never wanted this to happen.’ I told her I loved her. She didn’t say anything. After the party, she ignored me for the rest of the year.

“A week later, the video came out. I was devastated—angry and in anguish. Britney became more invisible—but weirdly more popular—because of that fucking video. One day, she approached me. ‘Are you happy?’ she asked. I didn’t understand what she meant. That same day, I found out I was being blamed for filming and uploading the video. I tried to explain to her, but she ignored me—like I was the wind.

“A month later, I got the letter—maybe you read it. Maybe that’s when you figured things out. But it was all a terrible mistake. I tried to clear my name—I really tried—but no one listened.

“Three days before Britney swallowed the pills, a friend of mine came to me. He said he couldn’t handle the guilt anymore. At first, I didn’t get it. Then he confessed—he took my phone and recorded us. He showed me the fucking video. I punched him and told him to talk to Brit and clear things up. He asked for forgiveness. I asked, ‘Why did you do it?’ He said, ‘I was drunk. I didn’t know what I was doing.’ I didn’t know if I could believe him. I told him I wouldn’t forgive him unless he spoke to Britney and told the truth.

“The next day, he was found in his bed—dead from a gunshot wound. Blood everywhere. That’s when I realized his apology wasn’t for me. It was for his own guilt. I later found out the video had gone viral—every student had a copy. I tried to talk to Brit again—but like all the other times, I failed. Not long after, she was found unconscious in her room. And that killed her.

“I was at the funeral. I even saw you—I was at the back. I didn’t know how to face her parents. A month after the funeral, I spoke with them. I told them everything—the rumors that Britney never gave me a chance to explain. Her mother told me how you’d become withdrawn and depressed. I cursed myself for putting Britney in the situation she was in, and for putting her loved ones through so much pain.

“That night, I fulfilled my promise to Brit. I went back to London, determined to bring back joy and laughter to the people she left behind. I joined the singing competition. Then I changed my name, my life, my path, and my plan. She didn’t wait to see me become who I am now—but she’s the reason I did it. Sometimes I wonder, if she hadn’t done what she did—would we have met at all? The only reason I pushed for the music camp in Asia was because I hoped I’d find you there. I never thought you’d actually join.”

That’s the reason behind the stares. The first move. The conversation. I feel tricked. Played. Disappointed. Used. Anxious.

“So that’s the reason you befriended me.” I said slowly, looking at him.