Mom kisses my cheek. Her hands don’t linger. I expect them to. She doesn’t spare a smile, nothing that looks remotely like the past her. In my gut, I feel it has to do with Carol. She’s shaping my mom into the best friend she’s never had.

Carol smiles widely down at Mom, her arm slung over her small shoulders. She steers her to the front door, talking her ear off as they leave the house, and walk down to where our car is parked.

Saturday will be forever burned into my head. Along with the scent of chlorine, the feeling of my skin peeling, and the look on Lianna’s face when I told her off. All those instances flicker through my mind. A window pane opens and in comes the horrid memories I thought I’d buried when I was younger.

Friends. I thought I had at least one.

I’m glad Mom has one.

My legs climb up the stairs on their own. Without a thought, I’m standing on the second floor.

She’s there. Almost like she’s been waiting for me.

“I’ve got something to show you,” she says.

I pause. My hand lingers on the stair pole. I let my hand slip away and rest by my side. “That’s what you always say.”

“It’ll be our secret.”

It would be easier to say no. I know that’s what I should say instead of following her into her bedroom. I’m weaker than I thought, weaker than I was before I met her.

When the smoke clears and I’m back in my bedroom, I also know I’ll be looking back at this moment with a sense of fulfillment.

She opens the door and lets me in. It feels funny walking into a room that use to be part of my space. We never used it for anything other than storage, but seeing it transformed into someone else’s home is bizarre.

The door frame is adorned with lace fabric and beaded string that falls down to the floor. She pulls the slight curtain to the side and lets it catch onto a hook that’s screwed into the wall. The room is an assortment of color. The two twin beds are pushed against opposite walls. Though each side of the room is different, vastly so to the point that I knew exactly which bed is Lianna’s and which one is Carol’s, the colors and schemes blend well. They look like they are part of something greater than just a bedroom decor.

Caro’s side is all about color. Blues, yellows, reds, and greens flow in and out from her bedding to her clothes which are stacked neatly on a bamboo shelf. The picture frames above her bed are of her, other women and men I don’t know, and of Lianna.

Lianna as a little girl all the way to the woman she is now.

The table to the side of the bed is covered in change, scrap material, and string. She’s an artist.

But the thing that stands out like a sore thumb is the awards next to the picture frames.

They don’t belong there is my first thought. They look like something she picked up from a flea market or something.

Her name, Carol Coates, is on every single one of them.

It starts with a blue ribbon and from there it works itself up to a large golden trophy that takes up half the shelf on the wall. Then, next to that shelf is a jersey in its on frame.

The connection doesn’t slick until Lianna points to the next picture in the line up.

“That’s her,” she says in a sort of proud voice. I almost don’t believe it.

When I take a step forward I have to hold my breath in fear I might let out a gasp. I don’t want to alert her. She’ll ask more questions than I have answers for.

The girl in the photo at the gym, that’s Carol. And Carol is the girl in the photo.

I don’t know what it means, if it means anything. Of course it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a picture.

But my racing heart keeps telling me differently.

I turn my back to it.

Lianna’s side of the room is tamer. It’s unexpected. Everything with her is over the top and I thought it would be the same with her room.

The cool tone bedding is an array of cool blues and grays. The only thing interesting on it is the floral pattern that travels up the comforter. The pillow case doesn’t match. It’s black and blends in with the rest.

Above her bed she has magazine clippings of various models, all of which I can’t name. Male and female—taped in no apparent order. Even so the disarray looks beautiful.

“Over here.” She pulls my arm toward the corner of her side of the room. There’s a box waiting for us. It’s wooden and is held together by rusted nails. The hinges creaks as she opens it.

“Wow,” I say without meaning to.

She smiles and picks through the box until she finds what she’s looking for.

They’re records. Old, fraying at the corners, and worn records.

The hues of red, brown, and orange mix together. And just like Carol’s strange array of items, these colors all seem to go together. The marriage between the colors made an array of feelings go through me. I want to reach out and run my fingers over the cracked cases, feel them give away at my soft touch.

I hesitate with my hand in the air. There’s a voice telling me I shouldn’t, but my gut is telling me it’s okay.

I look up. Lianna is watching me.

We hang there for a brief second. Our eyes meet. My own wander across her face while hers do the same. We’re waiting, dancing around the subject we both know we need to address. I can’t find the courage inside to even try. We’d be better off letting it die.

“Do you collect them?” I ask instead of the more important question. I clear my throat as I try to get a hand on my shaky voice.

She moves closer to the box and pulls one of the records out. There’s a line of dust on the cover. She tries to wipe it off but it’s so old that it’s a part of it now. After a few swipes, she gives up and hands it to me.

I take it with a gentle hand. I hold my breath.

Lianna edges closer until she’s pressing against my side.

My hands tighten slightly on the record.

I keep seeing her as this person that is full of power and can’t be gentle with anything. Yet, she’s showing me this side of her. She has hobbies and feelings. She’s an actual human being who is more than a girl who wants to hurt everyone in her path.

I mentaller kick myself for shoving her into such a box. I knew better than to label someone just because of what others say. I’ve been doing it to Lianna ever since I met her.

The cover is of a four girl band. They are all wearing matching shirts with a pink bow sewn onto the collar. The pink shirt is matched with either a brown skirt or brown bell bottom pants. Their blond and brown curly hair are styled in the same way.

There are two girls that catch my attention first. They’re more off to the side together, one sitting on the end of a brown couch while the other is leaning on the back. The long blond haired girl is leaning forward as if she’s whispering into the short brown haired girl’s ear.

“They have a great sound,” she says. Her fingers slip between mine to the record out of the sleeve. She does so without removing the cover from my hands.

The corners of her mouth quirk up. “They remind me of you, funnily enough.”

The feeling in my fingers drain away. I’m numb up to my wrist and I fear I’m going to drop the album. Instead, I slowly set it down into the box and take a deep breath.

She stands and walks to the record player nestled onto a small plant stand. It’s made of black wire and looks only sturdy enough to handle a small flower pot. She slips the record on top and sets the needle down. Then, she hits play.

The music is a mix between soft rock and a melody that’s like walking through a haunted house. The singer’s voice is deep and melodic that makes me want to rest my head down. Sleep is calling to me, but I don’t want to forget this moment. I’m being pulled in every second. Lianna is with me, scooting closer until our knees touch.

The small contact zaps a scary feeling through my veins. I want to pull her close until I begin to forget where my body ends and hers begins. That feeling makes my gut twist in a disgusting way. It sets my mind on fire with thoughts that involve nakedness and pure lust that I’ve never seen in real life before.

Except I have. But I don’t want to consider that anything other than violence. Violence on the mind and body which had destroyed me from the inside out. He knew what he’d been doing. Only his lust had blinded him to my torture.

That isn’t what this is. I desperately want to make that clear to myself.

Lianna turns to me.

“Are you made at me?”

I’m caught off guard. I open my mouth to tell her a straight no, but I hesitate. The look she gives me is one of pure innocence. Her eyes barely meet mine and her hands are tightening around her ankles. As we sit and listen to the haunting music of years past, I see once again who she really is. And I don’t ever want to be the one to break what is left of her.

She’s like me in some ways. It’s taken me weeks to even see how similar we are. I’ve always been blinded by our striking differences to even notice the clear signs.

In a much softer voice, I say, “No.”

I take her hand in mine. My skin burns when we touch.

“I’m not made.”

But I am though.

I’m so mad that I want to leave her now, make her suffer for what she’s done to me. She’s taken away my ability to think without seeing her face. She’s made it so hard to live even a minute without her near me that I can’t breathe sometimes. And when she’s close to me right now, I want to do things to her that aren’t natural. They’re evil things that are born out of pure animalistic needs.

She’s turned me into a monster.