The sun was in my eyes, Marco was in my face. He was pointing at me, still yelling.

"I mean it, Craig. You can't be such a jerk to her anymore,"

I shook my head, not knowing if I should try to explain anything to him. I knew I hurt Ellie back then, I knew she liked me and I used that and toyed with her and I knew I had been an ass. But, but I was addicted to cocaine and off my meds and crazy. Just like Ashley had thought, I was damaged. She was right.

It was like some morality play in Marco's head and I was the villain. But I had a side to the story, too.

"Marco, it isn't like that now, I'm, I'm okay now. We're just hanging out, it's no big deal-"

"Yeah, it's not a big deal. To you. Nothing is ever a big deal to you. But you never consider other people's feelings. Ellie loves you. I don't know why, since you're unreliable and unpredictable. That's probably what she likes. Just, quit playing with her. She can't take it. I can't take it,"

I hung my head again, feeling the sun on the back of my neck. Things were a big deal to me. I wasn't like that, I didn't think. I wasn't so callous with other people's feelings. I didn't think I was. But when I was younger girls kind of seemed like a game. A dangerous game, and I wasn't always thinking like that. But maybe sometimes I was. I didn't know. But Marco was pissing me off, anyway.

"Look, Marco, back off-"

"What if I won't?" he said, taking a step closer to me.

I was at a loss. He wanted me to say I'd just walk away, I'd leave her alone. I narrowed my eyes at him. What was it to him, anyway? Ellie could make her own decisions.

"Ellie can decide things for herself, you know. I'm not bad for her, we're friends, it's fine-"

He hit me. He just punched me in the jaw and I staggered back. Getting hit always made me flash back to getting beaten by my father and I hated that. I hated that feeling of the years between being 14 and now being kind of non-existent. I hated remembering the way my father's eyes would narrow behind his glasses, the way my wrists would hurt when he'd grab them and pull me up off the floor, shove me back against walls and to the floor, the wind getting knocked out of me. I relived it, especially when I got hit. It wasn't that frequent now, really. There were a few fights with Spinner in high school and that time I was living on the streets and that Skinny kid beat me up, that was pretty much it. One time at a night club with some drunk in Vancouver.

So I came at him and punched him back. I felt my fist connect with his body and felt awful even as I raised my arm to hit him again. I didn't want to be fighting like this with him, so I forced myself to stop. If he was going to hit me again I'd just have to take it.

But he didn't. He rubbed the spots I'd hit and looked surprised and kind of spooked, but also calmer. He looked at me and there was some of the old Marco there, the friend I remembered.

"Craig," he said, and I didn't know what was going to follow, "oh my God, I'm sorry, man,"

An apology. My jaw hurt. I swallowed hard and thought of my father again, thought of getting kicked in the ribs and not being able to breathe.

"It's, uh, it's okay-"

"No, it isn't. I shouldn't have done that, I shouldn't have butted in about Ellie, it's just, you didn't see the aftermath of what you put her through,"

I took a shuddery breath and thought maybe Marco was right. I'd probably end up just hurting her again. There were some people you ended up hurting over and over again. Maybe it was because I'd always known she was in love and this weird type of obsession with me, and I knew I could hurt her, so maybe I did. Maybe I was toxic to girls like her.