The sickening guilt hit me with surprising force. I remembered all the times I’d unloaded my problems to her and how she’d sat there, calm and kind, stroking my shoulder and trying to find ways to make it better.
I remember back so long ago, when… Cynthia (I forced myself to think the name) had told me about all her various boyfriends, her home troubles, her drunken father’s problems, I’d listened to them all. I’d comforted, I’d consoled.
Suddenly I wondered what happened to that kind, compassionate boy. The one who gave to others, and sacrificed to others, instead of selfishly claiming all the attention, begging for help but refusing to return the favor.
Paige had just told me she had been abused.
But all that had just disappeared, the instant she’d mentioned… Cynthia. Suddenly, Paige had ceased to matter and I’d ignored how she had just opened up to me, instead focusing on myself. My selfish, selfish, self.
What kind of monster had I become?