I pushed Truman away. Actually pushed him. So hard that he fell over and landed on the couch. Right on top of my painting, which was thankfully dry. How long had we been kissing?

Santana cleared her throat.

"We were—" I began, the same time Truman said, "It's my—"

"I brought us lunch," Santana said, cutting us off. She walked right by us and dropped two paper bags onto the kitchen table. "It's Chinese. Figured you'd two be hungry after painting. Was I wrong?"

I blinked at Truman, who was staring at Santana like she grew a second head.

"You—What?" he said, slowly standing up.

"I said," she began, turning to face us, smiling, "I brought us lunch. Are you hungry?"

I was already walking around the room, shoving the bottles of paint into my school bag. I didn't even bother to wrap up the wet paintbrushes. I just shoved it all down, not caring. With the canvas tucked under my arm, I said, "I should go," breaking the silence.

"No." I froze. Santana's hand was curled around my wrist, holding me away from the door. "Stay for lunch," she said.

I stared at Truman, who was still speechless, idling beside the couch.

First I thought that maybe, somehow, she didn't see us kiss. But that wasn't true. As soon as the door opened, our eyes had met. And Truman's mouth was still firmly locked on mine. The worst part was that I didn't feel guilty knowing Santana was standing there, her boyfriend's mouth on mine, his hands locked on my waist. Instead, I was mad. Angry that she walked in and interrupted us.

"I should go," I repeated, tugging my arm away from hers. This was probably the time I should apologize. All I could do was reach for the door.

"Truman," Santana called, spinning to face him. "Tell Eden to stay."

"She should go—"

"Tell her to stay," she repeated.

He must have seen the way the smile disappeared from Santana's face, because he turned to me and mumbled, "Stay, Eden."

And maybe it was the way my name sounded coming from his mouth, but for whatever reason, I did. I placed my bag on the floor. I leaned the canvas against the wall. And then I took a seat at the wooden table as Santana placed forks and plates down, Truman opening the bags and taking out the food.

"I asked for extra fortune cookies," Santana said with a smile, pinching Truman's arm. Turning to me, she explained, "He's never happy with his first fortune. Always has to open three before he's satisfied."

"I don't think it works like that," I mumbled.

"A lot of things don't work out properly, Eden." The smile on her face made me freeze, chopsticks midair. I dropped the food back on my plate and pushed my chair back, crossing my hands on my lap. I wasn't hungry anymore.

Santana was the only one eating. Truman and I were staring at our laps. I was wondering how long it would take for me to crawl under the table and make it to the door before she could stop me.

"Fortune cookie?" Santana asked, holding two in front of Truman's face. He grabbed them both, then slammed them onto his plate.

"What is this?" he asked. I couldn't look at him. I couldn't look anywhere but at my own hands.

"I thought you'd enjoy having lunch with both your girlfriends," Santana said.

And there it was, the truth hidden in the silence. Our closed mouths said too much.

"Santana," I said, letting out a breath with it. Then I lifted my eyes to hers. "I'm sorry." There had to have been better words, but that was all I could manage, like trying to stop a leak with a single bandaid.

"It's not your fault" was all she said, eyes trained on Truman.

I was already standing up, ready to leave, when Santana said, "Does she know, Truman? Have you told her?"

The look on his face made me freeze. I sat back down. "Told me what?"

It was almost funny to see Truman sit there, fidgeting. There was no smirk, no lingering aura of confidence or those piercing eyes that made my heart race. He was gripping his glass too tightly, staring at his white knuckles.

"Eden, you should go," he whispered.

I remembered that night Katie got into her accident. I remembered Truman on his knees in the grass, staring up at the sky with tears running down his cheeks. I remembered how he looked: frozen, and afraid. It was how he looked now.

That night he lost Katie. It felt like he was about to lose someone else today.

Santana scoffed. "Right, of course you want her to leave. It's so much easier to let her fall for you when she doesn't know the full story."

He was gripping the glass so hard I was expecting it to shatter.

"Truman?" I whispered. "What is she talking about?"

His eyes lifted to mine, but it was too late. "He cheated on me," Santana said, "twice. Once with you, and once after Katie's accident, when he went back to school. Let me guess, he told you some story about how he went away to deal with losing his sister—"

"She's not gone," he whispered.

"—when he was really thousands of miles away, fucking another girl to mend his broken little heart. Isn't that right, Truman? Or did you leave that part out when you tried to guilt her into falling for you?"

I waited for him to say something. Anything. What I wanted was Truman to say that she was lying. That this wasn't a routine, another thing he did. Another bad habit like the cigarettes always pressed between his lips. Instead he just sat there, and I didn't wait to see if he was looking at me, because I was already gone,

my bag over my shoulder, canvas in my hand, walking out the door.

I could hear them yelling from the hallway as I waited for the elevator. I didn't know why I was crying, but the tears were there, rolling off my chin.

"Eden."

He was walking to me. I could hear him. Feel him getting closer.

"Look at me."

"Is it true?" I asked, not turning around.

"Yes. But—"

The elevator doors opened and I stepped inside. And then I looked at him, really looked at him, and all I saw was the broken boy from that night, kneeling in the grass. And how silly of me to think we could somehow fix one another, just because our hearts had broken in the same place so many months ago.

"I thought running away was your thing," I said, throwing the painting at his feet. "I didn't know cheating was."

And then the doors began to close. We stared at each other until there was just a sliver of space left between the metal. Then he was gone. I had lost them both.

_______

graphic by @tayxwriter ♥