I cupped my head in my hands. I'd screwed Jack up really badly.
Around noon, he came into my room and told me he loved me.
"You really love me?" I groaned. What the heck was up with this whole 'love' nonsense? When was this going to end? When will he realize that I don't love him and just stop?
About six months ago, he told me loved me when I nearly died. He said it was because I was going to die and not because he genuinely loved me.
And about another five months ago, he told me he loved me and kissed me. Back then I thought that kiss was the best thing that ever happened, aside from coming back.
Now? I'm not really that sure.
"Yes," he said. "I genuinely do."
I don't know what came over me. I looked away and said "Get out."
"What did you say?"
"Get out." Only now I was louder.
"You're not serious, are you?"
"YES. I am. Get out!"
Jack looked hurt. Then angry.
"Fine," he snapped. Then he turned and left.
The minute he left, I immediately felt guilty. What had I done? How was I supposed to make up for it? Would his parents find out? I sincerely hoped not.
Since I've never been good at apologizing to someone's face, the least I could do was write an apology letter.
Except how?
I went to my desk, sat down, and pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil.
Then I began writing.