And I ruined it. I ruined us. I broke his heart. I broke mine. I broke us.

I fucked up.

And I couldn't even blame Logan.

As much as I tried, I couldn't.

It wasn't his fault I was stupid enough to believe him.

***

The night I saw him at the club, making out with another girl, just happened to be the same night Greg was there. Greg—Ty's best friend. He caught me on my way out, with tears streaming down my face—tears I shed for a boy I barely knew.

He was with a bunch of his friends, most of them I knew—only in passing—because they were Ty's friends, too. "Hey," he soothed, lifting my chin so he could see my face. I'm sure I looked as messy on the outside as I felt on the inside. "Are you okay?" He's brows creased with what I believed was genuine concern.

I bit my lip to stop the sob escaping, but it didn't work. The next thing I knew I was in his arms as he led me to his car. He didn't say anything, and he didn't ask me to, either. When the crying finally stopped, all he said was, "You want to tell me how sucky your life is?"

It made me laugh, and I did. I wanted to tell somebody. So I told him. I told him about my dad, and about Ty, and how I felt shut out after I told him I couldn't be in New York with him. I told him about how I thought it was over between us, and I even told him about the stupid date with Logan, and the phone call I made after. I told him about how I fucked up with Ty, and even though I begged for him to take me back, he wouldn't, and I had to accept that.

Greg—he remained silent, listening to every word I said. And when I'd finished pouring my heart out to him, he just looked at me, a sad smile on his face. "You know what you need?" he said.

I shook my head.

He smiled. "A banana split."

So that's what we did.

I texted Lexie and told her I was safe, and that I'd call her later.

Greg took me to the grocery store and bought all the ingredients to make the perfect banana split, the same type they make at the steak house he worked at. We then went back to his apartment, which he shared with two other guys, and he proceeded to cheer me up.

By the time the sun came up, we hadn't even realized how much time had passed. He drove me home and asked if he could see me again, it didn't even have to be a date, he said. He just enjoyed my company.

The rest of the summer, he made every effort to woo me. He'd surprise me at my work with flowers, and called or texted regularly. He told me often that he missed me, and at one point he even said the he was falling for me. And soon after that, I found that I was beginning to hate myself less and less. The guilt of what I did to Ty was slowly fading, and even though I thought of Logan often, I began to not hate him as much, too.

I didn't even think about how a maybe relationship with Ty's best friend would affect Ty. Like I said—stupid.

By the end of summer bonfire party, Greg and I had unofficially become exclusive. We spent as much time together as possible, and he even made an effort to hang out with Ethan and my friends, which is why he was there at that party. He was almost 21 - and could really do without the high school parties, but still—he was there.

And so was Logan.

As much as I could try to deny that seeing him that night didn't affect me, it really did. It brought back memories of that one night we had together, and all the feelings I had when I decided to break up with someone that could have so easily been my future.

Greg knew something was up the rest of the night. I don't know if he knew that it was Logan I was speaking to when he interrupted us, but he didn't ask any questions. He just allowed me to drink away my emotions. Looking back on it now, it was almost as if he encouraged it.

I decided to stay the night at his house, too ashamed to go home in my drunken state. Even though Mom was probably passed out on the sofa, worse off than I was.

That night, he climbed into his bed with me and he held me, and then he told me that he loved me. And I needed it. I needed it more than anything in the fucking world. I needed someone to love me, and he said he did.

So I slept with him.

And then I must have passed out.

Because I don't remember him pulling the covers off me.

I don't remember the flashes as he took the pictures.

And I sure as hell don't remember him fucking me without me knowing.

Or taking more pictures of my most private parts as he was doing it.

What I do remember—is loud banging, and then Ethan, his best friend Tristan, and Lexi kicking down his bedroom door.

I remember Lexi wrapping a sheet around me and then helping me walk out to the car.

I remember throwing up on the way there.

And I remember Ethan coming back with a cut lip, broken nose and blood all over his knuckles.

I couldn't look at him—too much blood.

"What happened?" I said to no one in particular. My head was throbbing. I finally managed to face Ethan, "What happened?" I repeated.

He didn't say anything, just wrapped me in his arms. I could feel his body trembling, and he started to cry.

Ethan never cried. Ever.

Not when dad left.

Not even when we were twelve and he pushed me out of the way of an oncoming car and got hit.

Not even when he broke so many bones in his lower body that they broke skin, and blood was everywhere. It's the reason I can't stand the sight of it.

He didn't even cry when he had to have surgery to put pins in his hip and all throughout his legs.

But now—he was crying.