Page 4 of Nerdy Dirty Valentine

He broke away and left, scurrying out of the diner at record speed while I stood there like some giant idiot.

“Wait a second!” I wanted to rush after him, but I had to pay my bill.

I wasn’t a bully. A drunk, yeah. A fuckup, for sure. But not a bully… What the hell had just happened? I couldn’t let it end this way.

Grabbing the check, I hurried to leave enough cash and a good tip.

For years, I’d excused my behavior. I did some drugs. I drank. But only I’d suffered for it. I’d drank to feel normal or to feel nothing. Being sober all these years, I was healthier, sure. But I didn’t like to examine myself too deeply.

I’d rather run into a fire than look at James and see his accusing eyes again, but I couldn’t let this simply end without talking to him.

I stumbled out of the diner, memories resurfacing. I was the new kid. Again. My mom was gone a lot, usually working, and I didn’t much care since it meant I could throw parties. Being the awesome guy who threw parties was better than being myself. Whoever that was. James was the smartest kid in our class, and we’d been assigned desks together.What did I do to him after the cheating thing? I blacked out for much of freshman year, had moved away by sophomore year.

I raced after him in the parking lot, scouting the cars until I spotted James in a Honda Accord. He stared off at nothing, not attempting to drive.

Tapping his window, I startled him.

I held up my hands. “Only want to talk.” When he hesitated, I added, “Please?”

“What’s there to say?” James groaned, but he opened the car door for me to slide inside.

“Look, you obviously had a shitty morning with Boring Guy.”

“Boring Guy?”

“And I made it worse. But I need to know about what you said. The bullying thing. I gotta have the specifics.”

“You say that as if?—”

“I don’t remember? Exactly.”

“Was all the mean stuff you did so forgettable?” A stain of red washed his cheeks.

“No! Just the opposite. Can we start at the beginning? I’d like to clear the air. Ninth grade was…”

“Difficult.” He winced. “For me, anyway.”

“For me, too. I was a mess. I ended up at two other high schools after that. And if I hurt people, if I hurt you,” I whispered, “I had no idea.”

James went still. “What does that mean? You must have known how your cruel names hurt me.”

“Cruel names?”

“You told everybody that I stank. All because I wouldn’t cheat for you. Stinky Jimmy. And that was just the beginning.” He sniffed, and his blue eyes got glassy.

Oh, fuck. If he started to cry… I couldn’t bear that shit. And his lower lip was quivering.

“I’m not going to cry,” he huffed as if reading my mind. “But the nickname stayed long after you left. Even through graduation, assholes yelled it. I had to take like three showers a day and use my mom’s lotions, and none of it mattered… Fuck—forget this,” he muttered, turning away to wipe a tear.

But I couldn’t forget it. My mouth settled into a grimace. I stared him, wanting to soothe him, take away all the pain somehow, but I’d be the last guy in the world he’d want a hug from.

“God. I started that?” I let out a ragged breath. The nickname sounded familiar, sure, but I had zero recollection of creating it. Yet the suffering was clear on James’ face. I had done it.Oh fucking fuck. Now, I was the one who wanted to shed tears, andInevercried. Because I was the asshole. Worse than Boring Guy by far. My brain was struggling to remember the details, even as my heart was pounding. And I was afraid to even look into those big blue eyes filled with hurt. Shit, had I done nothing with my life but leave behind pain and mess?

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The air inside me was coiled, tight with tension. The word couldn’t get out; they were stuck. I was stuck, the past pressing on me. Jesus, just when I thought I’d worked the steps of my program and made amends, I found out more crap I’d done during those dark times.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Fuck, I don’t like talking, but I owe you the truth. I was—am—an alcoholic. So I can’t remember most of my high school years. Not ninth grade. I just… I don’t remember doing that shit. Fuck. You should have confronted me about it.”

“Yeah, well. I’m not much of a fighter…” He gave a hollow laugh. “Besides, look at you.”

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