"Can you keep a secret?" She asked; her voice light, barely above a whisper. I nodded in the darkness of the room, my eyes trying to focus on the girl lying across from me on the floor. I heard her gulp audibly, "I like girls," She confessed, shame laced in her tone. I couldn't see the expression on her face, but I heard her sniffle quietly, "I'm so messed up," I scooted closer to her, dragging my sleeping bag with my body.

I was always terrible at comforting people; I wasn't raised to do anything of that manner. I was a McCullers, a family of eagles that stood within its pack – always depicting a powerful nature, and, most definitely, never letting guards down to appease others.

But this was different.

I was close enough to smell the citrus aroma from her shampoo, the indolent scent filling my nostrils. I saw white of her eyes in the darkness, obviously staring at me, tears glistening from the corners. "You're far from messed up," I said softly, hesitantly wrapping an arm around her, "If anything," I paused as she sniffled in the silence, "You're closer to perfect."

She leaned her face into my chest, crying silently; I froze at the gesture. I wish I were better at comforting and empathy. I felt awkward as I pulled her closer to me, sympathetically rubbing her back. My own mother never displayed this type of affection to me or even my father, of all people– whether it was loving, sympathetic, or cheerful. It was viewed as a weakness, an unacceptable nature within the family. I could only mimic gestures I've seen on the television.

"Everything will be okay," I whispered shortly after she stopped crying, hoping she could trust my words.

She shook her head carefully, "No," she started, "If people find out…" She shuddered against me, "Everything's going to change,"

I shrugged, "Who says that's a bad thing?" She looked up at me, meeting my eyes, "You'd be free from this hindering you." I said, very cautiously, "Possibly finding happiness out of all of this…"

"Paige…"

"What is it, Emily?"

"Thank you." She was sincere, "For being my friend… for listening," I gave a small smile, which she probably couldn't see. I would always listen to her, no matter what it was.

"That's what friends are for," I said, "Everything will be just fine, I promise you." Emily nodded before resting her head back onto my chest. After a few minutes of silence, her breath slowed, and evened out as she succumbed to slumber. I closed my eyes as the girl who felt guilt over her attraction to the same sex rested against my chest, simply unaware of my feelings towards her.

My alarm clock screamed at me as I slowly opened my eyes, adjusting to the warm glow of sunrise. I had dreamed of her again. I rolled over, gently placing my hand on the alarm, shutting off the alerting sound. It had been three years since that night – that sleepover – that confession in the dark.

There was a soft knock at my door before my mother peaked her head inside, "Paige," She said strictly, "It's time to get out of bed, you're running behind on time already." I nodded, sitting upright as quickly as I could without giving myself a head rush. "I'll have breakfast finished in five, ensure that you are down there then."

"Yes, mother," She closed the door behind her as I heard her footsteps depart. I lolled my head back, staring at the ceiling. I'm such a coward. I reminded myself as I got out of bed and prepared for the day.

Once finished, I trotted downstairs with my backpack for school. My father was seated at the table with his usual morning paper, as my mother sat to his right, drinking her usual cup of espresso, my plate of food sitting across from her. I quickly sat down to my father's left, "good morning," I greeted. He grunted in response. "Anything good in the news today?" I asked, taking a bite out of the eggs my mother prepared.

He scoffed, "Same depressing literature written by amateurs," He said, folding the newspaper and setting it down on the table, "You're a little late this morning." He mused, "Did you stay up late last night?"

I shook my head, "No, father,"

"Are you lying?" He asked, not making eye contact, but his voice was menacing enough. I took a bite out of the waffles on my plate.

"No, father," I responded. I didn't provide an explanation.

He eyed me, and then my plate full of food, "Are you almost finished eating?"

Not really.

"Yes, father." Doubling the amount of food on my fork before placing it into my mouth, savoring the bland taste of the most important meal of my day. I finished eating in record time, and got up to rinse my dish to place it into the dishwasher. "I'm ready." I announced to neither parent in general.

"Let's go," My father ordered, as I followed him out to the car – a meaningless Mercedes only bought as a statement of our status. I got settled in, and we drove to Rosewood High in solitude.

I suppose you could say that this was the regular routine for me. It was a never-ending cycle that I could never break. Though, I am my parents' child, I am treated like a mere pawn in their everlasting game of chess; useless, expendable, worthless to the king or queen.

"Paige,"

"Yes, father?"

"How are your swim times?" I hesitated, but sensing my hesitation, he pushed, "What are they, Paige?"

"Two minutes and twenty seconds in the 400m" I mumbled.

He frowned, "You were at two minutes and eighteen seconds last week."

"I'm sorry,"

"Why do we invest this time if you can't shave off time?" He asked, beginning the first rant I would hear today, "Why would we have spent all of that money getting that pool constructed in the backyard if you're only going to slack off?"

I resisted the urge to shrug, "I'm sorry, father,"

"I expect better from you, Paige."

"I'll try my best."

He stopped in front of my school, "Do not try, Paige. Do. Trying is a useless term."

I opened my door, and stepped out, "I'll do my best," I closed the door and he drove off. I balled my fists as I felt anger rise. The constant guilt trips and criticism had always pissed me off. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I instantly felt my anger subsiding. I turned around, meeting warm brown eyes, "Hello, Emily."

"Good morning, Paige." She said kindly, shifting her bag on her shoulder. "Ready?"

"Of course," I said as we headed into the building, "How did you sleep last night?" I asked.

"I slept alright," She said, heading towards her first class, English, one of the classes that we unfortunately didn't share, "I really could've slept better though." We stopped right outside the door to the classroom. There was still time. "How did you sleep? Still got that insomnia?"

I nodded, "I still have it, but last night I slept pretty well."

She poked my shoulder playfully and I grinned, "What about dreams, did you have any of those?"

"What are dreams?" I asked, mocking my father in a sense. "I had memories though."

"Oh? Are you going to leave me hanging here and not tell me?"

I looked at one of the clocks that hanged in the hallways; too late, Emily. "Later, alright?"

"Promise?"

"Scout's honor,"

here's an idea i had. i've written it out, much to my dislike - unsatisfactory for myself. but hopefully one or two of those who may or may not read this can find some pleasure out of this literature. a review would be generous, very generous honestly. i'll try to have another chapter relatively soon, and by soon, i mean within a day or two. thanks for reading, stopping by, i appreciate it.