Looking back, I probably should have realized it sooner. The clues were subtle, but numerous. Furtive glances, the casual brushing of hands, whispered jokes that only the two of you understood. It was all there, but I didn't see it. Or maybe I just didn't want to accept what I secretly suspected all along.
I was so happy when you first kissed me that I never stopped to speculate about the reasons for your sudden change of heart. It was my supreme elation that stopped me from wondering why your eyes immediately locked with his as soon as you pulled away. I assumed the new tension between you and he was just because I was his little sister, and you were afraid of his reaction. I didn't start to question until later.
At first, I felt like I was floating on air. My dream had come true, and you were mine. My notebooks were covered with our names, inscribed painstakingly during class, encircled by hearts and flowers. I thought of you constantly, when I would see you next, whether you were thinking of me too. I lost track of my studies and grew distant from my friends.
After awhile, I started to notice things. Little things. I saw your eyes dart in his direction when you thought he wasn't looking. I saw his ears turn red when your hands accidentally brushed reaching for the potatoes at dinner. Sometimes you would disappear together for hours, then return disheveled with no explanation. I told myself that you loved me, and our relationship was perfect.
I remember what happened that night so clearly. Every excruciating detail, from your wrinkled shirt askew to your heavy breathing, is forever carved into my memory. I had gone up to your dormitory to see if you wanted to go down to the kitchens for a late-night snack. I don't know why I didn't knock. Maybe I assumed you were alone. I opened the door and saw that he had you pinned against the wall. I thought you two were having a row; your faces were flushed and I could almost feel the tension in the room. Your shirt was untucked, and his appeared to have been ripped open at the top. Neither of you noticed my entrance, too caught up in each other. I opened my mouth to demand what the bloody hell was going on when he did something that made my heart stop and the words died in my throat. In one swift movement, he crashed his lips down unto yours. I looked on in shock as you eagerly responded, emitting a moan that echoed deafeningly in my ears. I suddenly felt the floor beneath me disappear and I was falling down, down, into a bottomless void of numbness.
I must have made some pitiful noise, because you both stopped. Your eyes were full of resignation, as if you knew this moment was inevitable. He stared at me in horror.
"Gin-" was all he managed to exclaim before I bolted from the room.
It took me days to stop crying, weeks to recover from shock, months to get past the hazy mix of pain and anger. I threw myself into my studies and ignored anyone who asked me what happened between us, why we fell apart. I never told anybody about that night, and I doubt I ever will.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had never gone to your room that night. Would I have realized it eventually? Or would I have continued to insist that everything was perfect; that we were perfect? And you. How long would you have strung me along, betraying my love and my trust?
There's really not much else I can say. Looking back, I probably should have realized it sooner.