He was just a stupid kid, which is how these things always start. And it's not that he was cruel or unfeeling, he was just a kid trying to figure these things out, just like we all are. And when he made her cry he felt horrible, he did.
"What...?" She couldn't believe she was hearing the right words. So he repeated them. Some things don't get easier the second time. And some things do.
"Don't do this." But it was done.
It was the first time he had ever truly hurt someone, in the way that you hurt someone deeply, where it matters. He picked a quiet spot, halfway up the steps on the landing before the second floor, right after rehearsal, where there were less people around and he had an excuse to get away.
He made excuses. He made jokes. He made anything his adolescent mind could make to salve the wound.
"I have something I was going to tell you."
"What was it?" he asked.
"You won't want to hear it now." He went to wipe a tear from her eye and she pushed his hand away.
"What took you so long?" his father would ask him when he finally got in the car. He knew he had done something big, something important, hard, necessary. Still, he would not tell his family for a time.
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