I know, I know. I was a horrible person, right? How was I supposed to react? I'd lied to my best friend. I was angrier at myself than him about that, but I was still upset by the whole diaper thing, too. I started thinking that maybe I should've read his letter sooner. Why hadn't I read it? Looking back, I think it was because at the time, I had a feeling the letter would entail Luke giving me a sappy (I mean that with sincerity) profession of his love for me. However, I didn't think I could handle this little kink of his, or that we could somehow make it work, because I had such a black and white mindset at the time.

If you think it didn't hurt to leave Luke standing alone in my driveway, you're dead wrong. To this day, I still hate myself for doing that to him. I heard him sobbing, and watched him lower his head as he walked off like an animal about to die. I nearly bolted out of my house to stop him, but I was afraid, so I didn't. Instead, I sobbed myself, on my living room floor. Why did it come to this? Why did he have to have such an odd preference? Why couldn't we have just started the year with a picture perfect romance where we'd just joke and laugh like we always did and even take it to the next level? Why did my parents have to raise me to believe that any person with any sort of "fetish" or "kink" was automatically a freak?

Luke and I didn't talk for God knows how long after that. He later told me it was three weeks, but to me, it felt like an eternity. During that period of silence, I still chose not to read Luke's letter"¦at least, not at first. I used to follow only what my brain told me, so when %95 of my thoughts were dictated by my brain, I only heard the tiniest of whispers from my heart. Despite their low volume, they were still heard, until they got louder and louder with each passing day.

Occasionally, I'd take out my phone, wondering if I should've called or texted him. Part of me expected him to contact me and ask me to speak with him again, and I think that's where both he and I were at fault. We expected one another to come forward, and neither of us did. If you're like me and over-think intense situations, then you know how it feels when you're constantly letting yourself down by assuming and hoping that a situation will get better without you having to do anything yourself. Meanwhile, stupid me still chose not to read Luke's letter, which sat atop my dresser in a vanilla colored envelope, with my name written in elegant, cursive writing, begging to be read. Surely, nothing he wrote would've changed my mind"¦and surely, I was an idiot, and I was wrong.

My heart grew louder than the years of being raised in such a fashion that shunned people who struggled with things that they didn't understand, and soon, despite my best efforts to remain stubborn and not read the letter, I caved. On a rainy Saturday afternoon, while nobody else was home, I carefully opened Luke's letter, and began reading. Here's what it said:

Dear Molly,

First of all, Merry Christmas! I wish you and your family the best, and all that jazz. But this isn't your standard Holiday card. There's so much to tell you, and you know I'm not too good at spilling my guts. I figured this would be the best way to put some things on the table and tell you a little of what's going on.

You've been nothing but kind to me, Molly. Kinder than anyone I've ever known. That includes family. You get me for the most part, you get my humor, and you're okay with me being me. And for that, I love you more than you probably think or know. That's one of the reasons I've written you this letter. Because I love you, and because I think you're more genuine than anyone I know"¦.which is why there has been something I've been trying to tell you, but the words have never been able to leave my lips.

He loved me? What did he mean? "Best friends" love, or "love" love? I was sorely confused. I mean, sure, I loved Luke, and sure I'd pictured myself being with him for the longest time, but he never seemed to take the chance to make it official or ask me on a legitimate date.

What I'm about to tell you is something that I'm going to trust you will never share with anyone else, and it is also something that I've never shared with anyone before. All I ask Is that when you find out, that no matter how odd or shocking it sounds, you will continue reading, and even perhaps talk to me so I can further explain myself if I need to. My hand trembles as I write this down, because I'm sharing my most vulnerable part of me with someone I care about, and while I know you're my closest friend, I'm still afraid. Nevertheless, here goes.

I knew what was coming, but still pressed on. I had no idea what to expect as far as how he'd explain it, but I did my best to give him the benefit of the doubt.

I'm what one would call an Adult Baby"¦to an extent. That is, there are times when life is too stressful, or even too boring, and I get into the mindset of being cared for and dressing up as a baby. I know it sounds ridiculous, and I know you're probably extremely confused, and I can't blame you for that. After all, I'm sure picturing me in a giant diaper probably never crossed your mind until now. I'm hoping you don't take the "black and white" approach to what you've read, and automatically think that I'm a freak. Yes, it's weird (and yes, I'm weird 😜 ) but there are so many aspects and layers to this lifestyle that I still haven't found all the answers for myself yet.

You might remember a few times when I acted more awkward than usual when something babyish would be brought up, or when you'd coerce/force/beg me to come with you to babysit your little cousin, or to buy baby gifts for a shower you were going to.

Damn it, he was right! At the time, I figured he was just being a guy, getting all annoyed when I'd get him to do things with me (despite what the letter said, I never forced him into anything!). The way he got all nervous and sweaty when I took him to the baby aisle to buy diapers for my aunt's baby shower. That fake chuckle he gave when I asked him to get me some diaper changing supplies when we babysat my cousin. How did I not notice it sooner?!

I buried this deep within myself out of fear of being ridiculed, or disowned, or humiliated if it ever got out to the wrong people. Call it paranoia, but every time I found myself in that situation with you, I'd immediately tell myself that you were on to me, and that if you found out then you'd never talk to me again (even though I know that's not the case anymore).

That only made me feel more like a bitch. I cringed as I read the last sentence of that paragraph, knowing that despite my initial thoughts on what I'd found out about Luke, I wasn't giving him the chance to explain himself. I shut him out, even after all we'd been through.

I'm telling you all this because out of everyone I've come to know, you're the only one I can trust. It doesn't matter to me if you agree with my lifestyle choices, or with the fact that I sometimes want to forget being an adult. All that matters to me is that I have someone like you in my life. I understand if you need time to absorb this and to come up with questions (which knowing you, you'll go full-fledged psychologist on me!), but please know that no matter what happens, I love you.

Yours Truly,

Luke

If I told you how many times I read Luke's letter that evening, you'd think I was insane. Each time made me feel worse than the last, because what it boiled down to, was that Luke needed someone. No"¦not someone. He needed me. He came to me with this, and I turned him away. God, would he even forgive me after how I reacted and treated him? How I lied to him and went behind his back after I made a promise to him?

"I'm sorry, Luke," I cried as I held his letter to my chest, "I'm sorry."

* * *

The doctors told me I'd make a full recovery from my car accident in about three months. It was now May, and I still felt some pain when I walked, taking small breaks to catch my breath. They asked me if I was under any severe stress when I went in for a check-up, to which I replied, "You could say that." It's true what they say, too, that stress can greatly reduce the recovery rate of an illness or injury. But this wouldn't go away.

I didn't think I could ever forgive Molly if she never talked to me again. Like a broken record player, the scene of our argument played over and over in my head, and I kept asking myself why it didn't work out the way I hoped it would. How could my best friend treat me so poorly, especially after I told her I loved her? This couldn't be the bitter end, could it?

I'm an overall nice guy, especially when it comes to respecting the opposite sex. I've never lashed out at anyone or told anyone outright that I hated them. This was the first time in my entire life that I wanted to tell Molly straight to her face, with a blank stare, to stop being an ass and just listen to me. I couldn't (and can't) stand long periods of silence after an argument. It only got worse when I'd try to talk and the other person would turn a deaf ear. Molly apparently thought it'd be cute to turn off all forms of communication. No eye contact, no responses to my calls or text messages. This only made me feel worse about myself and the whole situation.

I wasted so much time imagining how I'd muster up the strength to go to Molly's house, knock on her door, and not leave until we talked. We'd yell at first, then crack a few jokes, eventually leading to the elephant in the room. She'd play 20 Million Questions with me, we'd make up and hug it out, and all would be back to normal. However, this was all just my imagination. Some would call it stubbornness, while others would call it stupidity on both our parts.

What Molly didn't realize was that she killed a part of me; as if she'd taken a piece of my heart, my very essence, and destroyed it. She had the ability to restore me, but because we weren't on speaking terms, I always felt that piece missing. I slept broken, I showered broken, I ate broken, I recovered broken, I lived"¦broken. I hated myself for it, and I started hating myself for asking Molly to clear my browsing history in the first place. None of this would've happened had I just kept it to myself.

It was a rainy Friday night that May when things took an interesting turn. I'd been listening to my albums on my enclosed porch as I watched the rain splash onto the street. My mom and dad were out for the weekend (Mom insisted on staying to make sure I was okay, but Dad and I spend the better half of 4 hours telling her I'd be fine), leaving me with my thoughts and my tunes. I was about halfway through one of my favorite tracks when my phone started vibrating. I took my time checking to see who it was, assuming my parents were calling to let me know that they'd made it to wherever they were headed. It wasn't them; it was Molly. I didn't know how to answer, because I didn't know what the best approach would be. A simply, friendly, "Hello?" An "It's about damn time, Molly!"? Hell, I even considered answering with "Bonjour?" just to see what she'd do. Each ring stirred my anger towards her, as our argument once again replayed in my head. I quickly turned my music down, picked up the phone with an overwhelming sense of weariness, and answered with a, "What?"

"L-Luke. It's Molly."

"I know who it is."

An awkward moment of silence ensued.

"Oh. W-well, how are you?"

"I've never been better." I quickly responded, not bothering to ask her how she was doing.

She had to have heard the uneasiness in my voice, which cracked more and more with every word. Simply talking to her felt like the wound was opening right back up, hurting just as much as it did when we first fought.

"Oh," I could tell by her voice that she'd been crying, "well, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to talk?"

"That depends. Are you gonna slam a door in my face again?"

"What? No, no. That was-"

That was you being a bitch. I thought to myself but refrained from saying it over the phone.

"-We can talk. Nobody's here but me, so come over if you want. I don't feel like talking on the phone."

In between cries, I heard Molly say, "Sure, Luke. I'll be right over."

"Okay. I'm just going to tell you now so we're on the same page, Molly. If you're not planning on talking this through, don't bother coming over." I bit my lip so hard as I spoke that I drew a little bit of blood.

"I wasn't planning on it."

We hung up the phone, and through the rain, I watched and waited for Molly to make her way from her house up to mine.