It started with a confession.
I'd like to say it'd been planned, but I'd be lying. It wasn't whispered across the darkness as we confided our deepest secrets to one another. It wasn't eloquent or rehearsed – if I'm honest, it was almost entirely accidental.
What you have to understand about Chloe Beale is that she can just seem to make me do things. She barely even has to bat an eyelash and she knows I'd go running out for ice cream at 3am if she asked. So, in retrospect, being curled up together on her bed after one too many glasses of what she'd so inventively named 'The Chloe', I should have known that I was a goner. Hook, line and sinker.
"Do you have a crush on anyone?" She said it so softly as her head lay in the crook of my shoulder that I probably could have ignored it, pretended that I hadn't heard her whispered question. But, of course, that would have meant I'd have had to have controlled the choked laugh that escaped my throat at the irony of her question. "What? Hey, don't laugh at me! This is what you're supposed to do at sleepovers – talk about boys and drink alcohol. We've already got the alcohol covered, so spill, Mitchell. Is there a boy that makes you go all weak at the knees?"
"I'm not laughing, sorry, you just caught me off guard. But nope, definitely not. Zero. Nada. None."
"Oh come on, there's got to be somebody that you like."
"I didn't say that there wasn't." As she lifted her head from my shoulder, her brow furrowed in confusion, I realised I'd made a mistake.
"What? You're just confusing me now, Becs."
"I know, sorry, I'm just messing with you. It's doesn't matter." I tried my best to smile down at her convincingly, but clearly, she wasn't giving up.
"Oh my god, Beca, I can see it written all over your face - you're totally crushing! Tell me, now!" Throwing a leg across me to straddle my hips, she tickled me furiously, "Tell me his name!" What happened next, I'm not particularly proud of – but in my defence, I was practically being tortured. "Jesus, Chloe, I don't like a boy. I don't like any boy, in fact! I'm gay, okay? Now, will you get the hell of off me?"
I don't remember the look on her face after the words left my mouth. Mostly, I remember the overwhelming regret that hit me as I realised that I'd just messed up quite possibly the best thing that'd ever happened to me. She didn't say anything as I pulled my knees into my chest, promising myself that this time wouldn't be the same. Maybe we could be okay. Maybe she wouldn't hate me. Maybe this time would be different.
"Hey, Beca, are you okay?" She walked towards me, all little black dress and bright green eyes. Maybe it was the three glasses of wine I'd drank, but right in that moment, I didn't think I'd ever seen anything so beautiful.
"Yeah, I'm good. You should go enjoy the party."
"How can I enjoy the party when my best friend is sat by herself looking like someone just killed her puppy?" Emma always did have a way with words.
"I'm okay, Em, honestly, it's nothing."
"Ah, so there is something! Come on, you know you can tell me anything." It wasn't all that weird really, how fast I had let Emma into my life – I had no reason to think that she'd hurt me. But that didn't make it any less terrifying to tell her that the real reason I was so upset was because she'd been flirting with some guy all night and I hated it; that, actually, I hated it whenever she flirted with anyone. For a second, I thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad if she knew. And that second was all it took.
"Look, if I tell you something, do you promise it won't change anything?"
"Of course it won't, Beca, just tell me."
"Okay, um, yeah. I'm gay, Em, I like girls."
Sometimes a second is all it takes. She never spoke to me again.
I'm not really sure how long I sat there with knees pulled in close, my face buried in my hands. I didn't even realise I'd started crying until Chloe carefully reached out her hand to wipe a tear from my cheek.
"Chloe, don't, okay? I get it. You don't have to pretend that this okay. I'll go." I pulled away from where her hand still lay on my cheek, moving towards the door, shooting her a defeated look as she caught my arm and pulled me back towards her.
"What're you talking about? Why would you think it wouldn't be okay?"
"Of course it isn't okay! Nothing's going to be the same anymore, it can't be."
"Why can't it be? Beca, you're my best friend. This changes nothing."
"I just… I don't know." I reached to wipe the tears now falling from my eyes, leaving a dark black smudge across my hand. "You're supposed to hate me. You have every right to hate me."
"I could never hate you, Becs, especially not over something like this. I swear, this doesn't change anything." Still holding my wrist, she pulled me back to sit on the bed beside her. "Beca, look at me."
"I can't, Chloe. I can't look you in the eye and believe that this doesn't change anything."
"Then don't look at me, just listen. You're an amazing person, and who you love doesn't make you any less of a person. Nothing is going to change between us, and I'm sure as hell not going anywhere." She ran her hand down my arm, intertwining our fingers and gently squeezing my hand in hers, giving me just enough courage to look up at her for the first time since my confession.
"You're really okay with this?" My voice caught in my throat, barely a whisper.
"Of course I am," she smiled down at me, and seemed to be contemplating something before lightly adding with a giggle, "God, sometimes I don't even know if I'm entirely straight." Tugging my hand, she moved back toward the head of the bed, "Now come on - sleep. We're drunk, overly emotional, and it's almost 4am. Sleep"
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe she said it to make me feel better, but as I felt her arms wrap lazily around my waist, I couldn't get my words out of my mind. "I don't even know if I'm entirely straight." If Chloe liked girls, this was a whole different ball game. I was screwed from the start, really.
It started with a confession. Not mine, hers.