Hemorrhage.

I picked at my fingernails, using the edge of my ID to dig the dirt out from underneath. Molly was staring at me, playing with a sugar packet and running it between her fingers. I was afraid that if she put another one in her coffee I might have to take her to the hospital for a sugar coma. There were six empty packets lying next to her cup, crumbled in a pile.

“I’m sorry he’s being such a douche bag.” She said. “And I’m sorry that this is partially all my fault.”

I shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. You were sticking up for me. It’s not your fault that she decided to go blog about it.”

Molly nodded. “I didn’t mean to blow up at her. I was just really stressed, with the boys being gone, and college… it’s a lot, y’know?”

I nodded, even though I didn’t really know. Stress, sure, I knew about that. But college and boys? I had John. Santino had been one of my intimate relationships, but that was over before it really began. I hadn’t talked to him in months.

“How are things with Kennedy?” I knew that it was a sore subject, but the words just kind of slipped out. I was genuinely curious about their relationship. I thought that they were a good couple together. I didn’t really know the tiny details about why they broke up or where they stood now, but I did know that she was not over him, and he was still madly in love with her.

Molly looked uncomfortable. She shifted in her seat. It was times like this where I was reminded that she was still a vulnerable little girl, just like me. She seemed so confident sometimes, with her acerbic words and high heels and four-inch thighs. Girls like her could rule the world one day, I thought. But then sometimes she was just a girl. A girl with a relationship problem and a dilemma and a few insecurities.

“I-I don’t really know how things are.” She admitted. “To be honest, I want to call him, but I’m afraid that maybe he’s over it now. Maybe I’ve ruined it forever and this relationship is never going to be mended.”

“Do you want it to be over?”

She hesitated. “I-I don’t think so. No, no I don’t want it to be. Kennedy was good for me, y’know? Not in the kind of way that Garrett is good for me, but in the way that I felt alive when I was with Kennedy. I felt like I was living me life, and even though I was all pissed off about losing my virginity to him, I’m glad that I did. I wouldn’t want to have shared that memory with anyone else, even if I hardly remember it now. He was good for me. And I’d like to thin that I was good for him, but I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?” I asked.

“Scared that things aren’t going to be the same. Say that I do call him and we forgive each other and we get back together. Will things be the same? And if not, will I be able to handle that again? I love him. I can say that - I love Kennedy, but I don’t think I trust him anymore.”

“Then make him gain your trust again.” I said. “I’m no expert in relationships, trust me, but if I know anything about Kennedy, and I have known him for quite some time, he’ll do anything if he really loves you. He’ll stick it out, he’ll regain your trust. He’ll be there, and he’ll make you realize why you loved him all over again. He will.”

Molly sighed. “There’s a part of me that knows that, but then there’s that cynical part of me that refuses to believe it.”

“I’m sorry.” I apologized. “I really am. I want you to be happy.”

Molly smiled. “Thank you.” She said. “I want you to be happy too.”

She opened her mouth, like she was going to say something else, but then she shut it again apprehensively. She seemed to be sizing me up, and then she spoke again.

“How is your therapy group going?” She asked.

I shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess.” I think maybe she thought that the question would make me more uncomfortable than it really did. I was trying to get over that. I looked down at the table, but then I saw my thighs, expanded on the cheap vinyl, and looked up again, disgusted.

“We have to write a letter.” I said.

“A letter?” She prompted.

“A letter.” I confirmed.

“A letter about what?” She questioned. I think maybe she wanted to change the subject from her relationship to my problems. I was okay with that, I guess. Unless things started to get really uncomfortable.

“A letter about why we…are the way we are, I guess. We have to write a letter to the person or thing that made us…start. Our trigger, as the heavily-wearing lipstick junkie likes to call it. And we have to read them aloud, like we are, and I quote, ‘setting free our burdens’ and ‘renewing our health’.” I explained. “It’s a load of shit in my opinion, but I’m going to try.”

Molly nodded. “Well, that’s good. That you’re trying, at least.”

“Yeah.”

“When do you have to read it?” She asked.

“Next Thursday. It’s probably going to be a really long meeting, because some of these girls are really emotion.”

“And you’re not going to be emotional?” She didn’t say it in a mean, sarcastic way. She seemed interested, curious.

I shrugged again. “I don’t know. I haven’t started writing it yet. I don’t know. It depends.”

I really wasn’t sure. There was a chance that maybe I’d choke up, start to bawl, and not finish the letter. But I wasn’t really sure if I was that emotional.

“Oh. Well. I hope that it works out okay?” She didn’t seem too sure of herself.

“Yeah. I hope so too.”