Hemorrhage.

I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t feel like I could drown in the tension that draped over our table.. John had invited me to go to coffee so we could “talk”, but neither of us have talked. John was sipping on his coffee tentatively, and I twirled my plastic cup between my fingers. I had gotten a decaf Chai tea, and I had only taken too sips. When John asked me why, I said it was because it was too bitter.

That was because I hadn’t added any sugar.

I was staring at the faux wooden table, thinking about something, anything to say to break the ice. Was I supposed to be the first person to talk? Since he had invited me here wasn’t he obligated to say something?

“So,” John started, his voice low. “How have you been?”

I blinked up at him, a little surprised I guess I had immediately expected him to start in on something like my weight or the way I looked. That’s what everyone else had seemed to be doing, so why should John be excluded? I’m sure he was allowed a dig at the way I looked. I was kind of expecting it.

“I’ve been okay,” I finally settled on a vague enough adjective. Good just didn’t seem like a fitting adjective. I could hardly say that I’d been good. Going to therapy, having my mother constantly monitoring my food intake, worrying about what I look like - that didn’t seem like a good life to me.

Or maybe I was just being ridiculous. But whatever.

“That’s good.” John nodded. “That you’ve been okay, I guess. I mean, I wouldn’t want you to be bad. Now that I’m saying that you are, it’s just--,”

He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I’m just kind of nervous.”

“Why?” I asked him before I could stop myself. What the hell did John have to be nervous about? He was healthy, gorgeous, in this amazingly successful band. But then again, John had always been a shy guy.

“I haven’t talked to you in almost two years.” He pointed out. “Things have changed.”

Wasn’t that the truth? Things had changed. I had changed. I was pretty sure John had changed too. I just didn’t know how to react to that. Were we even friends any more?

“I guess you’re right.” I agreed with him, using my index finger to draw figure eights from the perspiration of my drink.

“What did you want to talk about?” I finally had the courage to ask him. It wasn’t because I wanted to know. I really didn’t want to fucking know. I’d rather hide under a rock for the rest of my life, but that just didn’t seem possible. Even though I wouldn’t have to eat under a rock. That would be kind of beneficial, I guess, because I wouldn’t gain any weight. I wouldn’t have anything to tempt me…

Oh, fuck.

John looked nervous and scared. I was pretty sure that his facial expression mirrored mine. “I…” he trailed off. “I wanted to let you know that I’m there for you.”

Well wasn’t that fucking ironic? I felt myself tense in anger as I thought about how this all started. He was there for me now? After he hadn’t noticed? After he had driven me to this?

But then again, he didn’t know. I couldn’t blame him for something that he didn’t know he caused.

“Thanks, I guess.” It was hard for me to thank him when I blamed him. It was also hard for me, because I didn’t understand why everyone was suddenly so concerned. I wasn’t sick. They only thought I was sick because they were forcing themselves to think like that. It was their fault, not mine.

“I’m not sick, though.” I insisted with a shake of my head. How many times did I have to say it before people believed it?

John looked like he was going to protest. He opened his mouth, but then closed it abruptly. Finally, he left it alone. “Okay.” He said. “Okay. I just want you to know that I want to be friends.”

My eyebrows furrowed. He wanted to be friends? I didn’t know that we weren’t friends? I guess maybe that me getting up and leaving might have caused a rift, but I thought we could start over.

Then again, things had been changing lately, so maybe what I had planned wasn’t what was really going to happen. After all, when I first made the decision to move I hadn’t realized that I was signing myself up for therapy. Therapy that I didn’t need nor want.

“We are friends.” I said. I had talked more to John in these last ten minutes than I had in the last two years.

John smiled at me. His smiles were contagious, so I had to smile back. It felt weird. I hadn’t let my cheek muscles move in that position for a while.

“Good. We’re friends, and friends tell each other everything.”

Oh, shit. I should have known that he had an ulterior motive, rather than possibly just clearing his guilty conscience.

“What would you like to know?” I forced myself to ask, straightening my shoulders and tightening my jaw.

“Why did you leave?” He asked, the words coming out in a rush, as if he didn’t say them quickly he would suddenly loose the courage and shut himself up.

His question startled me. I didn’t know how to answer that. Did I lie? Did I tell the truth? I didn’t want to tell the truth. I didn’t even know the truth. I hadn’t admitted it to myself, so how could I admit it to him.

John stared at me as I battled with myself. It was like there were two sides, the honesty and the defensive battling it out for a space on the tip of my tongue.

“I needed a change of scenery,” I lied, the words feeling thick on my tongue. I was already going to hell, so it’s not like a little lie could really prevent anything.

“Oh.” John looked like that wasn’t the answer he was expecting.

“Why were you so mad when you first saw me?” I spoke quickly, trying to avoid the topic of my leaving.

“I…” he trailed off again. He did that a lot. “I was shocked to see you. I guess I was still mad about you leaving. When you first left, I was so pissed off.”

“Why?”

“You didn’t tell me.” That seemed so simple to me, because his voice was laced with “duh.”

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

He shrugged. “I was still pissed.”

“Oh.”

“Are you back for good now?”

“I think so.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you doing anything? Going to school or work?”

I shook my head. “Not for right now. I’ve been busy with…stuff.”

“Oh.”

That was it. That was our conversation. It lasted seventeen minutes, counting awkward pauses. When it was time to leave, John walked me out to my car.

When we got in front of my car, John looked like he was having an inner battle with himself. Like there was a Good John and a Bad John.

I fished my keys out of my bag and unlocked my door.

“Well, it was good seeing you.” John said suddenly, causing me to turn around and look at him.

I nodded. “It was good seeing you too.”

Then, John surprised me. He leaned over and wrapped me up in his arms. I paused for a moment, unsure of what to do, before I wrapped my arms around him too. He held me to his body tightly for a few seconds. I could have sworn I felt the ghost of his lips against my cheek, but maybe that was my imagination.

When he pulled away, he looked sad, disappointed, and mad. I didn’t have the energy to question him.

We waved at each other before he turned and walked to his car.

I got into my car and my phone buzzed with a text message.

I bet you’d break if anyone touched you.