The four minute walk to Luke's house felt like 10 hours, mostly because I stopped every few steps and thought about turning back. I don't really know why I didn't bring my umbrella, either, because I hate getting rained on. A swarm of "what ifs" attacked my brain from the moment I hung up the phone to the moment I reached Luke's house. Yes, I wanted to try to work through this, but what would stop us from yelling and fighting?

"You can do this, Molly," I told myself as I inched closer to Luke's house, "he's going to be upset and he has every right to be. Don't say anything mean or stupid."

As soon as I made it to Luke's driveway, I saw him hobble from the back of the house. When I say hobble, I mean it. He should've been fully healed by then, but for some reason, he struggled with a look of slight discomfort on his face. Maybe he'd gotten sick during his recovery? I really hadn't paid much attention to him since our fight, and there he staggered, cementing the fact that I'd been an asshole.

"Hi, Luke." I said quietly as I got closer to him.

"Molly." He nodded.

"You didn't have to come out to greet me. It's raining out! You'll get sick!"

"I was hit by a car and nearly died. I don't think Jesus is going to let a little rain kill me."

Classic Luke. Even during that awkward moment he kept that wiseass charm about him. He motioned for me to follow him into his house, and I gladly accepted, not wanting to get completely soaked from the rain. When we got into his kitchen, Luke quickly offered me a drink. Figuring my mouth would be dry from getting all nervous and choked up, I nodded, and he soon poured both of us some water. Something was off about him. Sure, he seemed okay, and he made small jokes and laughed as if nothing had even happened between us, but I could see the pain in his eyes, and even in his body language.

We entered the living room, where an odd thickness in the air seemed to hover over us. My chest tensed up as I sat in the Thompsons' large, comfy brown leather chair, my body slightly hunched over the coffee table with my hands clutching my cup of water. Luke sat in the middle of the couch, and we both fell silent once again. Did he want me to start talking? Was he trying to come up with something to start the conversation? The only things I could hear were the raindrops outside, my heart beating a hundred miles a minute, and my brain telling me to say something.

"So"¦" I stopped myself short, half-expecting Luke to flip out on me.

""¦.so?" he raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to finish my train of thought.

"Well"¦I mean, how's your recovery going? I noticed you were limping a bit when you came out of the house. Didn't they say you'd recover in three months?"

"Yeahh, well, stress does slow down your recovery rate." Luke winced as he reached over for his drink, his hand shaking softly as it grasped the cup.

He knew I was stubborn, but he also knew how to give those little jabs that made me flinch on the inside. We'd had our arguments in the past, and I don't know why I ever let him get to me, but every single time, he did.

"I guess so"¦" I trailed off, stopping myself short with a sip of water.

Just say you're sorry, Molly! Why are you always so stubborn?! I yelled at myself, breaking the moments of awkward silence between me and Luke.

He looked at me with an expression that begged me to bring up what we both wanted to talk about, but without an idea of where to start, the words wouldn't roll off my tongue. I could tell that he was just as anxious as I was.

"Do you remember Emily?" Luke asked quietly.

"That came out of left field," I said, confused, "why are you aski-?"

"Never mind that. Do you remember her?" He asked again.

"The "˜bitch' you went out with a few years ago, right?"

"Yeah, that one."

I figured he'd tell me about the great sex they had, or how pretty she was, or how he was going back out with her, despite Luke so adamantly referring to her as a "bitch." He was never the guy to call any woman that name, but Emily was the exception. It was always a mystery to me, until that particular rainy day. Luke took a big gulp of his drink, then set the glass down, and spoke.

* * *

I could already hear my voice beginning to crack and weaken, and I hadn't even started to tell my story yet. Still, I pressed on. Molly had to hear this.

"If you remember, Emily and I were pretty serious. I know now that it was never meant to be, but something about her made me feel like I didn't want to live life without her. She made me feel safe, we always had fun together, and she seemed genuinely happy being with me. I felt the same. In fact, I thought she was going to be who I married when I was ready."

I made sure Molly was listening, and judging by the look on her face, I had her full attention.

"Things seemed to be going great for the two of us. We started becoming more intimate, started taking interest in each other's activities, and all that fun stuff that couples are supposed to do. But you know what? I was still scared. No, scared doesn't even describe it. I was terrified, because I felt that if Emily found out that one thing, that maybe she wouldn't want to talk to me anymore. But time went on, and we felt safer and safer around each other, and I remember a countless number of times, she would promise me that I could tell her anything and she would never judge me or think differently of me. In fact, we'd sometimes get into arguments about how she felt like I was hiding something from her. I'd tell her I wasn't ready to tell her everything, despite her insisting and promising me that she wouldn't care what it was. I loved her, Molly. I loved her, and I was still too afraid to say anything."

"And it didn't work out between the two of you. I don't understand, Luke-" Molly said with a lost expression on her face.

"-I'm getting there." I trembled as I reached for my glass and took another sip of my drink. "It didn't work out for a reason. The day we broke up, Emily and I had gotten into an argument on the phone. I don't remember the specifics of it, but it somehow led to her again prying me for information and accusing me of hiding something from her. I again told her that I wasn't yet ready to share everything with her. She gave me an ultimatum: either I tell her what I've been hiding with her promising not to think any differently of me, or the two of us were finished."

Some wounds are so deep that it doesn't matter how long you go without looking at them; they still hurt just as much as the day they were inflicted. I choked up, and Molly's expression had gone from lost to sincere. I could see her eyes beginning to water.

"You don't have to finish, Luke." she pleaded.

Either she didn't want to see me upset, or she knew exactly where this was headed and didn't want to hear the rest.

"No. I have to." I swallowed hard before continuing. "I asked Emily if we could meet somewhere in person so I could talk to her, and she said no. She told me that I either had to tell her right there on the spot, or that was it. Now I should've walked away. All I had to do was tell her to respect my decision. And something told me that no matter what I said, we were through, but I still held onto that seed of faith, and told myself that she promised not to judge me and that when I told her, it'd be okay. So I did. Like a shy fool, I stuttered and told her what I was into. And how I sometimes liked to be taken care of like I was when I was little. She responded with, "˜What?' in the most disgusted, malicious tone I've ever heard anyone use before. I tried to explain it further, but she wouldn't have any of that. Right there on the spot, she told me we were finished, and she hung up the phone. I did my best to reach out to her, trying to call her and text her, and she'd either hang up the phone or tell me to leave her alone. She wanted nothing to do with me, and told me "˜this isn't normal.' She broke her promise, Molly. She told me I could tell her and she wouldn't care, and she did. When I asked if we could talk about it, she denied me every time, until she eventually moved. She killed me, Molly. She literally killed a piece of me that I can't ever get back."

By that point, my words were muffled in between sobs, and I only hoped that Molly could understand me. Tears relentlessly ran down my face as I tried my best to continue, and I felt Molly's hand reach out and touch my knee.

"You're the only one I truly thought I could tell this to and not be judged for it, Molly. I don't care if you broke your promise. I don't care if you can't understand it. Just, please, don't turn your back on me anymore. I can't lose any more pieces."

Through my tears, I saw Molly cover her mouth as she began to cry harder. She moved herself from the chair to a spot on the couch next to me, then softly put her arms around me, pulled my head to her chest, and started whispering over and over again, "Luke, I'm so sorry."