"I'm sorry."

My latte’s bitter. It’s gone cold from the chilling AC blasting throughout the cafe. The checkered black and white tiles, dusty gray marble counters, and the 80’s radio blasting through behind bring me back to my senses. I pick up the small white cup, and bring it to my mouth, savoring the cold liquid for a bit. There’s barely any creamer, and the coffee grounds are not fully mixed in yet, but it’s nostalgic to think about. This place isn’t really known for anything, besides the obscene magazines, and old Hollywood posters of actors way past my age. There are clay pots in random corners with small bamboo shoots growing out of them, they’ve been like that for 7 years now. So have the old tax and eviction papers that just lie on the ground as a sort of carpet at the entrance. The smell of burned eggs, pancakes, and sweet maple syrup swift through the air, mixing with the scent of, probably expired, Febreeze. My legs try to swing underneath me, as they did before, when they couldn’t quite reach the tiles yet. But now they stay planted, etching the mark of my growth on this place. I take out my phone and see a message.

‘I’m sorry. I’ll be late.’

20 minutes ago. Read…

I rub my eyes from the dim, orange light hanging above me, and look outside. It’s the afternoon. The final sunrays cross my face, leaving behind a sort of cold warmth. I set my half-full cup down, and get ready to leave. As I leave towards the door, the bells ring, and I brush arms with someone as they run past. My feet stop. 

There’s a tugging at my arm. I look behind to see a face full of highlighted hair. It’s put into a high messy bun, which hangs ironically low as the lady heaves for a breath. I turn around and face her. Her hands clap around her rounded knees, while her bag just barely touches the tiles beneath. She looks up. Her makeup doesn’t look heavy. It doesn’t have those vibrant pinks and blues anymore, or that eyeliner that went on for miles. Instead, she has a sort of ‘no-makeup’ look going. Her eye bags are still noticeable though, and her lipstick is smudged. 

“I’m-, “ she puffs for air, “Sorry.”

I bring my sunglasses from my eyes, and nod, a show of, ‘It’s okay.’ She lets go and stands up. Arms start swaying like crazy, and before I know it, everything about her is perfect again. No more dangling locks of hair, or buttons undone. Pink still stays streaked across her cheek though. I step forward and rub my fingers across the stain, taking a look at the light coral on my thumb. 

“Have you always been this careless.?” I start walking towards the seat I previously had and see the cream floating to the top of the cup I had left behind. I sit down again, and she slides in front of me. It’s an awkward silence, as she sets her barrett aside, and fiddles with her thumbs. There are French tips with a small floral pattern. Way different from the tiger prints, and reds with random dashes of glitter. 

“Why did you want to meet?” My eyes try to not look at hers. It’s so hard not to anymore.

“I… I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Her head turns down, as her bangs fall above her eyes. “I’m truly sorry for what I did to you.”

---- 

The rain doesn’t shield to no one. I tried running, but slipping, and falling to my knees would be worse than getting late. My hand reaches inside my pocket, grasping the buzzing object. It rings again and again, telling me to stop and turn back. That what I’m doing is stupid, and dumb. Yet, when I saw her, saying all that trash behind my back, everything that made sense went out the window. I want to know why. 

My sneakers tap against the freezing cold stone. The hair on my arms sticks up, and my eyes widen to the point it hurts. I want it to be a lie. That the photo she posted of me was fake. That, she, of all people, wasn’t the one to show that to me. I see myself there, reflecting off the image, naked. The comments all taunt me. They say I’m worth nothing. Not even my body. The umbrella falls. My hand clenches my stomach, and the other tries to stop me from gagging. Tears well up against my will, and spill down, joining the rain puddling around me.

“I tried to warn you. But you didn’t listen. It’s not your fault though, anyone would want to know.” She explains. It’s my fault she says between the lines. Her phone is brought to her face. The white light shines on her darkened demeanor, her look downcast and masking a sigh. She turns and walks back on her heels, leaving no trace that she left me there. Alone. Not even the rain could pity me. 

----

“That day, I couldn’t show my face to the world anymore. I died every day. It was my fault for believing you. And it’d be the same thing again if I did that now.” I don’t want to see her. Those woeful, fake eyes of hers. She doesn’t even try to act at least a bit sorry. Not that she would.

“I’m sorry.” 

“It doesn’t work like that.” I want to leave.

“That’s all I can say.” 

I grasp the cup even harder. I want to leave. 

“That’s all you want to say.”  

She hesitates for a moment, and then looks up and stares directly into my eyes. They aren’t those snake slits I saw. That penetrating, unnerving gaze. It’s a soft look. She’s helpless.

“You’re right. That’s all I want to say. I have nothing else.” and just like that, her pathetic guilt hangs out for everyone to see. I don’t know why. But that day. The day that a 17-year-old girl found out that her body was out for everyone to see. The day that her innocence was warped and twisted in a picture. That night, the way she saw herself. A girl in twin tails, glasses, and a stuttered speech, saw who she really was. Who the person in front was. 

I want to say everything at once. Let it all come spilling out. Those years of torture she put me through. I want to tell her how awful she made me. But I don’t know how anymore.

“Why… Why did you have to come back…” My eyes water. They spill my fears and emotions, so I won't have to say anything. They know what pain I've lived with.

Over the sound of a coffee grinder and oven buttons pushed too hard, my hands were held. For a long time, I haven't felt warmth on my hands besides my own. She looks at me. Staring. Her smile is reluctant to go away, as she pulls me closer and closer. Getting up, and walking towards me with no care, she envelopes her cruel hands around me. The sun is blocked, and I can’t breathe. I want to cry and scream, but she still won't let me go. Her hands sift through my hair, stopping at my roots and going down to caress me again. 

“I’m sorry.” She says.

----

I saw her picture on the news. And on YouTube. Every platform you could think of, she was there. It was an apology video. She told the world what we could not. She set out on a journey I couldn’t even start. She said sorry and relayed everything. The way she broke people's lives. The countless lovers she fooled and stole from. The years and years she took from ex-best friends who trusted her. The pictures. The swearing. The hate. She let it all out in 2 minutes. She told the whole world what kind of person she was. A horrible one.

I saw the video. And the edits. And the accusations, the replies, retweets, messages, threats, emails, news, coverage. Everything she robbed from us, she got right back at her. She wasn’t wearing a crop top in layered flannels. She wasn’t in tights with neon leg warmers. Not even in that classic ponytail of hers. She was in a hoodie. Her hair all ragged and disheveled. Her eyes were swollen and red. And her mouth, trying to speak words that she had never said before.

 “I’m sorry.”

----

I pulled her in. snuggling my nose into her shoulder. The sun had barely set. The last few rays bid us farewell, yet it didn’t make a difference. She might not mean it, but she at least tries to. 

I let her go. Our hands are still intertwined. Her nails poke my skin, while the cold wind blows at our faces, leaving us flushed. Our eyes lock and smiles turn down. Thank you. I want to say. But it never came out.

“You're welcome” The girl standing in front of me. That mess answers a statement I’ve always thought I’d never say. I feel my heart twitch, and my lungs retract. She doesn’t look away. And I don’t either.

Who could?