Page 113 of Rewind It Back

I tossed my own copies years ago. Partly out of anger, and partly because I no longer recognized the hopeful girl who once saw the good in everything. Who once had so many best memories she needed a way to remember them by.

The box is filled with every mixtape and CD I made for him over the years, each given to him on my birthday.

All of them, from ages eleven to nineteen, which include the two I gave him before we started meeting up on the roof, they’re all in here. And it’s evident they’ve been played endlessly over the years. They’re each in their individual cases, which are all cracked in one place or another. Some of the hinges are broken from overuse, from being opened and closed too many times.

It suddenly feels impossible to breathe.

I cannot believe he kept these.

Judging by the look of betrayal on his face the last time I saw him, I assumed the first thing he did was get rid of these. Burned them. Shattered them. Something dramatic to match how hurt he was.

But he kept them.

The only other thing in this box is an old piece of embroidery thread, which doesn’t really make sense. I pull it out to take a closer look. It’s almost unrecognizable, tattered, discolored, and worn. It takes a moment until it clicks, for me to realize what this is.

It’s that old friendship bracelet I made him on my thirteenth birthday. The one he wore on his wrist and never took off until it withered away and fell off on its own sometime after he had left for college. It broke off without him realizing. I assumed it was long gone by now.

Something so small. So seemingly unimportant. But it wasn’t. None of it was.

In disbelief, I move on, trading the bracelet for a cassette, thumbing over the signature I inked there years ago. I linger on the tail of the heart the way he always used to. It’s such a silly little signature that I came up with when I was a kid, but I never moved on from it because I loved watching the way he’d trace it every year.

All my best memories. He kept them.

He listens to them still.

For so long, I held on to every little detail of our relationship, replaying them in my mind on a loop. I cherished the smallest moments we had together. Even at my lowest points, I was grateful that I got to be loved like that at least once in my life.

I never forgot him. I never forgotus.

And apparently, neither did he.

Chapter 25

Rio

Throwing the comforter off, I give up on trying to sleep.

It’s well after two in the morning, and as per usual, I can’t fucking sleep.

I’ve already gotten out of bed to turn the thermostat down in my hotel room. I’ve scrolled on my phone. I put on some TV. I tried to read.

My brain won’t shut itself off. I’m too busy thinking about the game tomorrow night against Philly. Trying to remember if I took the garbage cans out to the street before I left. Wondering if the almond milk in the fridge is going to be good for the entirety of my trip, but if it’s going to expire, I’m trying to figure out how I can get some delivered to the house for Hallie to use.

Hallie.

Always Hallie. That’s where my mind circles back to every time I’m alone and it’s quiet enough to think.

When I close my eyes, I can still picture how sinfully perfect she looked standing just outside my shower as I got myself off earlier today. How sexy she was with that lip tucked under her teeth. How raspy her voice became when she told me she wanted me to come.

Are you still thinking about me?

If she only knew.

When I think of sex, I think of Hallie. She’s the only name that pops into my mind. Her face, her body, and her voice are the only things I visualize. She was my first. She taught me how to do it. We learned together by learning each other. Six years later, I think it’s safe to assume there will never come a day that Idon’tthink of Hallie Hart when I think of sex.

God, I miss her.

I want her back, and I’m done lying about it. To her. To myself.

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