She bit her lip, looking away with a pained expression, “Yeah.”
We were silent for a moment, and then she slowly turned toward me, “Drew… I need to… tell you something.”
“What is it?” I asked, hoping she’d finally open up to me. I was beginning to understand how annoying that first month of our friendship must have been for her.
“It’s about… Cynthia.” Because I wasn’t expecting it, I flinched. “I see that,” she whispered, “It still hurts doesn’t it?”
“Not as much, anymore,” I said, looking away, “Or at least, I have other things to think about.”
“I hate this,” she suddenly said vehemently, “I hate hurting you.”
“Hurting me?” I asked, still more confused, “Paige, what are you talking about?”
“Cynthia,” she said, her voice suddenly devoid of emotion, “She’s… she’s not dead.”